Welcome Home Girl!

  • by Drew

She’s here. Little Laura came in to the world yesterday (Wednesday) morning at 6 pounds, 3 ounces. 6/3, that’s her birthday. Gives me a clue to remembering birthday/birth weight. I need all the help I can get. I can’t remember any of the details with the boys. There was a 9 something and an 8 something. So, that’s a start.

This one is tiny tiny tiny. Smallest baby we ever made. But like the others she is cute cute cute. And no, that is not parental bias – it is an all out fact. Ask anybody who sees her.

And her room is almost ready. The Brothers are sheetrocking, her window is in. Any day now we’ll be picking colors. We got a nice ceiling fan with a light while picking fixtures and carpet. We’ve been picking all kinds of cool things – I mean, no vessel sinks or skylights, but to me, paint, carpet and ceiling fans are pretty cool.

A couple more days and Laura will be home, and when she’s ready for a night on her own, her room will be ready to go!

Moving right along

  • by Drew

The dormer is framed and wrapped and ready for siding. The walls are framed and ready to be rocked. Pretty soon we’re going to be picking paint colors and tucking the little monsters in to bed in their new rooms. All before our new little edition hits the streets – only about a week and a half from now!

Man, time flies. Pretty soon the guys will be done and the new baby will be here. No more pickup trucks at 7:30 am and Noah asking to go play with Shadow, the Jack Russell Terrier contractor mascot. Hell, before I know it, we’ll be looking for first birthday party ideas. Time (or the passage thereof) definitely does not slow down with age.

I’m sure the sleepless and bleary-eyed first few weeks with the new baby will help us get over our loss, but seriously, I’m going to miss having these guys show up everyday. There’s something kind of cool and reassuring about the pickups and tool trailer on the lawn, the reciprocating saw roaring and hammers smashing overhead, the air compressor whirring incessantly in the garage.

I think I’m going to need to come up with another project or two to keep the guys around longer. I don’t know who’s going to pay for them, but I can find work. Maybe this is the real background cause for the home loan disaster. It wasn’t irresponsible lenders and borrowers who were either clueless or arrogant. It was simple, wholesome, down-to-earth folks who just couldn’t get through the day without their morning dose of contractor love.

There’s a hole in the wall

  • by Drew

It has been a good week. The Brothers Cipriano, general contractors extraordinaire are tearing our upstairs apart…and I couldn’t be happier. We are in the process of adding a shed dormer to the back side of our steep pitched Cape Cod style house. We’re turning two large bedrooms and a more or less useless, but sizable top-of-the-stairs landing into a space with one large master bedroom (with big closets!) and three smaller bedrooms for the three kids (well, two kids and soon to be born number three). And don’t forget the linen closet. Oh yeah baby, we’re getting a linen closet.

How did this happen? Well…funny story. Actually, not so funny, but it’s interesting nonetheless. We have always talked about maybe someday adding a dormer. I had even done some measuring and messing around with floor plans to see if we could reasonably get three little rooms upstairs. But I don’t think either of us thought we’d do it any time soon. But home equity line rates are low, and even though Chase screwed us, we went to the glorious local Rondout Savings Bank and scored a sweet line.

Hey, money is pretty damn cheap these days, and people need work. So, check it out. We’re stimulating the economy people. Props for stimulation! Plus, we’re going to have more space and more storage.

And now we have a big hole in the wall. It’s the hole that will soon hold one of the windows in Noah’s future room. Right now, though, it is the opening through which the brothers hurl ripped out drywall and 2x4s. It is also the opening through which I coerce my wife to take pictures of me because I think it looks really cool to be standing and looking out a big hole in the side of the house.

Still, how did this come to pass? Well, simple. Carol writes for a local paper. She has done stories on several local businesses. She actually did two stories about the Cipriano family. One about Mom, who does interior design and similar stuff. The second was about the brothers, who are experienced local contractors who do jobs of all sizes, including custom home builds. They started out with their Dad and have been on their own for many years.

When I knew Carol was going to do a piece on a couple contractors, I suggested she mention our little potential job just to see what they might say. Right away they started talking about possibilities and she just got a good feeling. So I called them a few days later and they stopped by. We walked the house and talked about possibilities, and it just took flight from there. Yeah, I know they always say background check your contractors and get multiple estimates and such, but, well hell. We both got a good vibe, and let’s face it…Carol met their Mom. And Mom clearly liked her. Isn’t that enough. 

Oh, and did I mention they’re awesome. They’re nice guys who do great work. And they work hard. and check this – because they know we have a little one coming in a couple of weeks, and because they want to minimize the difficulties of having a house with big holes in it, they are going to be working this weekend. Yup, they’ll be here at 7:30 tomorrow (Saturday!) morning to meet the materials delivery and start framing the upstairs (which is now fully stripped and ready to rock).

Dude, I’m psyched. More to come…

PJ-ed off

  • by Drew

I don’t expect much when I go out these days. I really don’t. But when I’m in the store, I really don’t need to see people in their pajamas. I mean, I don’t expect tuxedo shirts, high heels, gabardine or leather. But velour and spandex…not so much.

Seriously, if the word pink is written on your ass, I don’t want to see it. Especially if your rear is so wide that I get confused and think it says “in k.” What the hell is in k? Oh wait, there’s a p sneaking around the right bank. It says pink. Of course.

And those peach and lime plaid flannel bottoms? Think they look cute in your dorm room? Think the other freshmen are impressed? Maybe they are. But the thirty-something parents wrestling with two toddlers and a car cat have seen it before. Seriously. Put on a pair of jeans and stop drawing attention to yourself.

I had one of those conversations recently about how people used to get all dressed up to travel by airplane in the 70s. No, I don’t remember that, but I would prefer that to what I’ve been seeing lately. I have actually seen adults in pajamas on flights. Not to mention the sweatpants and crushed velvet jogging suits and bathing suits. Yes, I have seen bathing suits on planes.

Please people, is a pair of jeans and a t-shirt too much to ask?

File Under: HC!

  • by Drew

Holy crap! Do you ever stop and think that every time you get in the car you are putting your life in the hands of every driver you pass on the road? Think of all the tired, drunk, OTC or otherwise drugged, aged, pissed, phone-calling, senile, iPod-listening, inexperienced or unlicensed people on the road. It’s terrifying, isn’t it.

It makes me think there should be some higher qualification for getting a license than a 10 minute driving test and a multiple choice quiz. Maybe auto insurance quotes should take into account some new factors. Maybe there should be an anger evaluation portion of the insurance exam. Maybe there should be some updated risk assessment. Are they basing things on 1950s data? I remember hearing a statistic back in the 90s that young males have the highest insurance rates because it is the population that accounts for the most speeding tickets, but not necessarily the most accidents or fatalities. I don’t know if that was true then or if it is true now, but it makes me think it might be time to rethink the system.

When I was 16, I would have driven anything with wheels. Most of my friends with cars had Chevettes. These things could barely do 35 miles per hour and required massive arm strength to make a soft left turn. Parallel parking required a forklift. If I knew a kid with a shiny new sports car, even a domestic make, I was inclined to spit on the windshield and key the doors. Now, I see teenagers in BMWs regularly.

I kid you not. TEENAGERS IN BMWs. This has got to stop. Inexperienced and spoiled little pickle smokers should not be driving performance sports cars. They should be driving Chevettes. It is a right of passage…the way things should be.

Yours faithfully,
The Crusty Old Curmudgeon.

Have you noticed…

  • by Drew

People are really not that nice lately. Seriously. Have you noticed this? Driving to lunch with co-workers I was cut off twice before I even got out of the parking lot. Two individuals, in two spots along a 50 yard strip of pavement ran stop signs and cut me off. One was crossing the road I was driving on, a one lane stretch alongside another one lane stretch in the opposite direction, separated by a grassy median. I had clear right of way with no obstructions. He had a stop sign, and had to cross two lanes of traffic. He shot out of a bank drive-through and blew right through the stop sign about 10 feet in front of me. I was forced to slam on the brakes and he gave me a dirty look. Maybe he wanted a collision and was upset that I’d foiled his plan?

I started forward again, travelled forward about 20 yards and began to ask my passengers if they’d noticed a trend in nastiness on the road lately when a second car shot through a second stop sign and pulled in front of me, cutting me off. Again, I had full right of way, and she did not even touch her brakes. She was exiting the Burger King part of the lot, so maybe she got one of those new BK Angry Whoppers and was itchin’ for a taste.

Can someone tell me what the hell is going on. Many people I have spoken with in the last few weeks have confirmed that they sense a steep escalation in reckless nastiness, with particular emphasis on two areas.

1: in the car, driving around, especially around paring lots, stop signs and other traffic signals.
2: in the service industry – food service, counter help, retail employees, clerks, etc.

I have to say, though, the car stuff is really getting to me. I mean, if the checkout person at the grocery store is slow or even rude, I will be minorly pissed for a few minutes, but as soon as something else distracts me, it will be forgotten. €But in the car, if I happen to sneeze, or reach for my water bottle, or laugh at a funny Ricky Gervais comment at the wrong moment, one of these aggressively obnoxious drivers could actually do me great bodily damage. I could be injured or killed. My wife or kids could be injured or killed.

Do you ever wish there could be a reality check moment? I mean, there’s this guy in a BMW who thinks he’s got all the pep and privilege in the world, so he doesn’t worry about the silly old stop sign. And then there the chunky in Honda Pilot with arms like my thighs who surely feels that she has bulk, in all its incarnations, on her side. She too could not care less about the stop sign. I would like to be able to sit down at a table with an arbitrator and these people. I’d like to compare car insurance and lease versus ownership info. I’d like to see some documented proof of education and maybe a relationship history. I’d like to know who has satisfactorily completed anger management training, who has kids, who has lousy credit, whatever.

There is a lot of crap going on in a person’s head. 50% of marriages end in divorce, the number one thing couples argue about is money, when people are upset they act (drive) irrationally and erratically. I’m thinking there are a lot of lost jobs and broken marriages piloting V8s right now, and that is, well, kind of flipping terrifying.

Alright, I’m rambling, but you must see my point. People are stressed to the gills right now, and this is manifesting itself as selfishness and recklessness – at least on the road. Everyone I talk to says the same thing. I bet you’ve noticed it too. So what can we do about it?

Teleportation.

That’s right, teleportation. Will somebody please get on that right now. We need some Nightcrawler BAMF shit and we need it now! It is so much more important than figuring out clean coal. For real. Clean coal? that’s like pursuing dry water. Get with the program. We’re almost a decade into the 21st century. Will somebody please tell me why I can’t yet fax my butt to work?

PH Buffet

  • by Drew

I have to say, one of the better things in life – at least in my estimation – is a a buffet. Any good buffet is such a treat. I love salad bars. I love cafeteria-style dining (though we don’t really have many of those types of restaurants out here). I just love the idea of unlimited food, loaded on a big plate (often still damp from the dishwasher). It’s just FUN!

Pizza Hut Buffet is a family favorite. It’s fairly cheap and you get unlimited salad bar along with unlimited pizza bar. They don’t usually bring out really interesting pizzas, but you can always get little slices of cheese, pepperoni, ham, sausage. Sometimes they have pizzas with chicken. They also have bread sticks and a weird little pasta conglomeration that seems to be a mishmash of various pastas, sauce, and liquid smoke. It’s…interesting.

And there’s a salad bar. It’s not a great salad bar, but it has the basics. There’s iceberg lettuce, shredded carrots and shredded cheese.  There are chick peas and cucumbers. And they have those little French’s potato sticks. So, every time I get a couple slices of pizza, I get a plate of salad and pretend it’s a half-healthy lunch. Love it!

I tell you, there’s no better appetite suppressant than stuffing yourself to the gills with soft dough, tomato sauce and cheese. Um, and lettuce.

All they need is jugs of Rossi burgundy and it would be perfect. I mean, the pitcher of Diet Coke is okay, but a little hard cheap red in a melamine tumbler would be virtually transcendental.

Maggie’s Better

  • by Drew

We had an awful experience with a vet and our cat, Maggie a few years ago. It involved a bladder infection, a guy who liked wearing polo shirts and chatting like a suburban yuppie far more than actually providing pet care, nervous Ecuadoran “orderlies,” and a loading dock cage pickup. I won’t go into details, because remembering the whole experience really riles me up, but the end result is that our anxiety-prone kitty does not make regular trips to the vet these days.

Nevertheless, approaching 11 years old, Maggie is pretty spry and healthy. She’s got the same massive cat-itude that she’s had since kitty-hood, and overall, she is doing well. That is, until a couple weeks ago when she climbed into bed with us and started acting weird. At first I panicked, sure that it was another bladder infection since her litter box appeared unused. I went crazy trying to find pet supplements or other meds that might help with the problem.

What I’ve come to realize, however, is that her real problem was some sort of leg injury or ailment. After a day of laying on my keyboard, I got her to walk around a bit, and saw that she was limping. I’m not sure if she took a tumble or got sat on, or what, but it looked like she was just trying to stay off one of her back legs. Improvement was obvious over the next couple days, and well within the confines of a week she was all better. Now, a couple weeks beyond, she is back to normal. Hissing and biting when she doesn’t get her way, purring and rubbing up against me when she does.

It makes me think I need to find one of those travelling vets in my area, though. If she does get sick, I am afraid to make it even worse by shoving her into a pet carrier and dragging her to an animal clinic. But I have heard there are vets that make house calls. I want one of those. You got one of those?

A Place to Sit

  • by Drew

Did you know that baby gear has an expiration date? I mean, I guess it makes sense. We certainly want to keep our kids safe – it is priority number one – but the car seat we bought for Jake (approaching 7 years old) is already a year bad. Why? Something about plastic deteriorating…or so they say. But really, don’t you think it has a little bit more to do with Graco Century selling more car seats to multi-child families? I’m not saying these big corporations don’t have the safety of our children as their highest priority but…I don’t know how to finish that thought.

Seriously, though, I think of the array of hand-me-down car seats that our kids have used in various grandparents cars – most of which predate the whole expiration date thing – and I really have a hard time believing those almost-antiques are any less safe than the brand new ultra-suede Scarsdale baby special.

Nevertheless, we bought in. I mean, after all, the safety of our children is priority number one. So we are going to be adding our old car seat to the landfill and the new baby will be sitting in a new polka-dot wonder. We haven’t gone too crazy with the baby purchase, though. We got a new swing and a new stroller to match the car seat. No baby jogger stroller or tow-behind-the-bike trailer thing. But our old stroller was pretty shot, so it was, I think, a fair purchase.

Sigh. Babies ain’t cheap, and the gear is expensive. Especially when you have to but seconds and thirds. Oh well. Procreation is a bitch.

Playing the Field

  • by Drew

We’ve now made it through 3 baseball games. Phew. Only 728 to go. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration…but not by much. At least, not in how it feels. I have to say, though, Jake is showing tremendous improvement. I mean, for a kid who has never watched a baseball game, even on TV, a kid whose Dad is me – as unathletic as they come – he is doing pretty well. We’ve invested in a decent bat and half a dozen balls, and he’s actually hitting the ball. Sweet.

The beauty is that he is still young enough not to care that there are kids who actually do watch baseball games on TV, kids who actually do know the fundamentals and actually can hit an overhand pitch and who actually can catch a pop fly. But this is what they are interested in more than anything else, and like I said, Jake really doesn’t care. He has plenty of fun squealing girlishly and running around like a maniac, and he’s totally cool with that. 

The thing is, there is this family. There’s Robbie the superstar and his parents the jag-offs from Long Island or Manhattan or wherever who have a weekend house in Northern Dutchess. The father is kind of meek and passive aggressive, but the mother is a loud, obnoxious douche nozzle who just doesn’t get it. She yells at her kid and contradicts the coaches. She argues about fouls and where the play is. At this time let me remind you that this is coach-pitch baseball for 5 to 7 years olds – every kid hits and runs one base no matter what. The standard rule in the field is for the kids to get the ball and throw it to first.

Still, psycho douche pony Mom starts berating her kid for throwing it to first, arguing in shouts with her husband when he tries to explain that in this league, the kids are just supposed to throw it to first in this fashion: “What do you mean throw it to first? The kid’s on first already. The play was to second. What are you, stupid?”

Let me mention at this point that there is a 5 year old girl on the team who is barely 3 feet tall. She is exceedingly cute and brings her own 13 ounce composite bat. After 3 weeks of practice she hits the ball at every at bat, and occasionally hits it right to the coach on the pitchers mound. It’s awesome. She’s tiny and she is kicking ass with progress.

Then these assholes weekenders show up with their over achieving bull, a well-drilled 7 year old who never attends practices but is supposed to be the team all star (on a team in a league with no winners) and act like it’s major league ball. The coaches are pissed because this father just walks out in the field and stands behind his kid like a coach. Fathers are pissed because the coaches on the field are supposed to be back ground checked and, let’s face it, if this guy is on the field, we don’t get to go out. And mothers are pissed because this woman is a basket case.

Did I mention that she has a 2 year old daughter she brings to the games that she plays catch with? The mother throws overhand to the two year old and wears a glove. And when the 2 years old drops the ball or throws it back weakly, the mother actually chews her out.

Carol and I call people like this leafers – a nod to an episode of the Family Guy about similar types. A wife of one of the coaches calls them City-ots, as in idiots from the city. It’s funny, because these jerks act like this is Green Acres or something, even though half of the parents are from Westchester, Long Island, or Manhattan. I mean, it’s not like I’m Farmer Fred up here.

But this area, particularly around Millbrook and Rhinebeck, are big weekend sites for city peeps. And you can tell on the weekend. On Saturdays in the Summer I see more vehicles with Manhattan Jeep license plates than when I worked in NYC a couple blocks away from the Manhattan Jeep dealership. Seriously. But when you have wineries and historic hotels and pick-your-own farms and low taxes, it’s hard to keep those trust fund graduates away.

At least this past Saturday Robbie and his psychotic entourage didn’t show. I hope that it’s permanent thing. I mean, maybe the over achievers will look for some more competition for their clearly unhappy little almost-all-star and let all the rest of us mediocre fun-seekers start our weekends off right. And I got to catch. It was probably the most baseball I’ve played in, well, ever. But it was fun. The kids were hitting great, I got to cheer for my son’s teammates, and I just felt like everyone was smiling just a little bit more.

And today my knees are a little achy because, well, I’ve always had problems with my knees. But who cares. Put me in coach!

© 2026 Drew Bancroft. All rights reserved. Totally.