Chopper One Sighting

One evening after dinner there was a knock on the door.  Most people just walk into our apartment, but if someone knocks those who don't live here often answer the door.  This time Nikki got it and standing outside was a middle-aged man.

Before I tell you about him, let me tell you about my apartment.  We're a brand new building that is still considered to be on campus, but we're out in the boonies.  A large parking lot separates us from the nearest building.  My front window view is a cliff with a road at the bottom of it and woods across the street.  More woods on our left, and behind us is a huge red field that will someday house more buildings but for now will be the home of our own Mud Fest.

The middle-aged men that darken our doorstep are our fathers and the maintenance men.  This particular man was neither.

"I'm the father of a girl in the apartment across the hall.  Do you have internet?  She doesn't either.  I just want to take a quick peak in the closet at your wireless hook-up."

Across the room and out of eye sight, I shot a "What the heck does he think he's doing?" look at Adam.

"We were told the internet can't be hooked up until the building is complete.  Even though we're living in it the building can't be officially declared complete until the cable company comes back," Nikki explained.

"You see, that's not true," he said.  "You guys can't live without internet."

If there was sarcasm in his voice, I did not hear it.  He also never gave his name, but Adam said he had a school employee ID.

If I was suspicious before, I was upset now.  My desire for internet was overpowered by my desire for that father to let his daughter go unplugged.  It was one night for goodness sake!  The rest of us had been internet-less for literally a week, and we were still alive.  Gasp! 

I'm glad I didn't answer the door.  I might have said something like this: Sir, if you work here, check it out in the morning.  Don't go around the building at night and explore the internet hook-up.  Don't teach your daughter that you can fix everything instantly.  She's 18 not 8!  (OK, I would not have really said that, but I thought it).

Honestly, my heart broke for her.  You see, I know what it's like to go to school where your parents work.  For nine years I shared a building with two student-sisters, a teacher-mother, and an administrator father.  It was not unusual for someone to see all five of us in one day.  Even now, I go back and nobody asks me what I'm doing.  They already know; Mom told them.

To the girl who I've not even met yet, I am sorry you chose a school where your parent(s) work.  I've been there.  I'm sorry you have a hovering Helicopter Parent.  I have two.  Come on over.  We'll swap stories.

Dear Mr. Creepy Man/Helicopter Father, thank you for trying to fix our internet.  We really do appreciate your (failed) effort.  Now, it's 9pm and your daughter's first night away at school.  Let her make some friends and enjoy herself without you here.  It's actually better if her computer doesn't work, so she's not in front of the screen all night long.  Oh, and, yes, we can live without internet.

Thank you for letting me rant.  As always, thoughts welcome.

<>< Katie

Is this normal?

I've got a not-so-rare genetic disease.  I got it from my mom.  My sisters have it, too, but theirs isn't as severe.

When I was home in March, we couldn't park Maxwell (my dad's car) in the garage because there were new windows there.  They couldn't put the new windows in until the wood floor on the first floor was refinished.  They couldn't refinish the floor until they (a) decided on a color (b) sanded down all of the footboards in the entire house and refinished those with three coats of varnish.  Yes, my mother on her hands and knees sanding the upstairs bathroom (with linoleum floor and no windows) is getting us one step closer to a refinished wood floor and replaced windows.  Two months later, the windows are still in the garage.  This is our disease: the inability to complete one project before moving on to the next.

My arrival home spurred a big episode...
My task: unpack the cars and fit everything into my bedroom or under the ping pong table downstairs.  The living room make be borrowed but only until Laura's graduation party in late June.

Step One: clean the bedroom
This means all of the papers previously heaped neatly in the corner under the window are now sorted in piles and scattered across the room.  Before finding homes for all of these "important documents" I moved on to step two.

Step Two: Operation Bookshelf
My family's notorious for trying to fit too much furniture in a single room.  Right now, that room is my bedroom.  It's already full with a matching bedroom set, I've added two white CD cases, and now a Dad-made bookshelf.  Problem: there is no wall space for the bookshelf.  I began sorting and piling next to the door to find a space for said bookshelf, thus adding to the mountains of paper sorted neatly all over the room.  I also entertian the idea of rearranging every piece of furniture in my bedroom in order to accomodate said bookshelf.  However, I then remember Mom and I have no upper body strength and Dad's not allowed to lift anything heavy.  He's never been one for the rules, so I don't dare tempt him.  Time to move on to step three.

Step Three: You have a window seat?
Well, a windowseat for the cats.  It's so full of stuff animals that sometimes I'm working in my room for a solid five minutes before I realize one of my stuff animals is moving... hello, Cow (our holstein kitty whose name is really Sparkle).  All of the stuff animals have been sorted into two piles: keep, donate.  Donate pile moves to Mom and Dad's bedroom.  Keep pile stays on my bed.  Long-term they go into a plastic tub I have in the basement, but, go figure, it's on the bottom of the stack of tubs.  Dad's still not allowed to lift anything heavy.

Step Four: Put photos in picture frames
You've had those picture frames for years; maybe it's time you put something in them.  Go downstairs to the computer with a printer and search for the perfect photos.  While you're waiting for the page to load, waste no time and blog a little bit.  Make sure to read Kevin's hilarious blog about the humbling experience that was dislocating his shoulder.  (Yes, Mr. "Katie, you update too much" forgot about his blog for a month... at least I'm loyal to my readers)

Step Five: Dad wants his car back
Translation: get your dorm room out of Maxwell.  Freshman year, my dorm room lived in the living room all summer.  Last year, it was almost a month before I unpacked my car (named Andy).  We'll see what happens this year.

Step Six: Bedtime.
Oh, snap.  I have a bed?  And a safe fire escape for the middle of the night?  Let's put these papers into a nice pile under the window, the stuff animals can live on the windowseat, and the bookshelf can chill in the middle of the room.  What a successful day!  :-)

Do you have this disease too?  To my knowledge there is no known cure.  However, books have be written about this horrible condition.  They are entitled: If You Give a Moose a Muffin and If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.  Check them out at your local library, don't forget to put gas in your car and pick up cheese at the grocery store on the way there.

<>< Katie