I have been having trouble with Old Navy recently. The last time I ordered with them (edit: several months ago), they sent me the wrong color onesies, then sent me a replacement that was identical to the first incorrect order, then sent me a second replacement that was ALSO identical to the first incorrect order (SERIOUSLY???), then “accidentally” credited my card and “unfortunately” “couldn’t” send another replacement. They suggested I might like to re-order the onesies at the current price, which was higher than the price I’d paid the first time, plus of course paying the shipping I’d gotten for free the first time.

Then this time (edit: several weeks ago) they sent me my order missing two shirts, then implied that I must have given them the wrong address (but the other shirts–in the same package the missing ones were supposed to be in–made it, so…?), then said they’d re-send the shirts but that they would have me sign for them “to ensure proper delivery” (whuh?), then told me to re-send them my shipping address, then said that “unfortunately” the shirts were out of stock and they’d credited my card. But I went to the site and the shirts were NOT out of stock. I re-ordered them because I really wanted them, but I’m super mad that I had to do so. So in short, I am getting pissed. The methodical form-letter apology at the beginning of each email (apologizing for “any inconvenience” I “may have experienced”) is not mollifying me.

I LOVE Old Navy clothes for boys, and consider them one of my two sources for boy clothes (the other source is Target, but you knew that). I shop there every two or three months, getting big heaps of cute boy jeans and cute boy shirts. I don’t WANT to stop shopping there. I have FOUR boys, and I think Old Navy has the cutest boy clothes, and mail order is very very convenient, and I like the clothes a lot and am always happy with the look and feel and quality of them. But these hassles–and the crappy, crappy customer service–is making me feel desperate. It is getting to be like trying to make a relationship work with a bad boyfriend.

We are still working on getting a Christmas card photo.

From left to right:

• Edward leaning in, obscuring Henry
• Rob talking, and blending in to chair
• Elizabeth squashed, and singing
• William listening to Rob, and blending in to chair

From left to right:

• Edward, Henry, Rob, and Elizabeth tuned out
• William picking nose

From left to right:

• Elizabeth with weird expression
• Rob mid-yawn but still trying to smile
• William looking cute
• Henry blocking his face with his hand
• Edward sticking his fingers down his throat

I am going to start with the assumption that you are already reading Maybe Painted Pink. And if you’re not, I don’t need to know about it—just start reading it now and we’ll forget all about this little talk.

Anyway, Kara Marie is just about dying under the weight of all the awesomeness of that blog (have you seen the things you can do with old Christmas cards?), and she needs some HELP. And I happen to know an awesome person (YOU, silly!) who would be perfect for this.

Here’s what Kara says:

If anyone would like to help with the recipes category, or the craft category, or has lots of ideas, or gets some sort of enjoyment out of editing/proofreading posts, or has tons of fun decoration knowledge, or knows how to find good deals on stuff, or is a Googling master, ANYTHING, let me know if you’d like to be a part of Maybe Painted Pink. I want this blog to be as fun and helpful as possible, and the reader emails/posts are AWESOME. I’d love to have some regular helpers. karamarie at gmail dot com.

She is not KIDDING AROUND. If you would like to help but feel a little shy, or think someone else would do a better job so you shouldn’t even email, DON’T BE SILLY. Email her and tell her what you’ve got.

Would you like to have the crap scared out of you in a cerebral and totally non-gory way? Dr. Who (2007), season 3 disc 4, the episode called “Blink.” (Netflix has it.) I don’t like scary movies because they are too scary (Harry Potter? TOO SCARY), but Paul made me watch this and I lovvvvvvved it. He said, “You are going to think this will be TOO SCARY, and it IS scary, but it is the kind of scary you like.”

I won’t think less of you if you opt out of this next paragraph. It contains nothing you need to know. It is a gross anecdote, that’s all. I was putting a fresh filter in the coffee pot this morning, and I noticed the filter compartment could stand a little rinse. And one of the things that needed to be rinsed out was a spider. A dead spider. A . . . boiled spider. I’ll pause while you barf. I managed not to, but only because my brain is slower than it used to be and I had time to go to my Happy Place before the pieces clicked into place.

Do you know, I have not even READ yesterday’s comments yet? There are about four latrillion of them (plus 272 posts in the RSS reader–aarrh!), and I am dying to see what you all said, but I am also engaged in an epic battle with the laundry and the bills and a bake sale I agreed in a fit of madness to contribute to. Plus, Henry is having his 6-month growth-spurt and he is nursing two extra times per day AND eating cereal once per day, and I am about to go berserk with the cereal crusts that adhere permanently to his face despite repeated scrubbings, and the up in the night again, and the oh my god Target you are NOT up at 4:30 a.m. because that would be INHUMANE.

AND I am trying to get Christmas shopping done. In fact, that is what brings us here today. My sister-in-law would like a jewelry box. I would like to buy her one. But damned lawned if I can find a good one.

My sister-in-law likes vintage and Etsy and kitsch and art, and she was putting sky blue with burnt orange and chocolate brown before I saw it anywhere else. So I am not about to get her a varnished wood box with little velvet-lined drawers, much as I may like that kind of thing myself.

My first thought was, “Hey! Etsy! Etsy will know what’s awesome!” But I am having a devil sheep of a time wading through the thousands and thousands of things that come up when I search for jewelry boxes. Gift boxes. Jewelry that comes in little cardboard boxes. Trinket boxes, which appear to be boxes too small to put anything in. Jewelry boxes that are actually recipe boxes. Jewelry boxes that look like a Decoupage Monster barfed on them.

Surely–SURELY–there are awesome jewelry boxes out there. SURELY! And surely you have seen some, and can point me in the right direction.

So tell me. *arranges self into confidence-exchanging pose* If it’s been 6 months since your baby was born and you would like to stop wearing the goddamn gol-dang maternity clothes already, what small and easy changes would you make to get started on that path?

And listen, I do mean SMALL AND EASY. If your idea of a small and easy first step is “Well, first I cut out all sugars and flours,” or, “Well, I run an additional mile,” or, “Well, I have a salad instead of dinner,” then you and I might as well stop this little chat right here and save ourselves the grief of the ensuing “discussion,” much of which would involve (a) weeping and (b) railing, not to mention (c) sarcastic air quotes. Those things would require the kind of lifestyle change that would make digging a quarry look like planting a tulip bulb.

No, I am thinking of something more like all those articles that suggest cheerily that you can become ripped/buff by taking the stairs instead of the elevator. Perhaps this substitution makes a serious difference only if you live on one of the uppermost floors of the Burj Dubai and consistently have to go back for your forgotten keys, but I prefer to think of it as the kind of small adjustment that accumulates, for an overall improvement in health and well-being.

And that is the kind of suggestion I am looking for from you. Do you eat protein for breakfast? Do you make yourself “pay for” each cookie by eating a vegetable first? Do you see if you can wait five more minutes for lunch, and now five more minutes, and now five more? Do you swing your arms madly, power-walker-style, when you go up and down the stairs to do laundry? Do you play games that involve lifting your children up over your head?

And don’t be shy about telling me the ones that aren’t technically very healthy, like skipping lunch or drinking lots of coffee. I want your little nearly-painless tricks, so SPILL.

Yesterday I was telling you about my first attempt to get a Christmas card photo of the kids, and you were like, “Heh-LO, SAMPLES!” So, okay, first a photo that represents the typical photo I take of all five children together, the kind I expect to get roughly 100 of for each photo worth considering:

From left to right:

• William, with an Accidental Dumb Face and also a partial blink
• Elizabeth, with an Accidental Dumb Face and a partial blink
• Henry, looking acceptable but grousing
• Rob, looking tortured and also partially blinking
• Edward, looking away, partial weird eye reflection, and thumb in mouth

Now one of the good candidates:

• William, looking cute even though he’s leaning out of the group and too far forward, and he has his arm between his legs
• Elizabeth, looking cute even though she’s not looking at the camera
• Henry, looking acceptable even though his hand is stuffed in his mouth and his eyes are vacant
• Rob, looking cute
• Edward, looking cute even though his hands are up and he’s not looking at the camera and his shirt is bunched up

What I mostly look for in a Christmas card photo:

• children looking happy
• children looking like themselves
• nobody picking his or her nose

Things I have gradually given up on:

• everyone looking at the camera
• no weird things in the background (example: diaper bag backpack)
• tidy poses
• coordinating outfits

This doesn’t mean I’ve TOTALLY given up, and I do want to do a few more sessions where the kids are wearing red and green or whatever. But if the “good one” above is the best one I get, I’m satisfied with it.

Total photos taken in this session: 22

Number of times I thought, “You know what would make this easier? Getting rid of some of these kids”: 3

Number of photos rejected because of

• someone making a dumb face on purpose: 7
• someone making a dumb face accidentally: 2
• someone blinking: 5
• someone looking tortured: 4
• someone appearing to pick someone else’s nose: 1

That’s 3 out of 22 worth considering, which is the best percentage EVER, including when we had just one child to photograph. None of the three shots are stagger-back awesome, but they look pretty great compared to the ones I deleted.

Clearly you have NOT been studying the script. When I say, “Wah, wah, poor me, I feel like I’m being taken for a sucker on these stupid car repairs,” YOUR line is, “Oh, me too, there’s nothing for it but to pay what they ask and hope they’re not laughing after you leave. Just take it in and don’t think about it.” THAT’S your line. Not, “Your paranoid feelings are 100% accurate, and you should definitely call around / take the car to various dealers / do it yourself / not do it at all.”

My life philosophy is: Do what is easiest, then whine about it. So what I do in situations like this is take the car in and hand over what they say it costs, without arguing or getting another opinion or expending any energy beyond what is required for (a) fretting and (b) complaining. Which is what I had already done by the time I did my complaining yesterday. So now it is time for your line, which is, “Oh, totally, that’s what I would have done too.”

Also: Henry is ready for his close-up.

Our check engine light came on. We took it to Aut0z0ne, because they’ll hook the diagnostic thing up to your car for free, instead of charging $85.00 like the dealer does (dealer of SORROW, more like). But since our check engine light was broadcasting a “dealer code,” we had to take it to the dealer anyway.

And what is wrong? A SENSOR has cheesed out. NOTHING AT ALL is wrong with the car, but the SENSOR that is supposed to DETECT if something is wrong–THAT is broken. And how much to repair it? FOUR HUNDRED SMACKERS. For a sensor. When nothing is wrong with the car itself. Plus, of course, the $85 to let us know which sensor wasn’t working.

Furthermore, the dealer told us that “Aaiemwocn soeimv woien a owxeia aie’aslc, ceiallell!!!!!” Translation: “The sensor might also have welded itself to the manifold, in which case it could easily be another $800.” And ALL OF THIS is for a SENSOR. There is NOTHING WRONG WITH THE CAR. Except for the SENSOR.

So of course I asked whether we could just NOT FIX the sensor. I doubt cars had these sensors even ten years ago, so why don’t we just sense it the old-fashioned way, by NOTICING THERE’S SOMETHING WRONG and taking it in when something is? The dealer said, oh, sure, we could do that–but then the car won’t pass inspection anymore, so we can’t legally drive it.

I HATE dealing with car problems. I always feel like I’m being taken for a total sucker. They could be making this whole thing up. The car could be built to have the check engine light come on automatically at certain mileages, and the dealer code could actually mean “Dealer cash deficiency: please add $500.00.”