Goodthings Warehouse Sale

Yesterday I invited some of the girls from work and we did lunch at the Good Things Warehouse Sale currently happening (7/29-7/30) in White Bear Lake.  I wandered around with housewarming parties and decorating on my mind, but ended up coming home with a couple of things just for me.  What do you think?

As the World Turns

I fancy myself an observer.  I like to think I have a constant eye on the world – gathering information, storing it, distilling it, finding the patterns.  And I especially love to watch people.  I find people to be the most baffling, interesting things in the world.  And, frankly, the most baffling and interesting of all are the little people - kids.  I love observing their views on life, their foibles and their triumphs.

I have made an unofficial pastime, like many parents I'm sure, of observing my own kids.  Last night the adults in my house spent a lot of time discussing the life of my oldest.  He is one of the most annoyingly brilliant people I've ever met, and probably one of the few people in my life that I just can't figure out.  He is an enigma in many ways because his moods and attitudes are so mercurial.

Recently, I have noticed him struggling through a realization that can truly be earth shattering - a realization that even some adults have yet to grasp - the world does not revolve around him.  Wait, what?

As an only child, I think that the first borns and the onlys of the world may struggle a little harder with this reality.  There was so much of our lives that the family dynamic really did revolve around us.  We were the only ones commanding attention, right?

But, really, beyond the generalities, I have noticed so many changes in Urban since he started his new school.  For the past year, he was home either with me or a nanny.  He really drove much of the action.  He had a major say it what happened and when.  And, with his behaviors, he could steer the day along any path he chose.  Hard as we would try to redirect and stay the course, he was in charge.  Do you know how hard that is to admit?

But what's equally hard is maintaining a calm, collected demeanor when faced with a screaming, grunting 4yo who you KNOW is openly defying your wishes - wishes that are mutually beneficial - like going to the park!  He would (and does still at home) push and push and push until you fold and say, "fine we're not doing X, but now you are spending time in time out" or in your room or whatever.  Nope, he's not doing anything fun, he's not "winning" like an adult would see it, but he is.  He is not having to do whatever it was he didn't want to do, or worse, now he's doing it - but on his terms not yours.  Now you're late.  Or the whole neighborhood is outside looking at you because he was shrieking.  Or whatever.

But now he's at school.  Now it isn't on his terms at all.  He's better behaved at this school than ever.  He listens.  He's focused.  He tries really hard.  He loves numbers, math and is even starting to enjoy writing and reading.  He is making friends.  (He has always made friends, but these friends are different.)

In his past schools, he was a leader in his class.  If there was a yearbook for preschool, he would have been voted "most likely to start a cult".  Whatever Urban did, everyone did.  If Urban left the room, he announced his departure and return to a rapt audience.  Everyone cared.  His friends were active, imaginative and predominantly male.

Now, his friends are quiet, mostly girls, and sweet.  I come to pick him up and see him, not running around shouting, "I'm SPIDERMAN and you're BATMAN!", but sitting to the side watching the other boys roughhouse and chase each other around.  When he leaves the room, he still announces his departure, but no one really cares.  There are a lot of looks of, "So?"

I watch him, and I wonder what this is doing to his sense of self.  He understands so much.  He processes so much.  And he is blessed/cursed with equal parts of my personality and his father's.  Where I (as referenced in a previous post) was weird and didn't care because I just didn't know any better, Brett was weird and cared.  He knew that he was an outsider in his elementary years, and I didn't.  Urban has the same trail-blazing, against the grain tendencies I do mixed with this very acute social awareness of his father.  He is different, and he knows it.  He and I have long discussions about social norms.  He's trying to work it all out.

And I am sitting and watching him absorb the fact that his world is shifting, and he's not the center anymore.  Not at school.  And not at home.  Because, now there's this pesky little thing called Beringer running around.  And Beringer has his own ideas and his own personality and his own needs.  And many times none of them align with Urban's.  And many times the attention... the most valuable commodity in Urban's life is pulled away and directed toward someone else.  And what is he to do?

We often describe Urban as 2 people.  There is 2-year-old Urban – an overwhelmed little boy who doesn't know how to communicate his needs and falls into fits of screaming and crying and non-verbal grunting, running, hiding, pushing...  Then there is 7-year-old Urban who is articulate, kind, helpful, imaginative and focused.  We never see 4-year-old, age-appropriate Urban.  And although you are talking to 7yo Urban now, in 2 seconds you could have a kicking, screaming 2yo Urban, and you don't know why.  One minute you're talking about cakes and parties, the next you are trying to stop him from angrily ramming his head into the floor.

We have been in family therapy for a year.  We have amazing tools.  And so often the tools escalate the situation instead of diffusing it.  You can have all the tools you want in your toolbox, but you can't force him to use them.  And if you do...  stand back.

So what do we do?  What do we do...

American Exteriors: Part 1

So the guys showed up yesterday to install the windows.  I must say it was a flurry of excitement and stress leading up to their arrival.  The night before, Brett got a migraine and spent most of the night int he fetal position.  Not fun.  So, that left Mom and I to take down all the window coverings and move the furniture 3-4 ft. away from the windows.  Here are my conclusions:

1.  I have a newly enforced hatred for mini blinds and the holes their myriad screws leave in the woodwork.

2.  We have a lot of damn windows.

3.  We need new curtains.

4.  We have a lot of damn windows.

So, in the morning, with the furniture in every room mounded in the middle, I left Mom and Beringer to supervise the installation.  Little did I know that not even 2 hours later I would be pulling back into my driveway to deliver Urban into the loving arms of his grandmother because his eyes got infected formt hat pesky sunburn.  Joy.  Now Mom had to wrangle 2 rambunctious kids, 2 window installers, 3 cats and, on top of it, had nowhere to sit.  My mother is a saint.

So, anyway, American Exteriors showed up right when they said they would and immediately got to work.  Mom said they were so careful with everything and that they worked around naps like it was no big deal at all.  That is a HUGE thing for our house.  They were finishing up around 6 – about the time I got home.

I walked into the house and was amazed.  First, by just how great the new windows looked – no more salts obstructing our views of the park and trees.  But also by how clean they left the house.  I think Brett mentioned it more than once.  They work the way he would work.  They cleaned as they went and really didn't leave any sign that they were coming back today!  (they did come back, of course.)

So far, we are very impressed.  Can't wait to see it tonight!  I will post pictures tomorrow.

Magical Thinking for Mere Mortals

I was reading this article this morning on CNN, and it really struck a chord with me.  First of all, I too was completely engrossed in my dreamland when I was a kid.  I was weird and dreamy with short, dirty blond, very curly hair (that I thought was the ugliest thing in the world until I learned that not all hair is meant to be brushed) and a penchant for the dark and dramatic.

Yep, that's me at age 8.  I often imagined myself as a mermaid.  I loved Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid.  Even as a kid I was drawn to the dark beauty of this story.  I loved the magic and the sacrifice.  I also loved the long hair.

I remember taking my blue blanket (a twin-sized beauty with no ribbon edging left) and tying it around my head so that it would trail on the floor as my long, mermaid locks.  I would sit side-saddle on my unicorn and race around the back yard discovering fairy kingdoms in the grape arbor.  It was awesome.

And I didn't know until much later on (Like probably high school) how amazingly geeky I really was.  I was just cluelessly happy in my little world.  A couple of good friends who enjoyed my hair-brained ideas for fun, and I was good to go.

I can't even tell you how many nights I spent in the back yard playing Ouija and lighting candles in my pubescent years.  And, now, as an adult I look back to that magic with longing and joy.  In fact, I will still, on occasion, light the odd candle in the backyard and summon some spirits - mostly those sold in bottles with corks, but spirits none-the-less - I have not grown up too much, really.

But, like the writer, Eric Poole, I turn to different magic these days.  I have, as chronicled here, gone through many of my own life-changing issues in the last few years, and I totally know what Poole is talking about.  I found myself more than once in this dark (not the cool, goth kind) place beating myself up over decisions made or chances taken, wearing my "poverty... like a badge of honor," and spending more time than not cursing those who had wronged me.  What a waste of time and energ.y.

And, looking back now, I can tell you the day, maybe even the moment, it turned around.  It was the day we found out we were being foreclosed.  A big day.  A scary day.

Brett and I sat in the basement of our house and nervously danced around the issue.  We were so tense, neither of us wanting to start a fight about what we were going to do, who was at fault or whatever other useless yelling could have taken place but didn't.  And, although I may remember it wrong, I feel like we said it at the same time, "We just have to let it go."

It's such a simple sentence.  And it really applied to more than just the house.  All of it...we had to just let all of it go.  We had to stop beating ourselves up and feeling like victims and failures for the position we found ourselves in.  We had to look forward, make decisions and move on.

We had to let it go.  The house.  The "urban hipster" life.  The idea of who we were supposed to be.  None of it mattered anymore.  We had to stop talking the victim talk and walking the failure walk.  We had a family to think about.  We were done making bad decisions.  We were going to take our lives back and stop covering our faces when bad things happened.  And in that moment, we had more to be happy about than we could see.

We made a plan.  We stopped talking about the negatives, and magically our lives began to turn around. Yes.  There have been backslides.  Yes.  There have been bumps.  And, yes.  Our lives are 100x better than they were 2 years ago.  Partly because we have changed the "plan".  We have shifted our priorities, and we are talking about can happen instead of what has happened.

Everything changes.  Everything.  It is the one thing you can plan on.  And I fully believe that we have the power inside us to make every change a positive one.  I totally understand that it can be hard in the moment to see the positive, but it's there.   I promise.  If I can say, "bankruptcy and foreclosure improved my life."  I'm pretty sure, I know what I'm talking about.  Or maybe I'm still just that goofy 8-year-old riding on a unicorn and discovering fairies.  I'm cool with that too.

Life Lessons

I remember, when I was kid, running around in the summertime in a spaghetti straps and shorts.  I would watch the older girls in the neighborhood baste themselves in baby oil trying to get that deep Malibu Barbie tan.  No one talked about sunscreen until I was well into high school...college even.  I remember our band trip to Hawaii, and one of my very fair-skinned friends going snorkeling and coming back the color of a well-cooked lobster - but never thinking twice about "SPF".

Now, as an adult I buy clothes specifically made to protect my kids from the sun.  I slather SPF 50 onto their little faces and arms and train them to wear sunglasses at a very young age.  But even with all of that - sometimes burns happen.

When Urban went to the cabin last week we were sure to pack his sunscreen and his swim clothes.  We knew he would be out in the sun and in the lake A LOT.  He is a boy who loves water and loves adventure.  And although we expected him to come home full of stories and a little pink in the cheeks, we never expected the result of an ivory-skinned boy + a lot of time outdoors + not enough sunscreen.

Here are the pictures we expected to get -

Urban with a frog

Urban Goofing Around

Perhaps less expected - 

Urban holding a snake

Urban Shooting a Bow and Arrow

Definitely unexpected was this 

This is Urban at the ER with 2nd and 3rd degree sunburn across his nose, cheeks and eyes.  

When he returned on Friday evening I was concerned.  His face was red and swollen to the point he didn't look like himself.  I called the nurse line, and they said cool washcloths and aloe and to watch it closely for any changes.  That night, his nose began to blister and his eyes swelled even more.  By morning his under-eye area was so swollen it had gone from deep red to white with fluid.  His eyes were matted shut with discharge and his nose showed obvious blistering.  We decided to take him to the ER incase there might be infection or something else.  I had never seen a sunburn like this.

He was excited to get to go to the hospital again.  We felt terrible.  He looked beaten.  His bottom lip was so swollen!  The doctor checked him thoroughly for all bruises and other signs of trauma.  It was somewhat humiliating.  She chuckled a little seeing how white the rest of him was.  "You were serious when you said he always wears his SPF clothes, huh?"  She said.  Yeah.  I am serious.  I just wish he had an SPF spiderman mask.

The doctor prescribed Ibuprofin for the pain and swelling, cool compresses and oatmeal baths.  (Aveeno makes an oatmeal bath that we mixed with water and used to gently pat on his face with a soft cloth.  It helped with some of the itchiness and heat.)

He woke up the next day with his eyes matted shut, but the blisters had already begun to rupture and peel.  He was less swollen but still not back to normal.

Here is Urban Day 3:

You can see the peeling, burnt skin and puffiness around his eyes.  We continued with the ibuprofin and cool compresses.  By Monday he was back at school - peeling like crazy, but all the swelling was gone.

He was also very much over my photographing his burn.

Today he just has a few spots where the dead, burned skin is still hanging on and this tender pink skin is emerging from below.  It is amazing how quickly the body heals itself.  I have a little concern because his skintone looks really uneven right now.   Hopefully that will clear up with time.

But, I tell you, always use sunscreen.  Use more than you think you should.  Put your kids in hats or sunglasses to protect those tender eyes.  Let your kids have fun outside in the beautiful weather, but remember to take breaks and drink water.  The shade is a beautiful thing too.  

We all learned a lesson about sun protection this weekend.  I hope I never have to see my one of my boys like this again, but I'm sure the next thing will come.  And we'll live through that too.  

Let's talk about shoes.

I was reading a post on Ohdeedoh this afternoon that got me thinking about shoes.  The main picture in this post is this quaint little basket of summer footwear, carefully styled, and residing by what is clearly a main entrance.

This is where my mind began to wander to my own house.  I know, it's sad, the basket of shoes is not really the point of the post at all, but the sight of it pulls me to a constant annoyance I carry, and have carried, ever since my husband and I moved in together over 10 years ago.  I can be a bit of a festerer, I admit, but I have not come to a suitable solution, and I am flummoxed.

My apologies, shoes seem to be a bit of a theme this week, since my earlier post involved the stinky kind.  But this post is simply about numbers.  We now live in a lovely house with a proper entrance.  It is a luxury we have not had EVER, and, I assure you, I am thankful for it each and every day as I shove the door open with one hip – a baby on the other – 5 bags, a sippy, a blanket and my keys in my hand as I shout to my wanderer to "hurry up and get inside before all the cold air gets out!"  – Wait, I'm pretty sure I have heard that line before somewhere...  Hmmm.  Nevermind.  – And for the first time, I can enter my house and fully turn around without knocking something off the wall or slamming into another door.  It really is dreamy.

But then I look down and slowly up the short flight of stairs to the living room, and what do I see?  SHOES!  EVERYWHERE!  This is not a new phenomenon.  Even when our entryway was a 3' square, there were piles of shoes spilling into every available space and making it so that the door would only open about 8".  – I assure you, a pregnant woman does not do well in these conditions –  But now, not pregnant, able to completely open the front door and rangling two shoe-wearing little creatures, I am still welcomed every night by a cascade of shoes.

I admit, it is a very lovely thing to have the kids trained to remove their snowy/muddy/wet/salty/stinky footwear at the door.  And I take no responsibility for said feat.  My husband is the "no shoes in the house" nazi.  (I save my neurosis for other areas of the home.  Towels on the rods folded in perfect thirds, please!)  But the consequence of this mandate is an ever-growing pile of stinky/dirty shoes at the front door.  "Welcome to my shoe store!  It's all used, but very cute."

Brett was trained well, and, in a house with light-colored carpet (although we mostly have hardwood), it makes a lot of good sense.  I assume, however, the second part of the training was to also carry said shoes to your room and put them away, but I don't know.  We never had the "no shoes" rule when I was growing up.  Maybe because my whole family spent most of the time barefoot anyway, I don't know, I'm from Iowa.  But until that first apartment where shoe racks were installed at the DOOR after we moved in, I had never experienced this phenomenon.  (At least in the apartment they were organized.)

Mom thought maybe if we put a basket by the door of our new house, then the shoes could at least be contained.  But, no.  They have filled the basket, spilled to the floor, and are slowly marching in organized pairs up the front staircase.  What is a girl to do!?

I refuse to be the mom that just cleans up after everyone all the time.  What lesson does that teach other than, "Please tip your waitstaff?"  And you know, my husband has impeccable taste in shoes, but I would much rather see them on his feet than under mine.  (Love you, honey.)

So, that's the shoe rant.  What is the solution, friends?  More baskets?  Cubbies?  A sign that says, "Please keep your shoes on until you are within throwing distance of your closet?"

Your sage advice is welcomed.  And please, if your feet are cold, come on over, we have shoes to spare.

Fly Away

Long ago in a land far far away, before there were kids, I traveled.  I traveled a lot.  I would decide on a Wednesday that by Saturday I wanted to be in a whole different place ...sometimes worlds away from where I was.  I was spontaneous and loved the thrill of discovery found in disembarking a plane in an unfamiliar port.

Brett and I visited many places together, and he discovered the joys of the last-minute flight discounts to anywhere.  For a few years, I was even traveling for work; spending 1-2 weeks each month on one coast or another directing fashion photoshoots or down in Austin, TX, directing kids' shoots.  I was having the time of my life.

By the time I became pregnant with Urban that job was past, but even as parents of a young child we managed to visit a few previously unknown locales.  Then came financial hardship and baby number two.  (In that order.)

No more traveling for us.  The farthest we have gone since then has been the annual trip to a cabin for a week with my in-laws.  And this year, we don't even get that.  Oh, everyone else is at the cabin, but after a big move, Brett and I do not have the vacation time for cabin fun this year.

Luckily, generous Uncle Jason offered to still take Urban up for a few days of fun with his grandparents and cousins.  It was a wonderful gift for him.  He helped me through my travel rituals performed on his behalf.  We started by making a list of all the things he would need for three days at the cabin - swim trunks, sunscreen, his blankie, a fishing pole...  I taught him about packing extra underwear "just in case" and why he should have two swim suits so he would never have to wear a wet one.  We put stars next to the things that would have to be purchased and proceeded to load the rest into is primary-colored rolling bag.  It was great.  I loved it.  Packing the night before in anticipation of a big journey – the excitement of the adventure that lay ahead – I was in my element.

So, this morning, as I made my twice-daily trip past the airport on my way to work, is it any wonder this thought popped in my head - "I wonder how far $500 would get me, if I just walked in and bought a ticket..."  I glanced in the rearview mirror at Beringer munching on cocoa puffs.

Yeah, not today...  But someday we'll travel again.  Someday...

What. Is. That. Smell?!

Earlier this year Grandma Mary gifted Urban with some silver Star Wars shoes that light up.  They are actually pretty great shoes.  They have elastics where the laces should be, so they are really easy to slip on and off.

They were, in fact, some of my favorite shoes he owned.  (This completely flies in the face of my aversion to licensed apparel – too many years working on licensing partnerships at Target, I suppose).  They were the only shoes that he owned that he did not insist he needed help putting on.  This alone made these my favorite shoes.  Ever.

You'll notice I talk about these beauties in the past tense.  No, nothing happened to them.  No nefarious criminals broke in and purloined said shoes.  It's really just one, albeit BIG, problem.  They STINK!

Urban has been wearing these little gems all summer long.  With no socks.  In record heat.  THEY WREAK!!!

Last night we were in the car and he started whimpering about how sweaty his feet were.  My very caring response was, "I'm sure they are.  I told you to wear sandals today.  But no matter what, you can not remove those shoes in my car."

He started whining.  Finally I acquiesced.  I'm not an ogre, after all.  He slipped off the shoes, and it immediately smelled like rotting asparagus.  Seriously.  It is very possibly that a small animal curled up int he toes of these shoes and died.

I rolled down the windows, but with a heat index of 111˚, it was kind of like rolling down a window to reveal a hot, sticky wall.  "Dear God child, put your shoes back on!"  I pleaded.

Urban giggled and said, "My feet smell like butt!  I need a bath!"

"Yes," I agreed, "perhaps in vinegar."

So, now I am faced with a problem.  What do I do with the shoes?  Do I try to de-stinkify them somehow?  Do I throw them out?  Do I replace them???  The idea of tossing his shoes sends Urban into hysterics.  I am at a loss.  Anybody out there have any advice for a smell-sensitive mama and an Anakin-loving 4 1/2-year-old shoe hoarder?

Your opinions are welcomed.

Just Breathe

There is not a whole lot more terrifying than be awakened in the night by the sound of your child gasping for breath.  This was our Wednesday night.  Hysterical crying, coughing and gasping – our oldest son jolted us out of bed and into a flurry of action.

But to go back a bit further, about a year and a half ago his daycare kept sending him home because of a cough.  He was totally healthy otherwise, just this incessant cough.  The cough got worse and worse until finally he began spiking fevers.  I took him to a doctor, who, by the way, was a total jerk and announced, "Congratulations!  You have a cold!"  Nice.  Thank you.  NExt time I will hold out for his real doctor.

Anyway, that night Urban was coughing all night and coughed so hard he threw up.  It was the first time in his life he had ever thrown up.  I am lucky in some ways, I guess.  But, I knew this was not a cold.  I knew it in my bones.  I took him to urgent care the next morning, and they did chest x-rays.  His cough had developed into pneumonia.  He was 3.  It was so scary, but with the medication he began to get better.  However, we noticed whenever we took him to a park or out to play with his buddies, he would degrade into these coughing jags.  We did a follow up with his pediatrician, and Urban was diagnosed with asthma.  Asthma?  Yep.  At 3 he had asthma.  Heare I thought asthma was wheezing and gasping for breath.  Apparently coughing is a very common product of asthma and can actually be the ONLY symptom.

They surmise that it is allergy induced asthma, so every night he takes a dose each of Zyrtec and Singulair.  He has been well-controlled ever since.  We were also outfitted with a nebulizer and some Albuterol for emergencies.  We have used it twice, and both of those times were before they added the Zyrtec to his nightly lineup.  He really has had no symptoms at all since the initial diagnosis.

Then, last Wednesday, we faced a wheezing, gasping 4 1/2-year-old and two groggy parents at 12:30AM.  We dug out the neb, and I cradled and soothed Urban while we tried to administer the Albuterol treatment.  We got about 2 minutes into the 10 minute treatment and Urban began to panic anew and we had to stop.  Brett was on the phone with nurse line, and once we got Urban calmed down we, with the help of the nurse at the other end, decided that we would wait until morning and go to his pediatrician to see what was up.  He had never had an asthma attack like this.  Ever.

The next morning, I bundled a completely healthy and energetic Urban into the car to see the doctor.  Urban LOVES doctors.  He gets excited for shots, and was very disappointed he would not be receiving one that day.  And he loves talking to them about every last thing they are doing and interjecting his own opinions.  This has been essentially since birth.  All of the first images we have of him, moments after his birth, he is curled around one of the nurses' stethoscopes.  He took it as his first act of life and cried if they tried to take it away.

Anyway, we were given a new "Asthma Action Plan", which now includes daily neb treatments plus his meds and Albuterol for emergencies.  It is so much.  I was really processing all day.  It's overwhelming to think about dragging this big nebulizer everywhere just in case - about having to teach Urban and each teacher how to us it in case, and about sending him to Kindergarten with this machine.  I was just looking forward to the day that he would be able to switch to an easily transportable and concealable inhaler.

Thursday night was a normal night, and we all looked forward to a good nights' sleep to recover from the drama the night before.  All seemed to be going well until it hit midnight.  Urban came stumbling out of his room and down the stairs gasping, "I'm having difficulty breathing."  (Yes, those were the words he used...I'm thinking because that's how doctors talk.)

We hooked him up to his nebulizer for the second time that day, I guess third if you count the previous night, and he did the full treatment but sounded no different.  This time the commotion woke Mom too, so she agreed to stay with Beringer so that Brett and I could both go to take Urban to the ER.

This is very serious business for Urban, as you might imagine.  Going to the hospital may not be quite as awesome as say, an amusement park, but it ranks right up there.  (In fact, when he was 2 he informed me, while we were visiting Daddy after back surgery, "I live here now an' work.  I take out da gahbage.  Den I be doctor.")  So, as you can imagine, he was very serious answering the nurse's and doctor's questions...  Well, as best he could since he was coughing and barely had a voice.  He was so serious, in fact, that we were repeatedly asked if he was really 4.  No.  We're lying.

Well, everyone was all geared up to give him another asthma treatment, when he let out an enormous barking cough.  The doctor stopped, looked at me, and said, "Has he had croup before?"

"Yes. a few times.  I thought this sounded like croup, but I thought he was too old."

"Well, it's not completely unheard of in a child his age.  And that definitely sounds like croup to me."

They treated him for croup, and by the time we left 2 1/2 hours later, he sounded great.  I took the following day off so that both of us could recover.  Urban recovered by 8:30AM.  So, I did not get to recover so much because there were apparently a number of board games that NEEDED to be played.

Anyway, all has dwindled to just minor coughs and runny noses in both boys and we are all back to our normal schedules.  What a weekend, though.

Now, we're thinking we'll hold off the dragging the neb everywhere and the daily treatments.  He had croup.  It wasn't asthma at all, so why add all that extra work and medication to his system?  I just hope it's the right call.

I think if Urban had a catch phrase, it would be, "Go big or go back to toddlers."  No piddly little colds for that kid.  It's all or nothing.  ::yawn::  Even when it comes to catching up on sleep.

I Can See Clearly Now...

You know how sometimes you're really busy and kinda stressed, but you just can't stop yourself from adding one more coal to the fire?  Maybe it's just me.

Monday night Mom and I sat down with a door-to-door salesman of windows.  When the house was expected, we were made aware that the windows in our 1965 house were original and would need to be replaced sooner than later.  We have some rot issues on the sills outside, and, once we moved in, discovered that only every other one actually opens.  So, when a guy came knocking on our door that first week selling high-quality windows, Mom made an appointment to sit down with him as soon as we could find the table.

The company is American Exteriors.  They are a green seal company based out of Littleton, CO, with offices in Mendota Heights.  The salesman was very professional and walked us through the company history and values before leading into any major talk of product.  The company has a hands-on manufacturing philosophy and builds each windows to spec.  (They don't build a bunch of windows that lie around in a warehouse.)  Each one is made for your house when you order it.  That's pretty cool.

On top of that, the energy efficiency, the sealing technologies and the heat reflecting abilities of the glass are amazing.  For demonstration purposes, our rep produced a heat lamp from his bag and showed us the heat transmissions through single pane, double pane and the panes on an American Exteriors window.  It was incredible.  With the first two, I could literally feel the heat from across our 48" table, but with the AE one, I couldn't feel anything until my hand touched the glass.  So cool.  And very powerful when you're talking energy savings.  Oh, and did I mention the lifetime warranty?  If (I totally mean when) that baseball goes through the picture window (I sure it will the neighbor kid's fault, right Urban?)  they will replace it for free!  Just the cost of the trip out (about $50.)  Hmmm.  Did he notice we have two boys, or is that perk for everyone?  Another cool feature is that the glass can be brought to a streak-free shine with just water and a paper towel!  My mom audibly gasped.

Now, I have to interject a bit here to let you know about my mom's affinity for door-to-door salesmen.  She was a counselor in a high school when I was young, so we always had summers off together.  I can't tell you the number of times that I would come home from playing to find her in the living room watching a vacuum demonstration or talking to the Fuller Brush Man or the Mormons.  I remember one time we actually let an encyclopedia salesman stay at our house because he didn't have anywhere else to go!  Gone are those days, for sure.  But, for a woman who bought her piano from a door-to-door salesman, watching the window demo on our dining room table must have been pure joy!

Anyway...  We moved forward, having been suitably impressed.  I walked around with our sales rep measuring and counting all the windows, then we sat down to crunch numbers.  The quality of these windows is right in line with a Pella or Anderson, the main difference being - this is a vinyl product and not wood, but the cost difference falls closer to high-end than to the big box home improvement center.

The nice thing for us is that we are on a semi-busy street (mostly ped traffic) and right across from a park with athletic fields.  There are a lot of eyes that see this house.  So, we were fortunate that American Exteriors offers incentives to help them with their marketing.  They do not advertise in the conventional way, it is all word of mouth, so they offer very generous discounts in a tiered system for those who are willing to market a bit.  (Did someone say marketing??!!  Now you're speaking my language.)

We ended up qualifying for the full extent of discounts.  YAY!  And work will start in about 3 weeks.  All of the work is done by American Exteriors employees or exclusive contractors, and there is no down payment or payment of any kind until the work is complete, and you are satisfied.  It's really nice.

So, needless to say, we are thrilled about our future windows.  And, of course, I will keep you updated on the progress.  I just hope that they don't overlap the parties I have planned...  Oh and what about the solar roof??  Hmmm.  Did someone mention something about coals??

Give my regards to...

This weekend I decided to challenge myself - to push myself out of my comfort zone and do something good that had nothing to do with a house or kids or anything serious.  I auditioned for a show choir.

Yep.  That's right.  Jazz hands and grapevines.  The irony here is that I am scared of singing in public.  I shake and sweat and panic, but if I actually do it, I feel this giddy exhilaration when I'm done.  My hope is that I experience more of the latter than the former.

To give you a little background, I grew up singing in church with my parents.  Starting my freshman year in high school, I took private voice lessons and became a member of our elite choir ...run somewhat like a choral army.  I did not have a good relationship with my director...it was a love/hate thing...i.e. he never bothered to learn or use my name.  He just called me Alto.

But, by the time senior year rolled around I had done enough that I was able to audition for a music scholarship at college.  I got a nice amount and didn't have to major in music, so I was happy.  (I was a fine arts major.)  I continued to do small ensembles and solos.  I participated in opera theater and toured with the choir.  But I never got over my fear of performing.  In fact, surrounded by all those amazing musicians, I became even more petrified.  (I have some perfectionism issues.  I will readily admit that.)

So, after college, I stopped singing.  "No more for me!"  Really, in the last 10+ years since I graduated the only times you heard me sing in public were after a few vodka tonics in a karaoke bar... then, watch out, because I'll blow the roof off "FAME!"

Anyway, when Urban was born, I remember this really weird moment the first night we had him by ourselves.  He was crying and crying, and Brett and I had tried everything.  I looked at his little face, and I knew I needed to sing him a lullaby.  It felt so weird.  I hadn't sung for anyone is so long.  But that song turned into long stretches of singing everything from lullabies to broadway to rock ballads - all in the privacy of the nursery, of course.  I sang and sang to calm him down.  Of course, now I sing to Beringer too.  And we sing together in the car.  I am thrilled at both my boys' interests in music.  They love it.  Urban in he wildest, angriest moments, turns to music to calm himself down.  That makes me so happy.

The weird thing is, the more I sing closed up in the nursery late at night, the more I feel the pull to do it again – with and around people.  So, when I saw a sign looking for new members for a female, all ages show choir in the Caribou Coffee near our new house, I considered it.  I brought it up to Brett.  I mentioned it to Mom.  And then, in a fit of insanity, I set up an audition.

And, guess what...  I got in.  I'm equal parts nervous and excited to start rehearsals in August.  I want to meet cool new ladies.  I want to have an activity that is just mine.  I want to show my boys how much fun the arts can be.  And I want to sing.  (That would be the nerve inducing portion.)

So, Noteable Singers of Bloomington, I look forward to being a part of your tenured group.  Thank you for letting me sing again.  (Outside the nursery.)

The Meeples are coming!

This weekend I worked on the boys' room some more.  It’s really coming together nicely and is just about complete.  And I’m on to the fun parts now!  (I love the little details.)  

As I mentioned in an earlier post, the boys have a game themed-room.  Brett is a proud “Euro-Gamer”.  He has a staggering collection of board games and has started the boys on their own collection as well.  Urban absolutely loves board games, so it seemed like a natural fit.  

One of the key icons of the Euro-gaming community is the Meeple.  Which, for those of you not familiar with them, is a person-shaped game piece carved out of wood that is used in games like Carcassonne.  The other iconic piece that we chose to highlight was the six-sided die.  As a wife of a Class-A, Self-Proclaimed Gaming Geek, I assure you there is no shortage of dice (polyhedral and other wise) in our house.

So, naturally, we decided that we really wanted to use some of them as drawer pulls.  However, the meeple things are tiny!  The XL versions are only 19mm.  So, I had to put my thinking cap on.  After a few internet searches, I decided to visit my friendly, neighborhood Michael's to see what they might have to help me out. 

And I totally scored!!  I ended up getting a dozen people shapes and a bag of cubes (to make dice).  I also picked up a bag of small spools.  The plan was to glue the objects to the spools to create a nice shaft for the pull.  So, here is the process step by step.

I started out by laying out the spools on a board.  I used Elmer's Glue-All Max for wood, stone and metal which meant the my "porous" wooden surfaces needed to by moistened before applying the glue.  I used a damp rag to wet the adhering surfaces.

 Then I applied a generous amount of glue.  It's kinda weird because it stays very wet for quite a while.  You need to let it set up for 1-4 hours and it's kinda smelly, so I did this out on the porch after the boys went to bed.  You also are supposed to apply pressure throughout the drying process.  I don't have 20 little tiny clamps (maybe you do), but I just lined them up like little soldiers and put books 3, 4 and 5 of the Harry Potter series to an alternate use.  They've already been read by a handful of people...  it's time they start earning their keep.

After letting the pieces stand overnight, the glue was thoroughly set, and I sat down to paint.  This was a noble idea, but proved to be a little more difficult than expected, since unlike the night before now both Beringer and Urban were awake.  Urban was a bit easier to distract as I sat him down with a bunch of spare pieces and a paint brush.  Beringer, on the other hand entertained himself by removing all the screws from our folding chairs.  (They were destined for the dump anyway, but still...)

I chose three bright shades of orange, apple green and aqua from the Craft Smart line of acrylic paints at Michael's.  The paints went on nicely even over the unfinished wood.  I did two coats on each to make sure they were really bright.

I let the pieces dry, and then added white dots to the "dice" pulls.  While my dots dried, I ran to Home Depot to look for new screws.  Since I was using the pre-drilled spools for my shafts, I needed to get screws that we closer to 1/4" diameter.  The screw and bolt aisle of Home Depot is a little overwhelming for a non-carpenter like me, but I finally made it through with only a few odd looks as I strategically inserted screws of varying diameters into the back-end of a neon green little man.  I found a perfect fit and headed home.

Then the fun really began.  I think I was almost too exact with the fit on my screw because they were a little "tight".  I ended up busting off about half of the dice from their spools trying to affix them to the drawers.  So, once the spool was in place I was breaking out the Glue-All Max and my library of big books again to reattach them.

This is just one of them in place.  You'll have to wait to see the finished piece until I post the whole room.  ::grin::

Although there are things I would do differently a second time (larger cubes for the dice, for one.)  I would definitely do this project again.  It was fun!  And I like the custom feel they add to the room.  So, once the pictures are hung and I figure out the best way to showcase my vintage game boards, you will see the completed look.  Until then...

Panic Attacks

Every time I open a box I have this feeling a cold dread wash over me.  Where is it al going to fit?  How can I ask Mom to get rid of one more thing?  I stand and sweat and feel the bile rise in my throat.  Where did this box come from?  I swear I had unpacked all of out bedroom boxes!  Yet, I know that I still haven't found my yellow sweater.  How is this possible?  Will we ever be able to park cars in the garage???

I just wish I could follow my own advice that I bestow on my son pretty much every five minutes.  Relax.  Take a deep breath.  Go cool off and come back when you're ready.  BUt every time I think I should do that I look at the box and think, "If I spend the next 10 minutes cooling off, how will this box ever get unpacked?"  And I just motor forward.

So, I guess I will go ahead and panic and then later I'll take a deep breath and say, "At least that's over."

The Weekend: Doom-Hostas:The Final Punch in the Gut

Believe it or not Friday was productive and uneventful.  A nice reprieve, really. 

On Saturday morning I got up early with the boys and we, along with Mom, headed out to the Bloomington Farmers Market in the Art Center parking lot.  I was feeling a little off, so I didn’t eat breakfast.  We had a great time and gathered up lots of fresh veggies and fruit, meat and eggs.  Urban even talked me into kettle corn and pickles!  I did not eat any of it, however.

By the time we got home, I was not feeling well at all.  And, BAM!  #8 smacks me in the gut and splashes in the toilet.  The rancid #8 wasn’t done with me, though.  It hit Beringer the same day, followed by Urban and next Mom on the 4^th of July.  It finally made it to Brett on the 5th.  Lovely way to celebrate Independence Day.

Saturday afternoon while Beringer and I napped and Brett took Urban to the beach, Mom went to visit Dad at his assisted living facility in St. Paul.  When she came out to go home, her car wouldn’t start.  #9 was an energy drain, and the battery was dead.  She called all over town for assistance, and had to pay extra for a tow truck to come from Minneapolis to jump her car so she could get home.  The next morning, we were able to get her into the Firestone on Lyndale.  When they tested the battery it was at 1%.  It barely even registered on the tester.  This place was amazing, though.  The assistant manager was very friendly and helpful and explained everything thoroughly without condescension.

Brett and Urban had a great time at the beach.  They swam and built sandcastles.  They ate junk food.  Brett made a point of stopping on the way to get sunscreen and sprayed it on both of them generously.  Saturday night Brett asked me to check his back.  “I think I got a little burned.”

I looked.  “A little?”  Had there been any part that wasn’t red, I’m sure you would have seen the brand that read “#10 was here”.

“I don’t get it.  I had on SPF50!”  Urban was fine. He barely looked like he had gone outside.  It was crazy.  3 days of aloe later, Brett still looked like a well-cooked lobster.  So painful.  But at least it was only on his back.  He can still move boxes around just fine.  ::grin::

Bonus Hosta:  On Tuesday when we returned to work, Brett rode the bus all the way downtown only to find out the office was closed on Tuesday too.  HAPPY HOSTAS, EVERYONE!

Thursday - The Hostas Play Dirty

Mom left around noon on Thursday, after a morning of helping me organize the kitchen and dining area, to attend the closing of her townhouse about an hour and half away.  Brett and I continued to get things in order, but I was losing steam.  I had a tantrum hangover in a big way and was not feeling any motivation at all.  We still did not have any cable…there were NO cable outlets anywhere in the house, and the first appointment we could get with Comcast was on Sunday.  So, I tapped into my SprintTV to watch the results of The Voice.  Brett and I traded off huddling together over my phone to watch the performances and updating each other as one or the other of us unpacked more boxes.

We were scheduled to meet with the rental agents at the old house to do a final walkthrough at 3:30.  Starting at 2:30, I got a call about every half hour pushing the time back another 15 minutes.  Eventually, it got rescheduled to 6:00 that evening, so, since we had ordered new mattresses for the boys’ bunk beds, two more dining room chairs and an upgraded couch that were being delivered between 4 and 6, we decided Brett would have to pick up the boys and then go to the walkthrough with them in tow.  Good fun for him.

The furniture showed up at 4:30 just as Brett was leaving.  Nice way to fall within the window, Slumberland!  Very impressive!  So, I hung out and rearranged furniture until everyone got home. 

Mom got home first.  She looked very haggard and annoyed.

“So,” I ventured, “how did it go?”

“Aargh!”

“That well, huh?”

Turns out that when the buyer did his final walkthrough he decided that the carpet really was not up to the standard he felt was passable, and they discovered a bit of moisture in the basement.  With no estimates, they demanded a check for $4000 for carpet and wall repairs - on the spot - or they would walk.  Mom was furious, but her realtor convinced her to go ahead and write the check and get this over with so she can move on.  With gritted teeth Mom acquiesced.  That settled, they sat down to sign the paperwork about an hour and a half late, mind you, only to discover the buyers’ bank had not sent over any of the paperwork.  None.  Not a single sheet.  Seriously?  #6 comes knocking with pen in hand.

After a bunch of phone calls and more waiting, the paperwork arrived and Mom was able to leave with her profits to deposit in the bank and start the long trip back up to the cities.

As Mom was finishing up her story Brett got home with the boys.  He did not look happy either.  He had gotten to the house to meet the rental agent just as the guy was leaving the house.

“I hope you didn’t drive all the way out here for this.  I’m already done.”

“what?”

“Yeah, we’ll get the professional cleaners to come in some time in the next couple of days.  That’ll come out of your deposit.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, the place is filthy.  You’ll have to pay for professional cleaning and carpet cleaning out of your deposit.”

“We spent 6 hours here yesterday cleaning.”

“Mmm.  OK. Well it’s not clean.”

Brett went in and everything was covered in dust and grime.  Everything.  I’m sure it had nothing to do with the painters working outside.  Stupid, filthy #7.  What a waste of time and energy.


NOTE:  As of this posting we have been informed that we will be paying to replace all the basement carpet.  I'm so glad we're not renting anymore.  Are there hostas planted somewhere I haven't discovered yet??

Wednesday - We'll seal them in! A trail of tears...

Wednesday dawned as the day I had been dreading most.  It was the day we had slated to go back to the rental and clean.  Did I mention by 8:00 it was already 80˚ out?  Super nice.  I got there first – going straight there from daycare – opened up all the windows and got down to scrubbing the kitchen.  Mom and Brett pulled up about half an hour later in the U-Haul truck we had rented to pack up some remaining donation items including a Room and Board couch that, at the last minute, we decided would not fit in the house.

Brett slowly unloaded the unwanted items bit by bit and Mom got started on the bathroom.  After about 20 minutes or so, I heard Brett talking to someone outside.  I walked out and asked, “What’s up?  Who was that?”

“House painter.  He’s here to paint the house.”

“Really?”  (The previous week I had gotten a call from our landlord to let me know – a mere 20 minutes before they arrived – that painters would be coming to scrape the house.  P.S. This is a project that we were told would happen the summer after we moved in.  But, clearly, it did not.)  Now, as we were trying to organize, clean and move out, we had to contend with added mess and people.  Nice.  Super, super nice.

So, we continued with our cleaning ignoring, as best we could, the painters working outside.  Brett took off with the loaded truck for the nearest Goodwill, planning to return with an empty truck and the energy to help finish up the cleaning. 

Soon after he left, it started to get really, REALLY hot inside the house.  Then cigarette smoke began wafting delicately (hah) through the open kitchen door, soon followed by a gruff voice, “Hey!  When you guys think you’ll be done in here?  We gotta finish putting plastic on all the doors.”

I looked up and immediately began to cry.  In my cleaning trance I had failed to notice the reason I had gotten so drippy hot.  Every last window in the house had been covered with plastic.  DAMN YOU #4!!  You clearly hale straight from hell. 

Remember, we had not lived here for over 3 days at this point.  We were no longer paying for little luxuries like lights and A/C.   My mom came out into the kitchen and told the guy to talk to Brett when he gets back. And then… my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“hey.  it’s me.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, I’m at Goodwill.  They won’t take the couch.  They say it’s dirty.”

“hauargh….”

“Hello?”

 

At that point I totally lost it.  How were we supposed to finish this if it was 180˚ in the house?  And now we had to take the couch back with us to the new house which was already packed to the rafters in every room including the garage?! 

#5, is that you?  Yep, I thought so.  "Good will" my butt.

“HELLO?!  Alicia?  I’ll be back in a minute.”  Click.

Mom patted me on the shoulder.  “We’ll figure this out.  It’s going to be fine.”

I got up and began to pace the house - hyperventilating as I went.  Good times.

Brett got back.  They pulled me into the car to get out and get something to drink.  I laid into Brett in the Panera parking lot making a total spectacle of myself while having a lovely public tantrum.  So classy.  But, over lunch, we decided the only thing to do was to go home and come back after the painters had left.  They promised the plastic would be down that evening.

So, we went home and unpacked boxes, drove out to get the boys and dropped them off at home only to turn right back around and go back to St. Louis Park to clean.

We cleaned until after 10.  Between the morning and the evening, we spent 6 hours there.  We drove home in silence.  I took a long shower and fell into our new Tempur-Pedic bed.  Never before have I loved a piece of furniture more.

Tuesday - Hostas of Doom #2 and #3 - Welcome to the Hairball

Mom's stuff arrived in 1 1/2 semis.  Mmmm.  That was a fun realization.  Although she had worked hard to sort through things, it was hard to do it alone, which I totally get.  So, much of it just got dumped into boxes and labeled for moving. 

After my hour and 45 minute round trip to drop off the boys, the first of 3 trips that would be made to the gas station for the week and a much needed stop for coffee - I stood on the drive and read each label as the 4 college dudes from the moving company transferred Mom’s life from townhouse to truck to our garage.  Mom was in transit to the cities, so she wasn't there to weigh in.  Trying to figure out what was imperative for her day-to-day life and what could be taken directly to the garage without her there was quite a feat.  Furniture that we thought would fit in certain rooms wouldn't and ended up in the garage too.    

When we finally saw her white Caliber pull around the bend, the guys were pulling the last items from truck 2.  And whose head do we see poking up from the passengers' seat?  Her little white cat, Bianca, who was supposed to have gone to live with someone else back in Mankato.  Apparently, the housing fell through, as in the woman stopped returning Mom’s calls, and Mom couldn't bring herself to take her to a shelter.  I totally get it... I do.  And, Hello, #2, you come in a cute little package, but frustrating you are indeed.  

Now we had to find a place for Bianca.  She has, in the past, “marked her territory” in somewhat unpleasant ways, and with 3 other cats in the house, we just couldn't take the risk.  Brett and I loaded Bianca into a cat carrier and headed out to a shelter in Golden Valley (about 20 minutes from home) to drop her off before we picked up the boys in Roseville (another 20 minutes or so) to take them for haircuts in Uptown (about 15 minutes door to door) then straight home for dinner.  

Best laid plans, right?  The shelter was full.  Of course it was.  But!  We were in luck!  The Woodbury shelter had an opening, but we couldn’t get an appointment until 6:15 that evening.  It was 3:20.  Well, I guess Bianca was going to get a little more road tripping in.

We headed off to Roseville, Bianca’s carrier wedged between the two car seats in the back of our Scion xA.  A cozy little arrangement, to say the least.  

We made sure to park in the temperature controlled ramp under the Uptown Hair District while the boys got their haircuts by Auntie Alyson (Daddy too - Brett and I have been going to Alyson for about 8 years now.  She is the absolute best especially with naturally curly hair.  She is my hair soul mate.)  

Urban decided to keep his hair long, and Beringer just needed a trim, so we walked down the street and got ice cream at Jackson's Coffee and Gelato so Daddy could enjoy a little quiet salon pampering before our hour and fifteen minute rush hour drive from hell to Woodbury.  ::insert weak smile here::

BTW: if you get a chance to go to Jackson's the gelato is AMAZING and their kids' cones are only 60¢!  They are little tastes that are perfect for not feeling guilty for giving them ice cream before dinner.  Urban had the mango gelato and Bering had lemon sorbet.  Both were fantastic!

Newly coifed, we loaded all the boys back in the car with our napping fur-covered companion and headed East.  The highways were bumper to bumper, so we took to the city streets blazing a trail through Minneapolis and St. Paul before getting back on the highway to finally land where we needed to be.  The lady at the shelter let me know that we needed to have all paperwork filled out prior to our appointment, so Brett quizzed me on Bianca’s details as we wove through the Twin Cities.  I was impressed that he could still maintain pristine handwriting even over all the potholes.  

We also we warned that the appointment could take up to 45 minutes.  That sounds like super fun with two kids under 5 and a waiting area the size of my cubicle, so the boys dropped me off with the cat and headed off to Smash Burger for dinner.  Everyone loved their meals, and the staff at the Woodbury Smash Burger was amazing.  The assistant manager actually picked up a screaming Beringer and held him while Brett paid the bill and then carried him out to the patio so Daddy could carry the food.  Very cool people.

The shelter was very nice and explained the battery of tests that Bianca would have to complete before they could make a decision on whether or not they could keep her.  They would let me know in approximately 7days.

Note:  She passed with flying colors and will now live happily there until someone adopts her.  If you are interested in a sweet white cat with eyes two different colors and a hearing impairment click here.

When we got home we got the boys to bed and sat down at the dining room table to relate all of the drama to Mom, who had been home trying to find her toothpaste and create some semblance of order in her life, when Brett called from the kitchen, “Hey!  Why are the garbage bags wet?”

Oh, you mean the garbage bags under the sink?  Mmm… apparently that is because the seal around the coupling that joins the pipe to the drain on the kitchen sink has disintegrated to a crumbly cookie-looking substance and now all the liquids that we put down said drain just collect directly in the cabinet below.  “Should we can a plumber?”

Brett just looked at me. And without blinking shoved a giant Rubbermade container under the leak and shut the door.  Welcome home, #3.  Welcome home.