Two months

I can't do this.

Every time I come to write, it's because I can't do the happy anymore. Then, when I get a chance to write, I can't stop thinking about the people whose feelings are hurt because I miss Susan so much. As if that makes them less important to me. It's stifling me.

I can't do it. I can't not write about it. I can't carry it with me. I can't hold it in and keep acting like it's alright now.

Yesterday, we were at a birthday party and someone that I've met several times before but don't really know (yet) said, "I'm sorry about your friend." She knew the news because she read Susan's blog.

I was so happy to have Susan come up in a conversation. It felt amazing to run into someone who was thinking about her too.

I think that's why I still go to Twitter and do a search on @whymommy. I still stop by her blog and see if there are new comments. I still check the Whymommy Love Fest page on Facebook. It helps to know that people still think about her. Because I still think about her everyday. Time after time everyday.

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The house is almost finished. About a week after Susan's service, we started a major remodel on our house. Walls came out, and steel beams went in the ceiling. Floors came up, and new ones went down. There was so much painting. I thought the painter was going to just go all Murphy Brown on us.

The painter commented one day about how often Colin says, "Why?" Because, believe me, it is often. He then commented that I always seemed to have an answer for him. I don't, but I certainly try.

"Why, Mommy?"

That's where Susan got her handle. She loved loved loved that her children asked, "Why?" and she strove to always outlast them. She wanted them to be completely done with the chain of "Why" without her ever having to say, "Because I said so."

I try to live up to that. I fail. A lot. But I try.

**************************************************************
We have a new dog. Every time there is loss in my life, I tend to prowl around Petfinder, looking for the perfect pup to fill the hole in my heart. Yes, I know. It won't work. But dogs were just another thing that Susan and I had in common. We both love dogs and have been foster homes to English Setters and Beagles, and have adopted needy pups into our homes to become loving members of our families.

However, I really have been wanting a small dog, and the boys have too. They need to learn that not every dog is a 100 pound docile Labrador who will let them poke, push, ride, and sit on him. They need to learn to be gentle with animals, and Christopher really wants a dog that will sleep with him.

I found a tri-colored Dachshund through a rescue group in Wake Forest called A New Leash on Life (who were fabulous, by the way). After a couple of weeks, Kevin finally agreed to let me submit an application to adopt him. The only problem was that he turned out to not be good with small children, only older ones. So, they suggested Macy.

"She's a wonderful dog. A Chihuahua mix."

Um, no thank you. No Chihuahuas for me, please. But, I knew not to just turn her down flat, so I went to the website to check out Macy.

It's like my Chelsea come back in Dachshund form. I don't think there's a lick of Chihuahua in her - I think she is American Eskimo and Dachshund. It doesn't matter though. Just check out these babies.

First is Chelsea:

And here is little Macy Moo:

Not identical, but enough alike that it's really eerie.

She's fitting in very nicely. She and Gibby like to chase the squirrels together. She likes to sleep in the bed, but with me and Kevin and not Christopher (yet). She is a big cuddle pup, and it's doing wonders for my heart right now.

Between all the blogging, life still goes on

I love how Colin is giving turn signals in the cart.


While blogging my way through the 30 Days of Truth, I find myself having little time left to write about my actual life. My love life. My life loves.

Colin has teeth. Lots of teeth. He likes to bite me and laugh when I wince. It's not one of his more endearing qualities, except that when he laughs, the sky opens up and jellybeans fall down while choirs of bunnies sing scat songs. In other words, his laugh is awesome. Wicked funny, and a little bit weird. Kind of throaty. Heh heh like.

He's moving. Crawling. Trying his best to pull up, but the girth on that boy has him firmly rooted to the ground. I can't say that I'm all that sorry about that. He's already making straight shots to whatever he shouldn't have. Electrical cords. Dog bowls. Trash cans. Toilet brushes. Shoes. And all of it, everything he touches, goes right into the mouth. Nasty.

That boy loves his family. For a little bit, it was just, "that boy loves his mama." Now? He claps when Kevin walks in the door. He crawls around after Christopher like a little puppy. And Mallory is the only other person beside Mama and Daddy that Colin ever reaches out for. He started this special head bobbing thing just for her at the dinner table. She smiles at him, and then he cocks his head over to the side and "heh heh's" at her while looking so stinking adorable that you want to sell him on Etsy.

Christopher is about to grow again. Rather, is growing already. His pants are getting shorter and I'm letting the adjustable waists out weekly. He finally out grew his sneakers. We bought new ones three months ago because I was sure he was about to out grow his, but he didn't. He just plateaued right where he was for awhile. Now it's game on. Boyfriend is going to sprout, I'm afraid. Just please don't out grow your winter clothes, Bird. I can't afford to buy you new ones, and I like the ones you have already.

The main battle with Christopher right now is the dinner table. He just won't eat what I cook for dinner. I feel like I've tried everything, and what I really want to settle into is that it's not a battle. Just let go, Mama. But some nights I get so frustrated that he isn't going to eat anything again, and I know he will wake up in the morning and eat a huge breakfast, and I lose it. I mean what kid doesn't like sweet potatoes? He used to love them. He used to love lots of things. Which makes me think that it's not about taste at all. That it's either about power or it's about texture. I'm leaning more towards power. Whatever it is, I know it's a phase. Deep breath, and this too will pass.

The big news is that we got a new fence across the front of the backyard today. It's not pretty, but at least the dogs won't get out now. I swear that Setter wants a new family something awful. Our leather sofa just isn't good enough for her anymore. I can't say that I blame her really. I shave her myself now instead of letting her show coat grow out and get groomed. It is so beneath her.

There is more. A baptism has finally happened. My parents have been here. My brother even. But that is a post for another day. I'm still savoring the visit for myself.

How to move a grand piano

Okay, so I'm not really going to teach you how to move a grand piano yourselves. Because you shouldn't. Just don't even try. Call Larry Takas. I'll be happy to connect you with him. But, because everyone who comes in our house asks, "How did you get that piano in here?", we documented the move to the even more impressive location of UPSTAIRS.

This is my first baby. My 6'4" Mason & Hamlin AA grand piano from Ruggero Piano (the only place I would EVER buy a piano. Even if I lived on the West Coast.). It is not a piece of furniture; it is my livelihood. It is a workhorse. I love it so very much.

This morning, Larry and his crew came to move the piano from the family room up to the new studio space. Keep in mind that this piano, because of the unique Mason & Hamlin frame, weighs 900 pounds. That's more than a 9' Steinway (and sounds better too - heh). It's massive.

Here's how it's done.

Remove the pedal stock and one of the legs.

Use this cool magic leg piano rocker to roll the piano onto its side. You can see the device between the guy in orange and the GIANT man in black. Having this device is useful so that the leg of the piano doesn't snap when you turn the body on its side. Having a GIANT man in black is also useful.

Get GIANT man in black to lift 900 pound piano so the dolly can go underneath it.

Secure piano to dolly so that it doesn't fall off and squish anyone's toes.

Wheel piano through the downstairs, including my semi-painted dining room. Avoid chandelier.

Use several men to pull the piano up the stairs using lots of straps and their brute strength.

Leave GIANT man in black below the piano for obvious reasons.

If reasons aren't obvious, let's just say the GIANT man in black pushed the piano up the stairs with his right shoulder, all while eating a donut with his left hand and a slice of pizza with his right hand.

Slide piano carefully onto blankets at the top of the steps so as not to scratch the gorgeous new floors installed yesterday. Notice how they are casually letting the GIANT man in black just keep shouldering the piano while they do this.

Move the piano into the sunlight flooded happy corner of the studio where I will bask.

Better pictures of the rolling leg device. (And yes, I realize these are now centered. Stupid Blogger. I'm not re-doing it because Heaven knows when my sleeping babies will wake up. I only have so much time here.)

Rolling the piano back up onto it's two attached legs. Looks like they are giving the GIANT man in black a break. Oh wait, I forgot. He's back downstairs bringing up a rack of Kevin's gear. BY HIMSELF.

Unwrapping my baby, who made it through the house and up the steps unscathed and intact.

And of course, all that is left to do after that, is dance to some Gershwin Preludes.

Thank you, my shamoop. Thank you for this new space and again for this phenomenal instrument. I love it, and I love you.

The singing wachine machine

I'm sitting on a pile of laundry. Granted, it's clean, but I'm sitting on it. It's just that as soon as I open a page to compose a post, I remember that I have clothes to fold, diapers to assemble, dogs to feed, dishes to wash, or a baby starts to cry.

So, I'm sitting on the laundry. Quite literally.

Sometimes I still get extremely overwhelmed. I can't seem to help it. The house still isn't finished, the washing machine broke, the Jeep needs new tires, the front tire of my stroller burst, and the xBox broke. Every time we turn around, something else needs about $850 thrown at it. It's ridiculous.

The weekend found me stewing about our new washer and dryer. I mean, how stupid is that? My husband buys a fantastic new washer and dryer set, and I'm pissed off about it. Sometimes I'm a moron.

The washer is sick. It will wash 31 bath towels at once. Not that I own 31 bath towels or that I plan to, but whatever. It's very proud of the work it does. When it's done with a load, it plays a tune. A full out song - not a bell tone, but a virtual symphony. "AHHHH! Your clothes are CLEAN!!!" It's the most noise the thing makes ever.

But it doesn't fit in the existing laundry room. They are too deep, and the only solution was to move them out into the new part of the house. Into my office/sewing/crafting room. The room that I had all laid out with my sewing machine, serger, ironing board, storage, filing, and art supplies for the boys. It was going to be our create-space.

And now I'll have to do chores in it.

Oh my stars. I am SUCH a whiner. But I was sad. Granted, I'm over it, but I was sad.

Until tonight, when I happened to discover the musical talents of our new washer. Just when I was cursing having to find shoes to go out to the unfinished floor full of sawdust, wire cuttings, and random nails, that stupid washer began to sing a little song; telling me my clothes were CLEAN! LA LA LA!

And I had to smile. I keep saying, and it's true, "It's all going to be lovely."

Drano

I've lost it. I've lost my blogging mojo. There's too much Facebook. Too much just sitting and absorbing and not enough interacting. I'm thinking that regardless of the Zoloft, there is still an underlying problem. I'm thinking that the Zoloft helps me deal with day to day life and keep it together, but that there is still a sadness there that I'm not dealing with. And that it's drawing me inward.

Or, I'm just lazy and don't want to write lately.

Either way, I'm here now. And grumpy. Aren't you glad you stopped by? Seriously though. The construction on our house is still going on, and for whatever reason, people seem to suck.

If you underbid on a construction project, take four times longer than you quote, act like an asshole while I'm in LABOR, and then still don't finish the job? Most people won't pay you. Not my husband. He goes ahead and chalks it up as a loss and pays you what was promised because he feels sorry for you and also wants you gone. Then you bitch about how much time you spent on the job and how little money an hour that works out to, and you threaten to kill him and do some other ridiculously stupid things that we won't talk about here. Yet. Because we're not finished with them.

Seriously. The guy is four times slower and doesn't finish and we're supposed to pay him more? Right.

Then, today, D the drunken painter, who I have previously thought was awesome, proceeded to piss me off beyond belief. He asks for a third of his pay, which I happily provide him in the form of a check. Mind you, I had asked him yesterday if a check was still alright with him. He's worked for us twice before, and I've always written checks. So I give him a check and the bitching begins.

Our USAA account apparently is a problem for him. Translation, he doesn't have a bank account and needed to go to our bank (which doesn't have physical branch) in order to cash the check. I cannot tell you how much of my problem this is NOT.

Without the gory details, he was not pleased with the mere $300 the ATM would give me at one time and proceeded to bitch to me about us not having a local bank account. So I pointed out that he must not even have ANY bank account, and that pissed him off.

Seriously. I'm supposed to drive around town going to ATM's, collecting cash for Mr. Pisspants the drunken painter because he's not responsible enough to keep a checking account of his own?

What the hell is wrong with people? Are we not in a recession? Why is it we can't find decent, honest, sane, and hard working people to work for us when so many people are out of work?

Yeah. Maybe this is why my mojo seems to be gone. The whole house thing is not going well, and I haven't wanted to write about it in a public way. Because there is some seriously bad stuff that's gone down. Like changing locks and watching my rearview mirror bad. But you know what? I'm tired of hiding out and not talking. I'm tired of being scared. I'm sick of it all. I want my house done. I want my life back. I want my husband to quit having all of this work hanging over his head.

I'M SO DONE.

One thing I've learned from experience in blogging and having crazy people read it. How to get a restraining order. Kidding. No, actually, I'm not.

So I'll be back to talking about whatever the hell I want to talk about and fuck the crazies. They will do whatever they want to anyway, so I'm done tiptoeing around them.

And yes, I'm aware that not much of this made any sense, but it felt good, and I'm hoping that it's going to unclog whatever has been keeping me from writing.

Starting

Kevin has declared 2009 the year in which nothing was finished. My new shiny outlook gets to declare 2009 the year in which many things began.

Either way, we still have major construction going on at our house.

It's going to be lovely when it's done.

That's my mantra. I say it three times as I breath slowly and stare out the back into the mud and mess. Really, it's not that bad. It is going to be lovely, and Rob, our contractor, is an amazing miracle worker. Truly.

2010 will be the year for finishing a lot of thing though. The house will get finished. Our family will be complete. Kevin will finish up a lot of lingering projects at work. He's really looking forward to it.

I'm okay with not being finished though. I'm kind of looking forward to starting a bunch more new things in 2010. Here are a few that come to mind:

1. Becoming a mama of two boys.
2. Learning to live without the extreme highs and lows I've had.
3. Tandem nursing.
4. Writing and recording again finally.
5. Getting back in shape.

Lovely will be starting high school. Little Bird will be starting multiple days of preschool. And my littlest boy will be starting life.

So here's to never completely finishing and finding plenty of new things to start in 2010.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Labor Day

Of course, Labor Day is for laboring.

That's my husband. With power tools.

That's a giant hole in my dining room. To the outside.

Life with Kevin is never, ever boring.

Excavating by Bird

There has been a bit of construction going on in our backyard. Our good friend Tom owns his own tractor like thing, and he loves to move dirt with it.

We have lots of dirt to move, so that works out well for all of us.

I don't know many 19 month olds in suburbia American who get to ride a tractor around their backyard. Uncle Tom is the coolest.

And yes, I'm enormous. I'm well aware of this, but really don't plan on curing it until late January, 2010. So, I might as well enjoy it while I can. Even if the pictures are frightening.

Not permitted

We have permits now for the work about to be done on our house. It took two trips to the office; one to get the paperwork and another to return it. The first trip that Little Bird and I took to the office took a long time because the permits lady was being incredibly helpful. And I don't say that sarcastically. She really was helpful.

The whole time she was meticulously gathering every scrap of paperwork I needed to obtain a permit from the city to even pee in my own yard, I was chasing Bird around the empty waiting room. He was intently interested in the goldfish and the telephone. He refused to be held, and I didn't have the stroller. He also enjoyed the water bottle they had on the floor by the front window - I guess to water their plants.

I kept retrieving him and trying to give him something else to be interested in, but he just kept going back to that damn phone. After every apology I issued to the lady helping me, she would say, "That's alright. He's not hurting anything." Still, I kept him under a tight thumb, because it was a place of business.

Today, I returned with moola and all the paperwork filled in. I also had my Babyhawk in tow. Before we went in the office, I strapped Bird onto my back and handed him his most favorite toy as of Sunday, the wand for the bubbles. He was so much easier to contain while strapped onto my back in his baby straightjacket.

It took forever because of the new lady at the office and because they stop to do whatever else in the middle of what they were already doing. Which is inefficient and annoying. It bugs me when I'm standing right there and yet three phone calls that came in after me get their attention away from what they were doing for me. That's what the hold button is for, people.

After everything was finally completed and we were about to leave, the woman who helped us on the first visit begins to tell me how much cuter my child was today. I honestly thought maybe his hair was brushed or she liked his shirt better or something. I wasn't sure, but then she said,

"Yes Sir, you are much cuter today than you were when you were tearing up my waiting room. I'm glad I don't have to spend all that time cleaning up after you today."

Um, WHAT? Did you seriously just say that to me and my baby? First of all, he didn't tear anything up in the waiting room. I wouldn't allow that. Second of all, I moved the telephone and the water bottle so that he couldn't reach them anymore, and I put them back just like I found them before we left. I even took a once around the room before leaving to make sure that everything was in it's place.

I replied to her, "I'm sure that I put everything back before we left, but I'm sorry that he bothered you."

Then she just said how much cuter he was again.

I guess I really am too sensitive, but she pissed me off. He's a baby for crying out loud. Babies get into things. He's curious and loves to explore. He was just being a baby. And I was just being a mama - balancing letting him be a baby with making sure that we were respectful to their workplace.

There is only one thing I know for sure, and it is that THAT woman? Doesn't have children. And I just deleted the nasty reason why I could have written. I'll keep that to myself.

On the market

Our house is officially on the market. When I saw the listing online last night I cried. I love our house. We have put so much time and work into it, planning to stay here for awhile.

That plan was derailed.

A new job for Kevin in a different city. It's just too far to drive, and as much as I love where we are, it certainly isn't fair for me to push to stay here when I'm not the one commuting. I know that moving out of Raleigh will also enable us to have something newer, larger, and nicer. I know these things.

But seeing our house out there, on the market, made me sad.

I followed the photographer around today, wondering what she saw through her lens. Did she see a house that was updated and ready to sell? Did she see the home we have created?

Did she see how we removed our disco ball and put it in storage for the time being so that people wouldn't get their chuckles from the pictures on our listing?

Some people won't like our artwork. It's modern. It's local. It's funky.

Some people won't like our paint colors. The family room actually has the word peach in the name. Yes, I know. The eighties live on in our family room and we like it.

Some people won't like our backyard. Because it is seriously neglected.

Some people won't like Lovely's bathroom. Unless Pepto Bismol is their favorite color. I should never be allowed to pick paint colors. Ever.

What I hope they see when they look at our house is a kitchen that is large and inviting. I hope they stand in it and can imagine how well a family fits there. How there is room for 2 or 3 people to be helping at the same time. How it is designed to cook and bake and to serve a family.

I hope they see a master bath that has been brought into this century. When they look at it, I wish they could see through the walls and the floor to know how much work Papa and Kevin put into transforming it.

I hope they can stand in the nursery and know how much love went into every board we laid. If they knew that, then they should also know that I was seven months pregnant while laying that floor. I wish they knew that it was a nursery that carried me through the loss of one baby and into the gift of another. That I sat in that Lemon Chiffon room and prayed and prayed for it to be needed for our child one day.

Beyond all of the things that other people will think are weird in our home, I hope that they see a family who has been happy here. Rooms for children. Rooms to make music. Rooms to cook together and eat together.

I hope they can tell there is a lot of love here.

And I hope, seriously hope, that it doesn't smell like dogs. Ha. Hahahahaha. Ha.

Home Sweet Lord Almighty What Happened to Our Home?

Our neighborhood has gone wonky.

As I returned home from my daily venture to Target to pick up the one thing I forgot to get the day before, I noticed that the house on the right with the window treatments that come in full, queen, and king sizes, had planted flowers by their mailbox. Lovely red flowers. Lovely red carnation flowers. Lovely red carnation plastic flowers in perfect groups of five to a plastic green stem.

Right across the street from that house is a rental house. Vacant and neglected, the front door was littered with yellow notices from the City of Raleigh. Mow your lawn or we'll do it for you and charge you out the nose.

It seems that more and more houses in our neighborhood are becoming rental property. The only problem with that is the renters. We aren't getting families, we are getting groups of single people. Young, loud single people who have lots of cars and like to park them on the street and in their lawns.

Last night, I was having a hard time getting Bird to go to sleep. Three times, I got him to sleep only to have him awoken by the renters across the street and two doors down. The boys in the rental ranch with the satellite dish in the front yard were installing sub woofers in the trunk of their Pontiac Sunfire convertible. They were doing a great job. The boom boom boom could be heard throughout the whole street.

I came storming downstairs after the third time they woke up Bird, hunting for the phone number to our police precinct. Instead of helping me find the number, Guy went across the street, explained to them that we were trying to put our baby to sleep, and asked them to keep it down. It worked. Until tonight. Now they are shooting off fireworks.

George lives next door to these lovely folks. Not for long though. He and his wife didn't call the cops or go over and ask them to keep it down. They put a For Sale sign in their front yard to combat the satellite dish. They've given up and are moving out of the neighborhood.

It's so bizarre. We are in a great location. George's house sold in less than 24 hours for his asking price. We live in "Midtown," and it is some of the hottest property going in Raleigh right now.

Yet our house is the one next door to three nonfunctioning cars. It is on the street of rental hell. It is right around the corner from the plastic flowerbed and the lawn that had small colonies of gnomes residing in it before it was finally mowed last week.

Not to mention the insane drive that Guy has to make everyday to work.

I love our house. I love its location. We have put countless hours into renovating this house ourselves. I don't want to move.

Or, I didn't want to move.

I swear Guy is staging this. Has to be.

Because in our little neighborhood, our established Midtown neighborhood, while we were planting hostas in our front yard in the evening, a 40-50 year old woman was walking down the street smoking a freaking joint.

As the sick sweet smell of pot wafted into our yard, I turned and looked at Guy and just shook my head. He knew he had won. By the luck of some random scank and her strolling high, he had won.

We'll be moving west on 40. Wish us luck.

So incredibly boring to everyone but me

I lamented passing on my little house to a new owner. My house. My first house that I loved so very much even though it looked much like a booger someone else would just wipe on their jeans.

Once it was sold, it was a relief to not have 2 mortgages, to say the least. Knowing that we sold it to a developer that would soon want to tear it down and build a McMansion wasn't a relief, but it was reality. Bringing us back to the booger reference.

Today, the reassessed property taxes were announced. Guy and I just looked up the new taxes for our house and what used to be my house. Once again, I was so proud of my little booger house. And so glad that I don't have to pay the new taxes.

The land alone is now valued at just less than what I paid for the house. The taxes will be doubling. We will not be paying them. Yay. We sold at just the right time too, because city council is poised to put the kabash on McMansions going up after teardowns. Leaving the new owner of my little booger in a precarious situation if he doesn't build soon.

Our house? Went up a mere $6,000. Hee hee. We find ourselves on the right side of a climbing neighborhood whose value has not yet caught up in the grand scheme of things. I'm pleased as punch.

Bonus. This house doesn't look like a booger. Anymore.

Grown ups moved in

Our bedroom now has furniture. We looked for over a year for something that we both liked that didn't cost 80 million dollars, and of course we ended up back at one of the first places we looked.

It isn't fancy, but it is handmade. It wasn't expensive, but it does look nice. Very simple and plain. Very functional. We love it. I won't be sad to see my Rubbermaid dressers go.

And, it is one more thing in my house that looks like what my mother has. It's getting a little creepy really. Every time I have a hand in picking out something, it ends up looking a lot like my mother's things. Thank goodness she has good taste.

The only thing I don't like about it is that the bed is incredibly tall. As I type this, perched like some sort of princess perched up high, Pupstar is whining by the side of the bed. She cannot in any way, shape, or form, begin to jump on this bed.

I'm thinking we might have to invest in some doggie steps. As seen on TV.

Haiku Friday, counting it down

30 weeks today
Lights a fire under our butts
Getting floors done now.

Bamboo all downstairs
Except for tile in foyer
I want baseboards back.

Family from before
Had peeing Border Collie
Nasty carpet pads.

Crib still in the box
Guitars in every corner
Bird will need a room.

10 more weeks to go
Waiting 'til the last minute
Maybe not so smart.


More haiku, less stress here.

Genius on call. Your questions answered.

Guy needs help with the house. He works his tail off during the week, and then renovates on the weekends. Sometimes the evenings too. It's all too much. Between his perfection personality and the need we both feel to pinch pennies though, we just keep trudging along doing what we can when we can.

Last Friday, he was feeling tired, and I snuck in the question of, "Would you like for me to call Benny the painter and see how much it would be for him to do the living and dining room?" In a moment of exhaustion, Guy said yes. Call the painter.

I was thrilled.

It was perfect timing. Turns out he had a cancellation for yesterday and today, so he squoze us in and got the entire rest of the downstairs and stairwell painted. It's lovely.

Today, he was touching up the kitchen while I was getting dinner ready and baking cookies. We were chatting about the fact that Guy is the one who picks out the colors in the house, and how unusual that is. It is apparently a female gene that typically selects paint colors. I'm missing that gene.

Benny says that he isn't surprised that Guy picks the colors because he is a genius. I asked him to repeat that. He said that Guy was a genius.

Now. I know this to be true. But I'm wondering how on earth Benny the painter agrees with me. And if it is possible that there is a little man crush going on here.

Benny says that a few months ago, when he was painting the outside of the house, that Guy told him he was a genius at the pharmaceutical company he used to work for.

A genius. I couldn't help but start laughing at this point. I asked him if he thought maybe Guy had said a geneticist or that he was in genetics. Benny said, "Well I don't know what that means. I think he said genius, but it could have been one of those other words."

Then he goes on to tell me that he had thought up some pretty tough questions to ask Guy seeing as how he was a genius and all. Because it's not everyday that you get the opportunity to ask a genius some questions.

"He didn't know all the answers, but he was honest about it. I wondered though how he could be a genius and not know. Turns out he's not."

I hated to disappoint him. I told him that Guy was in fact quite brilliant, but maybe not a genius. That genetics was something entirely different.

Benny is a fantastic painter, and a super nice guy. We will use him and recommend him as much as possible.

And we will try to make it up to him that Guy was not the genius that he claimed to be. Sorry about that, Benny.

Light at the end of the tunnel

I was beginning to wonder if there would ever be a kitchen again. When we made our trek up to Ikea and subsequently ripped out our old kitchen, we didn't know that Guy would finally be given a start date for work the following week.

It has been a long summer. With no trips to the farmer's market.

This past week though, we put in the floor. Then Saturday, the cabinets started taking shape. And yesterday, shelves and doors began appearing.

And Ikea stuff is as easy to put together as they claim it is.

Since I'm on a quest to have my blog load faster, I'm putting the pictures in a flickr set that you can view here.

And if you have a moment, can you leave a comment and let me know if the blog is loading fast or slow in your opinion, and if there is any difference today that you notice? Many thanks.

I am useless today

Things in the home renovation department are moving right along. The master bathroom is almost complete (crown molding and fans), the downstairs bathroom is complete, and Lovely's bathroom is almost complete (window treatments). The painters are coming Monday to start painting the outside of the house. The carpet has been chosen and will be ordered in a couple of weeks. The downstairs flooring has been chosen. We are making lots of progress.

This past Monday, we drove to the Ikea closest to us (about 3.5 hours away) and purchased everything we needed to renovate our kitchen and the music studio. For anyone who has ever left a comment about what a good friend I am, take a listen to this. Boo and Pilot drove us up there with their 6 ton trailer (for Pilot's hot air balloons), helped us shop, helped us load 9 flat bed carts of junk into the trailer, drove us back, and helped us unload what will be the entire contents (sans piano, thank goodness) of two huge rooms in our house. Just because they are our friends. Amazing. It was an exhausting trip, but we ended up saving so much money doing it that way than ordering cabinets in our hometown. It was worth it.

Today, my studio is being renovated. The nasty paneling is in the process of being replaced by nice drywall. The nasty carpet (where Pupstar has taken to peeing when I don't give her enough of her meds) is being pulled up and replaced with nice bamboo flooring. We purchased a half dozen bookcases, a new desk, a new pc, and a cart to hold my everyday teaching supplies. I'm really excited about it, but I'm basically useless at this point.

What I have done is move my kitchen into my dining room. Hooray. Here is the mess I've created:

Do you think I have enough Stash tea?

Here's a shot of all the liquor and wine I'm currently not drinking:

Here is the partially gutted kitchen that I hate worse than poison ivy:

Here is the most embarrassing picture I've ever posted on the web. It is a shot of the kitchen from the long end. The green drywall on the right side of the picture is where the furnace and the hot water heater used to be - in a closet, in the kitchen. The exposed beams are not for design purposes. We had to rip out the ceiling in order to redo the upstairs plumbing. How's that for a disaster area?

And here is a basket of kitchen utensils. I have a problem with kitchen utensils and my love for them. In this basket there are no less than 6 gadgets to peel shrimp (which I still make Guy do anyway), 5 gadgets with which to open wine and an equal number of gadgets to store opened wine (hahahahahaha), 4 meat thermometers, 3 different gadgets to help me baste things, 2 sets of salad thongs, and 1 unused garlic press (because I enjoy smashing garlic with the side of a giant knife).


Since the guilt is too much to just turn on the xbox and play Viva Pinata while the men all work around the house, I'm sitting in front of the computer. I did order some pizza. Online. Man I feel lazy.

Y2K Larry

We bought a shell of a house. It had new paint.

Were you expecting more? A list of other great new things about the house? So sorry to disappoint. We truly think that the last family sold the house because they didn't want to fix anything. Except with duct tape.

Any repair or "home improvement" that we have found (excluding those with done with duct tape) was done by the owner previous to the previous owner.

It turns out that one of my students knows this previous squared owner. His mom mentioned to me that they were a quirky family.

"Do you know why the fence closest to the street is so much taller than the rest of the fence in the backyard?" she says.

"Nooooo. . ." I say.

She smiles just enough to let me know that she isn't allowed to make fun of him, but wait for it: "Y2K."

"What?" I ask.

"Larry was very prepared for Y2K, and he didn't want the neighbors to see his stash." she says.

Oh. my.

Thank god we now have an explanation for it all.

Why are there three sheds out back? Y2K Larry.

Why are the electrical outlets in the upstairs bathroom tied to the same line as the washing machine downstairs? Y2K Larry.

Why are the tub spouts a full 3 inches higher than that drains allow, causing them to leak, causing us to have to replace them and the tiles surrounding the spouts? Y2K Larry.

Why is the floor in the kitchen an extra inch taller than all other floors? Y2K Larry.

Why is there a steampipe fitting in the half bath for a little tiny sink? Y2K Larry.

Why, in the attic filled with blown insulation making it look like the battlefield of some savage stuffed animal war, are there live wires buried in the carnage? Live wires that could have killed my Guy, but managed to only make him smell of burnt hair for a day? Why? Y2K Larry.

"Don't worry about that live wire, honey, the RAPTURE is coming!!!" Y2K Larry.


WHY OH WHY2K Larry. Indeed.

Progress

I have been waiting and waiting to sit down and write this post. Opening it like that probably makes you think that there are exciting things to come.

Sorry.

Same old boring me here. But with photos.

Guy and I have been busting tail on the master bathroom. HooRah.



These 2 pictures are of the bathroom how it was. Yes, one of them is a picture of a closet. That closet no longer exists and is part of the new bathroom.

Notice how large and spacious the bathroom on the right is. If this was still 1968.



This is moi. With power tools. Be afraid. Be very afraid. Although, don't tell that to Pupstar. She laid right by my feet the whole time. I even had to move one of her paws to add a screw to the backerboard below, and she didn't flinch. Weird dog.

This is in the front corner of what used to be the closet. I'm squatting in front of what used to be the door of the closet.


On the right is the old bathroom. The old tub is staying for now, although we installed a separate shower. We ran out of money though, so no garden tub for me. The cabinet is an antique thingy with awesome storage. It stinks a little bit, but the authentic crackle paint job is pretty neato. Stink can be fixed.


And on the left it the new shower and the migrating toliet. Right now, the toliet is at the foot of our bed. Where it stops, nobody knows. The green is thankfully not the paint color, but the moisture resistent drywall. What will they think of next? On of our next door neighbors does drywall for a living, so he has been helping out at a very neighborly rate.

Lucky for us, this is not the same neighbor who had the Christmas party. That neighbor proceeded to get smashed and tell us as we left, "If you need anything, just yell out the front door. I'm usually watching you." Creeeeeeepy.


And to the right, my sweet Guy, painting his heart out. He picked the colors, and at first I wasn't sure about them. They are growing on me though. I have a complete inability to picture a room in its finished state. Choosing colors and tiles and fixtures is my worst nightmare. So I just let him do it. I picked the antique cabinet and we went from there.

Here is Lovely helping out. Notice the placement of the toliet. We decided not to leave it there.

Here is Pupstar's pawprint. She was obviously not helping out at that point.

And here is all you get for tonight. The tile and unfinished shower shot. Today we grouted and moved in the sinks and such, but I'm not posting anymore pictures until it is done. I did want to show some proof though that I didn't just drop off the face of the earth for no good reason.


I so laid that tile myself. Guy cuts. I lay. BooYah.

Snarky snark snark

I've been snarky all weekend.

We went to the mountains for a gig in the Dude's hometown. It was nice. The venue was nice. The soundpeople (yes, it was a coed sound crew!) were nice. The dinner afterwards was really nice. The only thing that wasn't nice was me.

I wasn't necessarily mean, I was just snarky.

The sound guy had the monitor popping in my ear repeatedly. So I snarked.

snark: v. To snap at someone for something that is possibly justifiable but then immediately make a joke out of the snapping thereby avoiding actual bitchiness by a mere eighth of an inch.

The gigs are about to slow down, so I should enjoy them while I can. And I do. I was just tired I think.

The construction in the house is starting to get to me. It is pointless to clean because as I clean, the boys are right behind me covering things in sawdust and sheetrock dust. If I try to cook, I have to clean every counter space right before I use it and shield anything on the stove from the dust that occasionally falls down from the holes in the floors upstairs. Because there is no ceiling. So last week, I start working on the half-bath because I can't really help them with their project. It is a cosmetic job mostly, but still Guy gets irritated with me for "creating more work."

What else am I going to do? Sit around all day and blog?

You might be seeing a lot of me, people.