The ruckus was terrible. Stomping feet up the stairs, the sound of the high pressure shower setting splashing water everywhere, the unmistakable whine of a resisting toddler.
What on earth is going on?
After some intervention, my best soothing voice and a little triage—it was poop.
“Honey, poop is not an emergency”.
”It is when it happens during qualifying!!”
Point taken.
We’re on hour two of Easter basket amusement. Who says kids don’t like post it notes and twist ties? Also, Paulie is barfing downstairs. In the bathroom that has plastic garbage bags taped up on the walls where we ripped out the shower tile. {Sips coffee}
We are moved back in to the house, the temporary apartment has been emptied and cleaned. I still have boxes and boxes to go through in the basement, as well as furniture to move upstairs and art to rehang. Paulie is chipping away at painting ceilings, touching up walls, reinstalling blinds and installing light fixtures. But overall, it’s done. The kitchen, done. The mud room, done. The back family room, done. The floors, done. The Book Shower, done.
When I captured this moment, I thought, “Worth every penny”. And then I noticed it was Captain Underpants, and I thought, well, can’t win em all.
In an effort to make a temporary, rather bleak one bedroom apartment more tolerable for the family, especially over the holiday, I’ve been thinking we will have some fun and try to make it a little adventure.
Mama: ”Honey, let’s make the little apartment fun, we can decorate it anyway we want. How about a theme from one of your books?”
Viv: “Can it be Oliver Twist?
I have a sheet of stickers. Charlie comes over, asks for a sticker, gets a sticker and waddles in to the next room. In that room, he folds the sticker. A minute later, he is back, waving his hand around with the half folded sticker stuck to it and proclaiming that the sticker is broken. He asks for another sticker; I oblige.
We have passed an hour this way. And it is just about the right speed of activity and responsibility I can handle right now. The house construction starts on Tuesday. I am not ready. My brain is broken. Can I have another?
Viv: “Are you going to do my scary face?”
Mama: “Yes, I’ll do it.”
“Are you sure you can?”
“Yes, I’m pretty sure I can make you look like Frankenstein.”
“Hmm, well, I recommend watching some youtube videos first.”
I’ve literally created a monster.
Tonight is Charliepant’s first night in his big kid bed. While I was doing laundry or Facebooking or reading or something, Paulie made him his very own cardboard version of Bert & Ernie’s headboards.
Because, as Charlie says: ERNIEBERT! ERNIEBERT! ERNIEBERT!
(Also, as I write this, Viv is sitting next to his new bed reading him a night night story because she “likes spending time with him”).
It’s been an exhausting few weeks.
My community is in an uproar over the highschool production of To Kill A Mockingbird, which exposed the school’s ugly power dynamic, ineffective school board governance, and of course, very loud obnoxious white lady style racism.
We spent a week vacationing with family up north, with all the emotional weight, good and bad, that entails. Note: vacationing with a six year old and a two year old is not vacationing; it’s a trip away, yes, but not a vacation.The school district’s survey to gain support for a $55m to $120m referendum came out (I’m part of a small group trying to get the financial facts and consequences out to the public). I somehow got myself on the Beautification committee of the PTO. There are fliers to hand out, doors to knock on and troops to rally. And parent teacher conferences were on Thursday.
Oh, and while we’re were at it we refinanced the house, with all the paperwork and worry that involves. On Wednesday, after five years of doing everything else ourselves in this fixer upper, we finally signed the construction contract for the complete gutting renovation of the kitchen and first floor. Good grief. Also, I guess I really live here now.
I’ve spent a lot of time these past two weeks thinking about what I want my kids to be exposed to, what kind of community I want them to grow up in, how my values aren’t always reflected in this village.
I’ve also been caught out a few times on my own internal village, how we don’t always live our values right here in this house. Teacher conferences gave me a glimpse of Viv’s world (all week she’s been telling her class stories of the wonderful time she had at the cottage!). I’m freshly aware of how we talk to each other as Charlie explores the boundaries of being a bossy two year old, tests out “No!”, and imitiates Mama and Papa with his dollies. I’m not always proud of what is reflected.
But, I learn. And I grow. And when ashamed, I try really hard to step forward with new approaches instead of retreating into old habits.
In the end, when they are grown and reflect on their upbringing, I hope their view of their family is like Viv’s clandestine photo portrait of us. There we are, tired and resigned. But together, and with faint smiles on our faces. At the table with each other and not too much yelling.
“I want to be Frankenstein for Halloween. Or maybe the Hulk. Can I get the jacket with the edges? I’d wear it with no shirt. Or if I’m the Hulk I only need short pants with the edges.”
“So, basically you want to be green in torn clothing.”
“Actually, I want to be green, and strong, and mostly naked”.
Actually.
I got called out this week for suggesting that the monarch butterflies that survived, survived because of my care. Nope, they did not. I had, in fact, very little to do with it. For the record:
Our neighbor friend gave us a chrysalis earlier this summer, from her butterfly garden. We watched it hatch and released a huge female monarch, very exciting. I thanked the friend, and mentioned that I planned to plant milkweed so we could maybe have some monarchs of our own next year.
Sure enough, a few days later she dropped off a milkweed plant for us to have! It was in a temporary pot, so I plunked it on the shelf and mentally scheduled its planting for “later, after I do all the other things like getting the toddler to stop yelling ERNIEBERT ERNIEBERT ERNIEBERT at the top of his lungs”).
I was working at my sunroom desk one day, when a huge fuzzy caterpillar suddenly appeared on my keyboard and scooted his way across my work. What the?! Turns out the plant had eggs, and now a few warm interior weeks later, we have four caterpillars!
I put the plant outside, complete with it’s four new tenants and called Mom. I had no idea what to do, or frankly if there was anything required to do except put them outside. I’m a naturalist. I naturally think all living things belong outside, you know, with the nature. Don’t they figure it out themselves?
Turns out, there’s more to it. In order to get caterpillars from fuzzy worm to chrysalis to butterfly in large numbers, they need some protection. The next day, when I got home from work, I saw that Mom had brought over a monarch box and put the caterpillars and milkweed stems inside their new safe little habitat. Mom MADE the monarch box, with the monarch group at the senior center because you know, she’s lived here half as long as me but knows everyone and does everything and is the queen of the village.
All is good. Until the hungry little buggers eat all the leaves, stripping the milkweed to nothing but stalks. Mom knew this would happen and had already rallied the troops. Her darling friend Julie brought over some of her own milkweed leaves, taking the time to deliver them to mom before she went to her own family outing (!).
Cool, crisis averted. So in the evening, I put the box up on the table on the porch to better view the creatures and see when they attach themselves to the top and start their metamorphosis. And I go to bed, and to work and to bed and to work again and think nothing of it.
Mom scolds me after she moves the box from the exposed table top to the floor, and puts a plastic cover on the top to protect it and its delicate inhabitants from the howling storm and three days of rain. Oops.
Now safely sheltered, they do their acrobatic cocooning thing, and dangle for another ten days in the corner. We count only three chrysalis, the fourth probably lost to the weather. As Viv nonchalantly said “it’s probably dead”.
Fortunately for us, the monarchs appeared over Labor Day weekend, so we could enjoy the sight as they unfolded their glorious wings. And during the only bit of sunshine we’d had all weekend, even better.
So, there’s the whole story. I take no credit for the successful hatching of these monarch butterflies. As I said, it’s a miracle they survived me.
What a lucky bunch of bugs we are.
Two-year old Charlie is talking, waddling, and goofing his way through toddlerhood.
“I love you Charlie”
“I love you too, Mama”
“Charlie, where does love come from?” (This is reference to a favorite bedtime book, I expected a hand gesture over his heart).
“Right here, from my butt”. (as he pat pats on the front of his diaper)
Viv and Charlie are becoming a unit. Now that Charlie is two and finally walking as much as he is talking, they are interacting more than ever before. Viv has always enjoyed being a big sister to babies both real and imagined, but now she also has a playmate. A cohort. A co-conspirator. And another analytical mind to meld with.
Mama: “You are so cute Charlie.”
“No, I’m not cute, I’m Charlie”.
Mama: “What’s that (stuffed) puppy’s name?”
“Puppy”.
Mama: “Oh, and what about that puppy, what’s its name?”
“Other Puppy”
We ran out of toilet paper. Like out out. No Kleenex, nothing hidden in the back of the cupboard, even a search of Paulie's car for the emergency travel roll came up empty. Paulie stashed a few paper towels nearby and we got on with our morning mayhem routine, noting “tp” on the never ending to-do list.
A few minutes later, I noticed this. Viv had rolled the paper towels around the holder. Folded in half, then rolled. Thank you, Viv, for the civility.
It's been a spring of late snowstorms and lingering cold. Only this morning, already the first of May, does the air finally feel promising. And yet there are still patches of snow in our concrete yard. And also a large patch of standing water that Viv says looks like a dinosaur. (The mudjacking company says it looks like about a grand)
Recently one day at school, a classmate's parent forgot to bring snowpants.
Vivi said to her: "Isn't it your job to pack your own snow pants?"
My work here is done, peace out. -Mama.
On Tuesday night, I refreshed my screen a hundred times, waiting for the local election results. More than ever before, I really cared who was elected to the Village Board. Shorewood has had a lot of development in the last five years (and by a lot I mean an eight story apartment building, a parking garage, a two city block Metro Mart complex with another parking garage and then right next to that another six story apartment block--all visible from my front porch. Oh, and the cute church on my very corner got torn down for a bank-from-a-box currently under construction). I love the walkability of our neighborhood, it's literally why I moved here, but a lot of how the most recent development was done is more than the little village could handle. I'm still learning, still catching up on board meeting videos, but my understanding is that there is wide spread discontent regarding these issues:
1) Not enough community involvement in scale, design and use decisions (i.e. That enormous building is ugly as shit).
2) Inadequate planning for traffic changes; to date there is still no village wide traffic study.
3) Inequitable facade improvement grants up to $200k from a program that was supposed to support older buildings and local business at the $10k level.
4) Over use of TIF (Tax Incremental Finding) to "get" development deals instead of letting the market dictate.
5) And of course, our taxes keep going up.
So, it's ripe for political change. The previous VB President is retiring, and two Trustee seats were up for reelection. Apparently, (and I'm only up to speed on a few Facebook group and online forum gossip mill posts), there has been a lot of discord, infighting, and trash talking between the old guard (those who created, financed, and approved the questionable developments) and the new guard (two women Trustees who surprised everyone by unseating incumbents in the last election cycles). So, that's the set up.
It made for a very exciting few weeks in this little hamlet! The Milwaukee County Executive even weighed in on our little race (with his private money) by endorsing some candidates as part of an expensive, glossy yet vague big-money political action group ad campaign. Yard signs were stolen, previous VB Presidents allegedly banned from Facebook pages, gossipy smear letters annonymously mailed to citizens...politics really brings out the best in people.
I was really hoping for change, for my three picks to win. Allison Rozek for VB President, Jessica Carpenter for Trustee and Davida Amenta for Trustee (2 trustee spots were open, and Davida was seeking reelection, Allison was a sitting Trustee running for the President spot).
At 9pm, the local news site said my gals had lost, with 100% precincts reporting. I was dumbstruck. I knew Allison was a fifty fifty chance, Jessica was safe with a second place showing, but Davida got bumped to third which meant she lost her seat. That was the worse case scenerio--if Allison had lost she would still retain her Trustee seat, but without Davida on the board her coalition for change was weakened. Davida losing was really crushing, I believed her seat was safe. But it was not to be, I was gutted.
So, I tossed and turned all night..I made mental plans for a get out the vote campaign, I was rearranging my schedule to attend every village board meeting, writing my Concerned Citizen statements, grinding my teeth...
In the morning, I checked the Facebook to read their statements. Stunning reversal! THEY DID WIN! All three of my picks WON! Turns out the local site had it wrong, Allison won by 103 votes, Jessica took the first trustee spot handily with the most votes, and Davida retained her seat with a squeaky but safe margin.
I cried. I actually cried. Now, they may all make mistakes and we may find that all the decisions the previous board made were on the up and up, but most important to me is that now we will KNOW what is going on. This new group has promised to change the way the government communicates with and involves the residents, they have promised transparency and accountability. They better deliver, because my heart can't take it!
It was an amazing morning, it felt so fantastic to get a win. There's nothing we can't do! March! Vote! Fund raise! Change is coming! The future is female! What a day!
And then I put my car in a ditch. So, thanks Universe, for the reminder.
It's remarkable how a little thing can put someone at ease. Everywhere we travel Viv is assumed to be a boy, except by priests, nurses, and teachers who (almost to a person) default to "they" or some other gender neutral substitute like the ubiquitous "buddy" without missing a beat. (Is it years of practice? Working with the public? Being wrong too many times in the past?) Its a small thing, but what a difference--to engage with kids and be in tune with their kidness, not their this or thatness. When did we get so boxed in?
Viv doesn't care one way or another, but it bothers me that girlness is presumed to come in only one pink-wrapped, long haired package. (Of course, I'm conflicted. Why does it bother me when she's misgendered? I'll have to dive into that sticky emotion at a later date). Viv has opinions, preferences, and even at this young age, a "style". And by style I mean she wears and does and plays what and how she enjoys. Or as she says: "Why do boys get all the comfy pants?"
In a stunning reversal, I like my house and hate my husband. Ok, so that's too strong, but I'm cranky this morning. And we're not seeing eye to eye. But, like all our marital storms, this one will pass.
What will stay, I hope, is my new satisfaction with the house. The painting continues, one room at time, through the first floor. We literally have just one painter working in the house each day, the painting company is fitting us in between other jobs. Which wouldn't be that unusual except that typically they run a crew for this amount of work---walls, ceiling, then sanding, priming and two-coating all that trim. The playroom ceiling had to be stripped of falling ancient wallpaper and practically replastered. Davis, whom I have yet to meet in person, arrives after we leave for work and leaves before we return. Our very own magical painter elf. This is very our style of working with the trades---not needing a schedule or having a deadlin has its cost benefits. And makes the drive home from work more exciting; oh the anticipation!
Adding to the feeling of CLEAN the paint has given the house, the three new light fixtures have changed my outlook on everything. Literally. I can now see just exactly how filthy, grungy, and dark the house was. Why did we wait so long? Oh right, because we needed a shower, and garage doors, and our own bedroom.
Paulie did put up all three lights. And installed dimmers. Ok, truce.
“I want a pogo stick and a scooter and a black and red watch” -Viv to Santa
Viv was born five years ago, or just yesterday, depending on how much sleep you've gotten. My emotions have been heavy these past weeks, heavier each passing week as the daylight dwindles. Fall does a number on my body clock, disrupting my sleep, which then in turn chips away at my emotional fortitude. In a typical year this is a speed bump, easily countered with walks and a sun lamp. This year, I am crushed.
Viv's birthday party was so important to me; not just because we only do "big celebrations" on the 5's and 0's, but because this has just been such a crap year. A big failure at work kept me away from the kids both physically and emotionally for six months of the past year; the regret is hitting hard now. At the time, I was just heads down to power through it. Now that it's over, I look back and am newly overwhelmed with regret for agreeing to something that in my gut I knew was wrong for me. But the fear of losing my work, losing clients, losing status during such a vulnerable time overpowered me. (Anyone who experienced the financial disaster, got laid off, foreclosed, or has been on maternity leave knows this fear well). We have a long way to go in understanding how to support parents returning to work in our culture, including inside our own heads.
I think maybe, it could be possible, there's a chance...I was trying to make up for a perceived lack of attention with a big to-do for her 5th birthday. I spent a lot of time arranging and fussing and worrying about it being good enough. As luck would have it, she had an amazing time putting on each and every pair of the ten pack of Sesame Street socks that her Aunt Peg gave her. Because she's five. And it's her birthday, and why not?
As I work to build my own family, I am navigating emotions that are really the lingering shadows of emotions I had years ago. When Viv started kindergarten, I was completely blindsided; just being in a school building (and interacting with administrators) brought a wave of unexpected negative feelings. Everyone claims to have had a hard time in school, do we really have to experience it twice?
And that's just my own, small internal world; let's dive into the emotional exhaustion that is the rest of the world and all it's suffering. I am struggling to fully live the lovely moments that are my happy family life, the completely normal, mundane interactions with coworkers and customers and shop keepers and neighbors that keep happening despite the staccato reports of disaster, chaos, injury, violence, terror, and death of innocents.
How can I enjoy the innocence of these soft and curious creatures in my house without the intrusive thoughts of the random misery inflicted on others? Others so like me. And us. And this house of coffee and cartoons on Sunday morning.
Forgive me for crying. Where the fuck is the sun?
Viv: "When I grow up I want to marry Miss Tia"
Mama: "Where will you live when you and Miss Tia are married?"
Viv: "Why not right here, this house is great!"
Mama: "This is mama and papa's house, you can't live here once you're grown up and married."
Viv: "What if you're already dead?"
Registering Viv for kindergarten was frustrating. I first signed her up back in June, at the appointed time, bringing a file with our residency documents her vaccination records, birth certificate and her actual self. Then, in July, there were forms to complete online and a requirement to upload the same documents. Mind you, that same information also had to be submitted (in a different format) to the wrap-around daycare that maintains a completely separate, though just as convoluted, registration system. Actual kindergarten is only three hours, before and after she's in a partner daycare program. In the same building, in the room next door, but everything has to be done over again and maintained in a separate online portal. And don't get me started on the auto pay that took payment for every single no-school day extra charge for the entire year all at once. With no notice.
In August, school fees were announced, but that portal didn't allow payment until after a certain date two weeks later. Then, I got notice that even if paid online, I still had attend something called Forms and Fees Day at the high school. At that appointed date and time, during the working day, I had to bring an additional two documents for proof of residency. It was at Forms and Fees Day, in my car afterwards, that I had a complete and tearful steering wheel break down.
Little did I know that that was not the last hurdle.
I received a message that the wrap-around daycare was having an open house the week before the start of school. Still trying to figure out if lunch was or was not served to the kids from the public school lunch system, I figured that was a good event to attend. I had a lot of questions still unanswered. (The school portal let me make a lunch program payment, but said no where if it applied to morning K4 classes, the daycare site said nothing at all about meals). We scrambled home from work, shoved a bottle in Charlie's face and walked over to the school for the daycare open house. Which turned out to also be a kindergarten open house/parent orientation. I was hoping to pop in and out, but instead got seated and then realized I was in for a lengthy presentation, without my phone to alert Paulie waiting outside with a fussy baby. I had missed one critically informative line in an otherwise obtuse letter in the packet received on Forms and Fees Day.
If you're still following this, no, they do not participate in the school lunch program, we have to pack a lunch. I'm still waiting for my refund.
Taking Viv to her first day of "school" was not tearful; I didn't "have a hard time" (but thanks again for asking everyone, and asking again just to give me another chance to prove I do have a heart). She's been going to daycare, which we call school, since she was six weeks old. She's had to change centers twice, each time was a bumpy few first days learning a new routine, but other than that, zero on the life altering events scale. Like previously, she had a pretty good first day.
The rest of us are hoping the school district administration takes a Lean course.
That time we were standing waiting for the Max train in Portland and it began raining and you asked if I wanted your umbrella and I said no (because I used to live there and I know better) and then you said, with admiration, "You're so durable."
That was the most romantic thing you ever said to me, because it's how I think of myself. You nailed it. And you daily nail this marriage and kids (and mother in law) thing. Thank god, because sometimes, on the tough days, I'd rather be out walking in the rain. Happy Anniversary Paulie!
Me, fixing a pink Disney doll toy thingy: "Remember Vivi, 'Princess' is not an occupation".
Paulie: "Uh um, you're watching 'Say Yes to the Dress'".
Me: "Remember Vivi, life is complicated..."
Viv: "Look, Charlie is looking at me Mama!"
Me: "Look at that! Oh Vivi, he loves to watch you. He is going to watch you his whole life. You're always going to be his big sister, his teacher. You'll have to teach him all sorts of things"
Viv: "Will you help me?"
Me: "Oh yes of course, we will all teach Charlie together. He will have you his big sister, and me and Papa, and family and neighbors..." and on and on I went in a It Takes A Village eye-dampening soliloquy...
Viv: "That's good Mama, but can you help me with my pants?"
Parenting is a nocturnal experience. We four are still in one bedroom, in our separate sections, but still all in together. Each night is a campsite of mysterious thumps and hums; something is always vibrating. Previous silence is filled with sniffles, snores and baby wheezes. We are awakened by coughs, hunger cries, dead batteries. I am awakened by my own worry, restless until I check the crib. In turns, and as often both at once, we tend to the little ones through dusk and midnight and early dawn.
When the adult bedroom is at last habitable, it may take me many nights to get used to the quiet. Or not.
Yes, those are birthday candles in corn muffins. October is a month of milestones. Paulie turned 47, Vivi turned 4, and Charlie grew into his 4th month. Celebrations would be nice, but an organized gathering, an organized anything (!), seems out of our reach these days.
Who can bake a cake and make dinner and wrap presents and what presents? who picks up the kids and we're out of diapers and Viv needs a haircut and am I still nursing and I have to work in Chicago tomorrow and go get milk again at Walgreens.....Mostly, we are keeping our heads above water.
But in a quiet Sunday morning, at last, I can reflect. And all three of my people are asleep. Thank god.
"Parenting is one small indignity after another; from my robe falling open at inopportune times, to the goldfish I just snacked on that I'm pretty sure had been on the floor". -Paulie
Add to that:
-Changing a diaper on a public restroom floor.
-An Uncle asking "Is the baby under here?" as he lifts the nursing scarf away.
-Wishing I had more of those mesh underwear from the hospital.
-Closing the bathroom door for those five sweet minutes alone.
-Shaving the left leg on Tuesday, the right leg on Wednesday.
-Seriously discussing the merits of Nurse Holly's (of Doc McStuffins cartoon fame) record keeping (the Big Book of Boo Boos) with the three year old.
-Assembling any stroller, swing, bouncy chair, or car seat together without divorcing.
-Milk in the cabinet, coffee beans in the fridge, toothpaste in the kitchen, crackers in the bathroom.
-Asking "Is this poop?" more than once a day.
Today during lunch out at a restaurant (out of the house!) Charlie simultaneously loaded his diaper and blew milk out of his nostril.
Charlie is five weeks old tomorrow. I have aged five years. Some highlights:
-"Am I wearing pants? Not 'should I wear pants', but can you tell me at this moment do I have my pants on?"
-"They are so cute so that you won't kill them" (thanks Grandma)
-"The sheets were always so scratchy" (birth story from another era)
-"Your boob looks like a weapon"
-"Uh oh mama, he fell off your boob!"
-The third sling is the charm. Or the fourth...
-"What are you going to do for three whole months?" (Apparently maternity leave is a vacation)
-We have enough baby blankets. What we need is a Walgreens platinum card. That's a thing, right?
-"It goes up his butt til the stopper then you listen for the whistle"
And of course, a shout out to this guy, for doing everything else that makes a bathroom a bathroom (and a house a home):
Viv dropped her doll's blankie in the sprinkler puddle. Clever girl, she used the dryer vent to take care of it. Of course, the dryer vent is missing its cover, because that's just how we roll these days. Surrender.
Viv: "Look Papa, that airplane is making a line in the sky"
Paulie: "That's because the turbine engine makes water and it's cold up there so it makes a vapor trail".
Viv: "Oh, it's like a magic princess!"
After a long, chilly spring weekend out in the grassy fields at the race track, Viv said:
"I want to go back to the city, watch tv, eat chips and be comfortable!"
Vivi: "What does mama do at work?"
Paulie: "She sells furniture"
Vivi: "But mama needs to do work"
Paulie: "She does, that is her work"
Vivi: "But mama needs help at work".
Paulie: "She has help from her co-workers"
Vivi: "But no one listens to mama"!
Getting ready for Baby #2's arrival has included lots of preparatory conversations with Viv. We cover sharing, gentleness, jealousy...all the expected topics for a soon-to-be-sibling. Turns out, as I listen to our household with my mind on adding a new baby to the mix, it may be Paulie that needs the prep talk.
He has a hard time seeing Viv as the toddler she is; he is emotionally about one year behind in her development. He is frequently stunned at her ability to do things herself. Tasks I've had her do on her own for months he routinely does for her. Come baby time, he's not going to have the time or energy for all that dotage, as I remind him often. Viv reminds him too:
Paulie, behind her on the way down the stairs: "Careful Vivi, hold the railing".
Vivi: "Papa, I know what I'm doing!"
It has been two solid weeks of parties, presents and baked goods. The Christmas tree is on the curb, we've binge-watched another tv series, and I'm sick of cooking. I can't wait to get back in to work tomorrow!
Viv is a world. She is a toddler. She has dollies and friends and likes and dislikes. She has opinions. She sings to herself. She sings to us. (We call it Toddler Opera). She is curious, she is cautious. She is simultaneously infuriating and fascinating. She is three years old.
Me, at the end of a long day: "I'm pooped".
Viv, from the back seat: "Oh Mama, in your pants?"
"I'll be a grown up when I drink beer and then I'll get hair on my butt". "And wine too, both of them!" - Viv, age 2 1/2
For more than fifteen years I have searched for the perfect dinnerware. The set I coveted, Rosenthal porcelain, was always out of budget. But I refused to get cheap stuff I didn't love. There's a story about an argument with Mom in a Walmart over a toaster in this history of waiting for what I really want. In the meantime, a hodgepodge of three or four basic diner plates have gotten me through the years.
Just yesterday I was talking about how I'm down to just two plates. It had become a thing---the search, the rejection, the hope, the disappointment---truth be told, I enjoyed the hunt.
Today, there on the shelf at Legacies, was a gleaming white set of perfect vintage Japanese porcelain (Fukagawa). I finally committed!
Don’t Discount Your House’s Exterior Statement… — Arts & Crafts Homes and the Revival
Spring weather turns my attention to the outside of the house....which is a disaster. I want to paint it, remove the horrible aluminum trim and restore the old storms and screens. I'm itching to scrape the peeling doors, yank out the nasty chain link fence and plant a blossoming tree.
Spring may be here, but the budget isn't. I'll have to be satisfied with mud jacking the driveway and poop-scooping the yard.
It only took six months...and 1 day and $33.18 but we finally got a mirror in the bathroom.
I've been doing my face in a hand mirror hanging off the latch on the cabinet door. In our only bathroom. A bathroom with no threshold, no door trim, chunks of plaster on the floor and a fan that sounds like an airplane landing overhead. I get ready each morning in this 4' x 5' tile palace while someone else showers and a little someone else peaks in because that's where everyone is and isn't this fun?!
The next time Paulie says he'll do some thing when he can afford it, I'm going to clarify what "afford" means!
Me:"Did you enjoy your alone time today?"
Paulie, gesturing down enthusiastically :"I did! Did you see my floors?!?!"
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