Tippy Toes and Tantrums

Nothing Remarkable Revisited

The end of the school year crud has hit and mostly is gone, although I would pay good money to spend a day napping because this exhaustion that too comes with the end of the year, is winning.

The other day a safety expert asked to use one of my photos in a presentation he is giving on ladder safety. Of course it was a photo of my kids running under a tall ladder, which I imagine will draw laughs accompanied with the bold word, "FAIL!" Once I got beyond that, I only saw Clover's little braids, and Rocket's diaper-puffed bottoms. He was two, she was six, and the post is about me trying to figure out my greater purpose in a harried life. It was a reminder of how life orbited around two young kids, and while that is still true, there is so much more out there circling, too. Life was always full, but somehow our universe expanded to accommodate more. 

Maybe this fullness is why I cannot wait for the schedule shift that summer brings. Summer begins tomorrow afternoon! Although, due to a busy day, the freedom won't kick in until Thursday morning. 

End of School Old Shoes

These shoes could not make it until the end of the school year. Both pairs of shoes went into use during Christmas break, and they could not make it the 7.5 days left in the school year. The shoes got the kids to the finish line, but couldn't cross it with them. Be happy it's impossible to smell these photos. I couldn't stand being closed up in a car with these shoes for one more minute. 

As it was noted, the soles of the old TOMS used to be the same color as the soles of the new TOMS. (shudder)

Other than cleats and the occasional flip flops when near water, my kids only use one pair of shoes each. Even though they own other shoes, the same skanky pair gets put on day after day. That's a big burden for one pair of shoes to carry.

Getting Obsessive Over Coffee Tables

I have spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about coffee tables. It's pathetic, really. But let's discuss it, anyway. It's a smallish spot boxed in by an ottoman and a wall on either side.

There is this, but it's pine and I know those corners will end up in my shins. Once again, it's pine. 

Or this, which is a pain-free circle, but it is espresso, when the rest of the room is mahogany. First world problem. The plight of an espresso coffee table in a mahogany world. 

This is the one I love, not only because of the name, but because it matches our side table. Alas, it's too big for the spot. 

Yes, I have looked at other places, if you mean Crate & Barrel, because I like to limit myself to places where I have rewards. 

Unrelated, I bought 36 red Gatorades today. No one at Target batted an eye. It seems like something that should require an ID or Homeland Security questioning. 

Eggs, Beans, and an April Fool's Day Non-Joke Joke

Easter happened with the requisite amount of eggs and sugar, both of which I ate as leftovers today, too. We dyed eggs with Kool-Aid after I saw the vivid colored eggs on Pinterest. The problem was our Target only carried Pineapple and Tangerine flavored (colored?) packs, and because I didn't want to hunt down a blue or a green flavor (color?), I ended my Kool-Aid rainbow there. Unfortunately my kids still blended the two colors together, dipping the egg in yellow and then orange or vice versa, ending up with the same orangey-yellow color on all eggs. 

Rocket asked me a great existential question of the holiday, which left me baffled: if we don't hide these eggs, why do we color them? 

We may have hunted for hard-boiled eggs when I was really young, but once people realized they didn't want to egg something left outside for an unhealthy amount of time and possibly mouthed by a squirrel, plastic eggs became king. We make the eggs because the kids like coloring them and it's the one time a year when I eat an egg salad sandwich for lunch. 

Many of you may be wondering if either of my kids ate so much chocolate that they puked. Thankfully, that tradition never took off after year one. However, the kid who over-chocolated himself until he threw up two years ago, took a new approach this year. This morning, he walked out of bed with either a giant bruise on his back or the sign of a horrific bathroom accident. His bed was it's own April Fool's Day joke with something mashed on the sheet that looked pretty gross. It ends up that someone may have eaten himself to sleep last night, and wound up sleeping on a nest of chocolate. The chocolate melted, of course, and looked rather...poopy. I opted against photos.

After a mild lecture, he retreated to the kitchen where he raided an open box of Milk Duds, and was soon busted again with one hand on the box and the other trying to liberate his teeth from the sticky Milk Dud. After both incidents this morning, he asked how we knew what he'd done. Hopefully he is this obvious about his teenage transgressions. 

Later, I found this in a cabinet pull out. This time there are two suspects, and one is not a child. 

Written While Suffering From Post-Time Change Fatigue

WE HAD A PARTY. Or Wii had a party. We invited over our friends - or as Kevin called them, Ninfriendos - for a WiiU party, which was the best party ever and we've decided that all parties should be sponsored by Nintendo because they provided two awesome helpers to run games, keeping everyone entertained, while adults talked and played, and I gave tours of the house over and over again.

I took a photo as we were setting up the food, but then put my camera down and completely forgot about it until it was over. For the locals, the cupcakes are from Sibby's Cupcakery, and yes, they always do fabulous custom decorations without charging extra. (Sibby's didn't sponsor that. We love them a ridiculous amount.)

LEGALLY DRIVING IS OVERRATED. Last month the notice arrived that I needed to renew my license and take a new vision test. Being briefly on top of things, I looked to make a reservation, but the soonest appointment was in April, which helps not at all when your license expires in March. I placed the renewal form in a super awesome safe spot so that it wouldn't get lost, yet that was so secret, I tore up the house today without being able to find it. Hopefully it found the $150 credit from Crate&Barrel that is MIA, and they are both living together in happiness. 

Of course, I forgot about everything until this morning when I remembered my license expires Sunday. Online it said the non-appointment wait was 26 minutes, which I took seriously. If Disneyland apps can properly gauge wait time, why not the DMV, right? The line snaked outside of the building, but I got in line and read an entire New Yorker, even the sections I hate, yet when finished, I was only half way closer to my first bureaucratic stop. It took an hour and a half to get a number, officially putting me in line to be served. Once I had my number, it was only about 26 minutes, but by that time, I'd nearly lost my will to live. I'm sure my picture must look like the Faces of Meth because I felt despondent, even though the end was in sight by the time I reached the camera station. 

THIS LINE from The Daily Show makes me laugh out loud every time I think of it: TBTF (too big to fail) is the rich man's YOLO. It's funny because it's true. It's also sad because it's true. 

THE REMODEL CONTINUES. Final touch ups have ended for the third time. Hopefully that means the painting is over, and I don't come across a huge blob of grey on white or a big spot where they forgot to paint. There are still paint issues, but we need to move on with our lives sometime. Yesterday the drainage work was finished, tomorrow the fireplace guy and the alarm guy return, which leaves only a missing drawer that needs to be returned before this thing is officially over. 

I wrote about Mattel complaining that moms are the reason Hot Wheels sales aren't through the roof, and I made a felt clover garland. 

Saying Goodbye to Maddie the Pug

Late last week, following the flu and a zillion remodel things, I felt like I was getting back on top of things. I felt more organized than I had in months, but then, as we got over the flu, it was clear the dog wasn't doing so well. 

Our home turned into dog hospice, with us carrying her outside a few times a day, moving her into the sunlight, as she loved, helping when she rolled off her new bed, and always wondering if it was time to take her to the vet.  

Maddie died peacefully at home this morning. The kids are upset, mostly railing about how we've said we will not be getting a new dog. We are now pet-less, cried Rocket, forgetting Pagoda the Turtle. "It's not a LAND ANIMAL!" he railed. "Only land animals count!" Screw you, Pagoda. 

We never thought she'd live through the remodel. She was old and had been on a steady decline for years. But there she was, still going strong as we neared the end of the job (we're perpetually two weeks away from the remodel's end). I bought a special bowl to protect the walls (Maddie was a sloppy eater), and a new pillow to replace the one that was over 10 years old. She hated the new pillow, rolling off of it twice, and pooping on it daily. Do you think I can return it? I mean, it's only two weeks old. 

It was a sad day punctuated with awkward moments. Maddie died before the workers arrived, but I had to tell the first painter to give us some room when he arrived, followed by the builder, who offered his regrets, then launched into a talk about the faulty decomposed granite outside. A loopy designer we're using to buy blinds for a single window, made me hug her twice, then told me she'd either like to go like Maddie (calmly falling asleep) or in a state of orgasm. I couldn't unhear it. I just want blinds to cover our front window. I didn't need to know how this woman wants to go out on top or how her husband would feel about it, but she told me anyway. 

Tonight we remembered youthful Maddie and how she loved inhaling Greenies bones, and perching herself at the top of her couch. We got her before we were married. She was a small test of what it would be like to have kids, and in the end, was a sample of what elder care will be like. If offered a new dog tonight, Kevin and the kids would have taken it, but I'm content with Pagoda the Swimming Turtle. 

A Not-Very-Normal Normal Day

My plan was to post a remodel update last Friday, following a crazy hectic week. Exciting things were happening at the house, and as long as I could get a work deadline out of the way, I was set. 

Soon after school drop off, I saw a Facebook post from a friend in Connecticut that marked the start of a dark day. What difference did a kitchen island installation matter when families with little kids Rocket's age were facing something horrific? I tried my best to work while refreshing Victoria's feed, expecting her to post that her nephew had been found safe. Today I stood at Target trying my best to pick out sympathy cards to send to Victoria and her sister-in-law, while feeling additionally hurt that none of them spoke to the pain of losing a life so young and innocent. "Sad time" didn't seem to cover it at all. 

The holidaypalooza went on as scheduled in Rocket's class today, keeping the kids in this perfect bubble of cookie decorating, card making, and storytelling. It was just as six year olds should be spending the day. The kitchen can wait until tomorrow. 

Remodel: Day 129 - The Boo Hoo Edition

The Bay Area's giant batten-down-the-hatches storm has hit this morning. The kids and I sat on my bed, looking out the windows no longer covered by plastic painting cover and watched it go from grey, to windy, to rainy in minutes. This is the day to be lazy, run the fireplace, bake cookies, and sip hot chocolate. Instead, with sore throats and colds, we left the house in the rain and dark early to clear out as the workers arrived. 

Our rain jackets are packed away, umbrellas are somewhere deep in the garage, and we have no privacy. If one of us gets really sick, we're screwed. Between the door trim work and house painters, the place is full of people. Both rooms we're using are covered in plastic. There is no cuddling up under covers while watching Mad Men. There is certainly no baking. And if someone gets the flu, we'll all know because the one semi-functioning bathroom (still no sink) doesn't have a way to close the door completely. Also, there's no door knob, giving everyone a window into the bathroom regardless of if the door is closed. Today, Rocket used the open door knob space as a megaphone to yell a question at me while I was in the shower. "WHERE IS DAD?" We only have two rooms. Asking the question took more time than looking for him. 

I can't look at Pinterest, magazines, or sometimes even Facebook because seeing all of the warm scenes of decorated trees and mantles is frustrating. The house will be amazing, but it's sad that the best time of year is getting taken out by it. I went outside to plug in lights for one tree outside of the remodel area, only to realize we don't have any exterior outlets ready to use. We will not be denied all of Christmas, I decided, and bought solar Christmas lights, despite the price. $80 for some normalcy, I justified.  

The fun is over. Really, it was never fun. I should say the tolerance is over. 

We have piles of sawdust so mountainous, the kids called it sawdust snow. 

Everything is covered in white power from the drywall. Enough that I regret not printing a warning in our Christmas cards that if your card contains powder, not to fear, it is not anthrax, nor should it be snorted. 

We are a mess. When the physical part of the project began, it was summer and we thought it would be complete by this time. No worries about winter clothes or shoes. Everything will be unpacked by then. 

Ha.

I'd show pictures, but my card reader died. I bought a new one, but it's lost under plastic wrap somewhere. Just like everything else. 

Moms and Kids Camping: Maybe My Best Year

By my best year, I mean it was the year I whined the least. I went into it, not into it. I was tired, crampy, and I didn't want to sleep on the ground - those damn inch-high REI mattresses aren't exactly cushioning - but I did it for the kids. (I hope my sacrifice is reflected in any future memoir written by my children.) As our group gathered, I found this year that I was not alone in the camp dread. Everyone else had just come off of other excursions, and were tired too, making them more vulnerable to my pleas to ditch the kids and move this outing to the Ritz. The Ritz has firepits and s'mores, like camping, plus room services, fluffy white robes, and massages, which are way better than camping. 

But we toughed it out. The kids had a fabulous time, doing things that when I think about while not there, give me great anxiety. We camped on a ledge, and the kids climbed up and down the hill to the creek, where they threw rocks, built bridges, did things they think of as dangerous, mostly all outside of our supervision. Technically, we could see them, and they could hear us yell to them, but the leash was pretty long. While at home, I think it's insane that we give them this much space, and it makes me want to reach for the ativan, but when there, it feels okay. The kids watch out for each other, and it's good for them to explore independently, if a gang can be considered independent (even if I had to remind myself a few times that everything would be fine). 

The view of the kids from our campsite. All 12 of them are down there somewhere. 

When not at the creek, they were racing scooters down hill, zipping by our sites every few minutes, which kind of made me wish they were back at the creek and not on the tiny road with an occassional car driving by. 

Soon it was the last night, then time to pack up for home. The kids fished for crawdads, swam in a swimming hole, ate s'mores and ice cream, whittled, got coated in dirt, hiked, explored, and had fun. No wild boars attacked us, and no one got stung by a bee. Best of all, I survived the three days without a shower. Huzzah!

This is What My Office Looks Like

Few things make me giddier than secretly seeing someone else's clutter. I love when people post a picture on Facebook with the caption, "Bebe loves playing the xylophone," or something like that where their child is the center of the photo, but all around the child is clutter. Not just a few papers, and not enough to be on Hoarders, but enough to make me feel good about my house. None of my photographer friends do this because they're savvy enough to note the background when composing their photos, but enough people I know do this, where they assume we are all focused only on the subject (the kid and the toy) and not on the stacks of crap piled up everywhere in the background. Those are the best. It answers my question of how some people have a lot more free time than I do. 

But, here is where I explain the chaos in my head, and why right now I'd like nothing more than a quiet corner and the ability to go deeply into denial. This is my office:

Try to find Waldo. Yes, We're using Girl Scout cookie boxes for storage. 

I know, right? Yesterday, I tripped over the shoes and fell hard onto my desk, which is exactly the type of disaster they predict on Hoarders. (I know it seems like I'm obsessed with the show, yet while I haven't watched it in at least a year, it gave me the credentials to point out signs of hoarding.)

The state of chaos is because we're packing up the house for the remodel. I'm optimistic it will begin in the next month, but I'm less optimistic about getting everything packed. As the permitting process has lagged on over the past five months (seriously, they should offer Xanax when permit applications are filed in San Mateo County), I've kept focused on the end product to keep me going, but now, my fantasies are strictly about getting all of the stuff out of the house and safely stored somewhere. 

In the meantime, I cannot think with clutter everywhere. Just now, I needed to make a copy of something for school, but it took me five minutes to uncover the copier, then after, I realized that in the process, I had lost the forms that the copy needed to accompany, which required more time to look for them. When I'm not tripping over shoes, I'm looking for a paper that I just saw two minutes ago, but is now missing. This is my hell. 

In other news:

Yes, my kids are still in school until Wednesday at 12:30 p.m. Until then, please refrain from telling me how great it is to sleep in now that summer has started. 

We have a deer living in our backyard. Sure, she goes away for hours at a time, but she comes back every single day to spend most of her time outside my office window. Not only do I work among piles of paper, but I get that creepy feeling of being watched. Because I am. By a deer. 

I've relaxed into my summer uniform, which is Lands' End v-neck t-shirts, and jean capris with a rolled cuff. For the people who see me regularly, I have several pairs of these pants. Please note the difference in back pockets for reassurance that I'm not wearing the same pair every day. This is my first step toward moving from a dresser and a closet to a single plastic tub to hold my clothes during the remodel. Hobo chic.