Tippy Toes and Tantrums

The Thursday I Thought was Wednesday

This week:

I met Buster Posey and Ryan Vogelsong, thanks to the Entertainment Software Rating Board. You know, the people who help you figure out whether or not that game your son is begging for has excessive violence or scantily clad women. Speaking of which, Costco had a bunch of DC Comic and Avenger encyclopedia books where I really got a good look at the women they draw and wonder how our kids will survive growing up exposed to nerd fantasy girl drawings and Cosmo. Barbie looks innocent in comparison. Back to Buster, it was unclear if we could ask for autographs or not, so I was sticking with the conservative camp while others asked, but then I went for it, because I knew how much my kids would love it. Buster Posey was incredibly kind and signed a magazine for each of them while I drowned in Catholic guilt over breaking the rules. I didn't ask Ryan Vogelsong for his autograph because I figured that breaking the rules twice was especially bad. I have some standards, however low. 

Our kitchen tile arrived! In five heavy boxes that the UPS man carried to our front door, even though I need them in the garage. I wasn't home and I felt awful for the extra lifting he had to do, yet Kevin pointed out that I felt no guilt over making my husband carry them back down to the garage at street level. This is because Kevin will get the heartwarming enjoyment of looking at the beautiful tiles painstakingly researched and lovingly selected by his wife. He should be thanking me. 

I had my first awkward construction moment when our builder showed up early, before I was dressed. He was outside of the house, next to my bedroom, but it was a reminder that our house is insulated with laundry lint because it sounded like he was in the room. I jumped and threw on my clothes. The countdown to the end of our privacy has begun. 

I got my arm hair lasered off. TMI? When my dermatologist offered a Groupon, it seemed like the universe was sending me a loud message and I took it. I was admonished for having a tan, an unmistakable farmer's tan from baseball watching, and was told to stop allowing my arms to tan this summer. Look for me at softball, baseball, and at the beach with leg warmers on my arms.

Permits Be Damned, We Have Tile

We finally have something positive to report on the home front: our building permits will be submitted tomorrow! The sad thing is this really shouldn't be news, but after months of delay and mental duress I'd only read about in news stories about places like Cambodia, San Mateo County is finally allowing us to move forward, only to stop there because the county has a six week lead time on building permits. It's the old hurry up and wait, but at least we've reached this point. To celebrate, I ordered tile. 

I picked out our backsplash tile months ago when I first saw a picture on a builder's blog or on Pinterest, it all runs together. I couldn't let go of the idea of a white kitchen with Mococcan tile, but when I went to order it a few weeks ago, I couldn't find it anywhere. Our local tile company sells it with a 90 day lead time, but they couldn't give me an estimate on the price because the tile was so new, they didn't have a price in their system. I turned to the internet, home of great deals, but worrisome shipping when it comes to porcelian tile. By this time, the tile was out every place I'd bookmarked except two - one with really bad reviews, and the other more than double the price at other places. I waited, nervously. When Home Depot got it back in stock online, I pounced. Let's hope it arrives in only the appropriate number of pieces. 

Occupy My House

Every day, a new fort goes up in the family room. The fort building generally produces a turf war, first between siblings fighting over territory rights and right of way access (even imaginary properties have easement and setback issues), then later with me, the landlord who comes to evict the squatters. 

I hate these forts. I know they are a traditional part of childhood, but I think they are a mess, and I hate listening to the squabbling over space and noise when both kids have their own rooms with four walls and a door made out of material stronger than pillows. Rocket is the loud neighbor, while Clover would be the one calling the cops or yelling at kids to get off her lawn. And this gets played out every afternoon in our family room. 

These forts are the only thing being constructed at our house. People keep asking about our remodel and if it's almost finished, which would make me laugh if I wasn't trying not to cry. Nothing is new here. We aren't even at the building permits stage and sadly the hold ups have nothing to do with us, our architect, our builder, or even our neighbors. The plans were set in December, but it's been months and months of very expensive negotiations with county over our small addition. Bureaucracy is real and it sucks. I have this optimistic fantasy that we'll suddenly get a call saying it's all approved and we can move forward, but really, I feel like we're going to be stuck in this place forever.

We took down our back pergola this weekend to pass it along to my parents. It was a great addition and gave us some much needed shade, which means I'm not used to all of the bright light now that it's gone. Our backyard looks naked and sad without it, but hopefully (this year? some day?) there will be a kitchen going into the spot previous occupied by the pergola. My optimism is melting. 

So, it's March Now

The past two and a half weeks have gone somewhere, I just don't know where. 

We spent a weekend at Hidden Villa with other families from Clover's class. We did this two years ago and it was a relaxing, unplugged weekend. This time that wasn't the case, as we had to leave the farm for a few hours for baseball pictures and hit-a-thon, and the first game of the softball season. It wasn't relaxing, but there were great moments, like when Rocket was standing alone in a clearing between the cabins, and when I asked if he was okay, said, "Mom, did you hear the cows mooing?" 

We visited the cows, pet the baby lambs (so soft, really like a baby merino scarf), checked out the chickens, and saw the huge piggies.

Then it was my birthday, which was partially spent at a tile store.

Which felt as realistic as pinning a photo of a house with an indoor waterslide because the house remodel is on hold-ish, as we await getting our plans approved. It feels like that day is never, ever coming. 

Foot issue persists.

Gym continues. 

My new personal massager arrives tomorrow. When I told Kevin about how I got three massages at the gym from my trainer using a personal massager called The Stick, I could tell by the look on his face that there was a misunderstanding. This happened at the dinner table in front of the kids, which meant my attempts to clarify weren't helping.

Me: "No, it's a personal massager, the kind that you rub on your muscles."

Him: "Yeah..."

Me: "No, not that kind. It's a long stick with a handle."

Him: "Uh...huh..."

Me: Whatever.

I see now that The Stick is called, "the toothbrush for muscles." Thankfully I didn't know that when I talked to Kevin or the misunderstanding would have deepened. 

But today was a special day: it's the final day of Girl Scout cookie sales for 2012! I dropped off our troop banking report - the final step - and walked away feeling happy enough to skip, which I would have done if I didn't have that damn plantar faciitis. 

A Successful Start to the Rebuilding Year

This morning, I woke with a headache, which soon turned into a blinding migraine that hurt even in my teeth. But still, I made it to the gym. For the past month, I have worked out every day, and I wasn't about to let a migraine break my streak. I am the Cal Ripken Jr. of my garage treadmill.

I've belonged to a gym for years, and I attended regularly, but when I started with a personal training in October, I found out that a water workout does not build the strength to lift in the workout room. This moved me out of the water and upstairs, to the giant room with all the machines and sweaty people. I'm pretty pleased with the amount of strength I've built up in the past few months. You may not know it to look at me, but I am strong enough to kill you, which was my goal. My goal wasn't to kill you, per se, but to be ready for the zombie apocalypse that Rocket promises is coming. And I'm feeling pretty ready.

I'd been kicking around the idea of a treadmill, hoping that post-remodel, there would be a nice, out of the way place for one in the house, but that wasn't going to happen. Late, on the night after Thanksgiving, I decided I was ready for a treadmill that wasn't a clothes hanger, even if this meant working out in the garage and dropping the dream of getting two cars in there. With two minutes to spare on Black Friday, I ordered a treadmill at a screaming deal. I was ready to go...but unfortunately, it took a month for the treadmill to arrive. (The delay was due to either laziness or an attempted shake down by the local delivery company, but the treadmill company handled it all so well, that I loved them before stepping foot on my treadmill.)

The treadmill arrived the day before Christmas, and I was too busy to try it, then I got sick Christmas night and was wiped out for days. Suddenly, it was Jan. 2, and I was finally ready to roll, I mean run. I shouldn't say roll because my fear is that I stumble, hit the treadmill deck, then shoot off the back, much like my middle sister did TWICE at my parents' house. I've used the treadmill almost every day since. On the days I don't, it's because I've used the one at the gym. (The gym treadmill has a TV that I either love or feel motion sick from watching, it all depends on the day. Also, I secretly race the people around me at the gym. I can now take most old people. Most. Not all.)

The treadmill and other zombie apocalypse prep was not a New Year's resolution. What was a resolution of sorts was my word of the year - strive - but truly, within days of proclaiming strive the focus point of my year, a new, better word kept popping up in my head: rebuild. This year is about tearing down the old, weak parts, and rebuilding something better to replace it. This has been a great month and a great start, even when there were set backs (literally, property set backs) with the house remodel plans, migraines or another special time of the month that made me want to curl up in bed and eat chocolate ice cream (which I did, after I did my time on the treadmill), a heavy workload, and various other issues, all the things that would normally wear me down and make me feel sour, didn't. I made a conscious decision to be more positive, and it's worked. It hasn't work every moment of every hour, but overall, I feel more upbeat.

I'm kinda sad to see January go. It was a good time.

Skating Through January

It's farther into January than I thought. Everything is somehow being balanced, and while I want to credit the calmness of our January schedule, there is so much going on right now, that calling January calm would be wrong. We only have one weekend sport - basketball - and Rocket's games are at 9 a.m., which is early, but still leaves open the weekend. That is probably why January feels calm.

* Watching Rocket progress in basketball has been awesome. This Saturday is his last game, and he'll be sad when it's over. He made his first basket last weekend. He's normally quick to pass the ball away, if he ever gets it, but this time he got the ball in the key and we all screamed, "SHOOT!" He did, the ball hit the top of the rim, and tipped down on the inside, scoring a basket. We had friends visiting with us, and we all went wild when he scored.

* Rocket is a little man. He needed a new helmet for skateboarding as he'd grown out of his last. He was fitted and tried on a few until we found the one that worked. In the car I saw the size: men's small. Sunrise, sunset...

* Skateboarding class is awesome. No one has to be dragged there, unlike piano lessons.

* Rocket is begging for a skateboard ramp. We live on a hill near a blind curve, but he had a solution: since we are doing a remodel, we should add on a room for skate ramps. Like they have at his skate school.

* Later, he asked if there are homes with bowling alleys in them.

* Our remodel is going to disappoint Rocket.

Letting a Sleeping Dog Lie

This photo is for my sister, who acts like I am Michael Vick, and for people who are shocked to find out we have a dog.

This is Maddie, the neurotic pug. I came home the other day to find her sleeping on my sweater, which had fallen from where I'd left it. I rolled my eyes, and even though I wasn't happy with her new bed, I let it go, allowing her to hibernate on. The only thing that will get her up from a deep winter slumber, is the gardener, and he wasn't coming by for four days, so this could be a long stay. Maddie slept for a few hours, and the moment she got up and walked away, the sweater went straight into the hamper. But the point here is that I let her sleep on my clothes, uninterrupted, earning myself a badge in compassion.

Maddie has always been crazy, but now, at nearly 11 and a half, she's old lady crazy, and I'm treating her as such. She barks at the wind, she cannot hear, she's pushy in the kitchen, and she complains through grunts if someone has blocked access to one of her two beds. (Two beds! Living in luxury!)

We met with our architect on Friday, who asked if Kevin and I wanted any special pet considerations in a mudroom as we fine tune our renovation plans. One of us snorted, and the other laughed. I see the mudrooms with dog baths on Pinterest or the built in dog bowl trays on kitchen islands, but that is not where we are as pet owners. We had planned on keeping the carpets until Maddie passed on, but those are going too, because I'm tired of looking at the awful carpets, then at the dog, then at the calender. Hard wood it is. Maddie doesn't care, as long as there is sunlight, two beds, and a gardener to bark at.

Pagoda the Turtle is a different story. Pagoda's needs are simple, except that he needs to tan more than Pauly from Jersey Shore. Finding a home for his aquarium is not so hard, but finding a spot for his aquarium, plus his heat lamp is a burden. When talking about theoretical fire evacuation last night, Rocket said it was sure going to be hard to carry the big aquarium to safety. I told him that we would grab Pagoda and run. Rocket said, "I hope he goes into his shell and waits it out there." Of course, last night as I tried to go to sleep, my last thought was of me standing in the dark, across the street from our burning house, with Kevin, two kids, a senile dog, and a snapping turtle in my hands. I'm knocking on wood to make sure it never comes to this.

This Old House, My Version

 

We need to decide - like now - whether to move or remodel. I don't want to move, partially because I'm lazy and when moving, people would expect me to carry things, but also because of this one amazing feature that our current home has: a view. During the past seven years in this house, I've grown quite fond of looking out over a hill instead of another house. There are many downsides to living on a hill, including no sidewalks or space for kids to play in the street (or, if you're my mother, the terrorizing fear of knowing my kids will one day be teenagers driving up and down our curvy roads), but it has an expansive view with a value that is hard to quantify. Actually, it's probably easy to quantify from a real estate stand point, but that doesn't say what it has done for me, sitting outside under the wide open sky, entertaining friends on our front deck, looking out to see giant rainbows after a storm, watching the fog roll in or just staring out at something beautiful when my day most needs it. This view has ruined traditional neighborhoods for me.

I miss trick-or-treating on our street, block parties, comparing Christmas lights, and all the neighborly fun that comes from a traditional street, according to the soup parties and other get togethers highlighted in Sunset Magazine, but without a view, it feels claustrophobic to me. Or maybe that's because in our last neighborhood, the unofficial neighborhood watch was a little intense. I'd walk in the door and the phone would ring immediately with the neighbor across the street wanting to chat after seeing me return home, no matter about the groceries I was holding. Another across the street neighbor in our old 'hood never watered his yard, ever, so it was always brown, which clashed against his black house that needed to be repainted a decade before. It looked haunted. This is one of the reasons why I appreciate my view. Or there was the family behind us who would unabashedly watch us from their second story window, as though we were putting on a play for them in our kitchen. Now, I have to climb a hill and walk 50 yards to see our back neighbor. I cannot risk going back to our old neighborhood lifestyle. They are what drove us uphill, after all.

Still, we looked online at houses. No house is perfect, and even with significantly more money, factoring in the amount we'd spend renovating this one, the houses I saw still needed an upgraded kitchen, significant landscaping or other work, which would not be in the budget. While we could afford to move to more affluent towns nearby, I don't want to. I like our little community and the friends we've made here.

The pros on staying and renovating are winning.