I'm getting pretty serious about gardening, so I've decided to chronicle my adventures in a new spot. Check it out if you're interested, and please pardon the dust. I haven't spent any time on the blog design just yet, but it'll get pretty in a few days.
That adorable dog you see above this post came to us with a hidden talent. I don't know if he was trained to do this or not, but he's an uncanny gardener's assistant. I awoke early today and discovered that it was cooler than usual, so I decided to spend some quality time outside, first watering and weeding in our Uptown Community Garden (and only was divebombed twice by the aggressive birds), then weeding my fallow garden.
Despite every dog training authority's advice, I let our dachshund, Klaus, join me in the garden. He's an energetic guy, and he loves to be in the sunshine. I'd also seen his gardening streak once or twice before, so I thought he might be helpful.
Understatement of the year. We had an old cabbage plant that was well past its prime, so I was breaking it down and deciding whether to remove the roots or let it regrow. Klaus found the thick stem I was working on and set about destroying it, systematically, then chewing up the six-inch stem and spitting it out. Compost, anyone?
He's most effective, however, in clearing sections of the garden. If I start pulling out grass or clover, he essentially pushes me out of the way and gets to work. He digs and digs, and, as he finds roots or vines, pulls those with his teeth. It's really remarkable to watch, because he's very focused on the task and does not generalize it to digging the entire yard.
Poor guy, though, he got plenty of dust in his nose, and now he's sitting next to me, sneezing. And falling asleep. Gardening is hard work, after all.
Yesterday evening, I had dinner with my group of au pairs. We meet once a month - an opportunity for me to make sure they're all okay, and an opportunity for them to all be in the same place at the same time - and they usually go out afterward as a group.
These young women have a unique perspective about children, since they are full-time (for the most part) caregivers for children ranging in age from toddler to teenager. They entered the program with more childcare experience than many first-time parents have had. Individual au pairs have different motivations for joining the program (lack of jobs in their home country, a desire to improve their English, a desire to study in America, or, yes, the desire to marry an American), but they definitely all learn at least one thing while they're here: kids are a lot of work. Sort of like the show "The Baby Borrowers" but in a much more real-world setting.
When we get together, we talk about their lives - how they're getting along with host families, if they're experiencing homesickness, how school is going - but they often move the conversation to my life. Most of my au pairs have met my family at least once or twice (the kids have joined me for more than one monthly meeting), and they ask about the kids. I try to share one or two interesting stories and leave it at that.
Yesterday, my son became the topic of conversation quite unintentionally. We'd been talking about kids' movies, and one woman mentioned "Prince Caspian," which she'd loved (I did too). I told her about Alex's response to the movie, and the whole group was really intrigued.
See, Alex isn't one of those boys who loves violent movies and games. He's a gentle kid. His taste in video games is dominated by games that emphasize interpersonal relationships, especially the Sims games. He hasn't shown much interest in fighting games, and when he plays with friends, he's not the kid who instigates games based around violence.
And when we saw "Prince Caspian," he was weary of the battle scenes long before the movie was over. I remember sitting next to him and seeing him begin to squirm and look uncomfortable with what was going on onscreen.
Weeks later, just to drive the point home, all four of us saw the new American Girl movie about my daughter's favorite fictional character, Kit Kittredge. The movie was smart, interesting, and didn't include violence (although it definitely did include difficult subject matter, based as it was in the Great Depression). We knew Susie would love it, but we were pleased to hear Alex's review: "It was the best movie I've ever seen!"
He starts his week at summer camp today. It's his third year at this camp, and he thrives there, with the guitar and campfires and cooperative play. It's a gentle place, and it's good for his gentle spirit.
Since we've been in our house for three years now, I've started to get a little restless with some of the design choices we made. The children's bedrooms are the most recent focus of my dissatisfaction. We helped Susie's room grow up a little bit by swapping out her old, white furniture with the furniture we've been using in our bedroom (which was in my grandmother's bedroom since the middle of the last century). Making those changes for her, however, just pushed the point home that Alex's room was in need of even more drastic changes.
I consulted with him to see what he wanted for his room. When we originally moved into the house, he was really fascinated by maps, so we had chosen fabrics that emphasized geography.
This time, he wants a Hollywood theme. We have some decorations that we use for our annual Oscar party; those will work well in his room. And I have ideas for the window treatments that will emulate the curtains around a movie screen.
This weekend, Craig and I took a spin through a few different stores, looking for items that might work in Alex's room. A quick glance through the aisles of children's furnishings at Target showed us that the world of retail still thinks there are only a few things that boys need: sports, cowboys, and camoflauge. (And the "girl" side of the aisle was no better, with its emphasis on pink and flowers - none of which I eschew, but it seems awfully limiting.)
I had the same frustration when I was buying clothes for my children when they were little. Boys' clothes had the same motifs as the bedding: bugs and sports. Items for girls were decidedly pretty, with precious florals or ladybugs, and predominately pink. (And those were the ones without Disney or other characters.)
Raising a child who doesn't quite fit within the culturally-dictated norms is interesting. It takes creativity. And I wouldn't trade it for anything.
edited to add: I found the most fantastic curtains at IKEA a few weeks later...they're red velvet! I bought four panels, two of which I'll turn into valances, thus leaving two panels to curtain his windows, and the valances to bridge the wallspace between, thereby creating a "movie screen" between the two windows. He was THRILLED when he saw them. Now I just need to get to sewing and finding adequate curtain rods.
Since I worked this weekend, I was off today.
My dad left at lunchtime today to return home; he'd been here since Saturday afternoon, having driven here with the kids to return them to us, as well as to assemble the headboard he'd built for us.
After enjoying breakfast and a trip to the river (yes, it's high, but no, I don't think my neighborhood, or any other neighborhood nearby, will be flooded), my dad left in his car.
I spent much of the next few hours cleaning up my bedroom. The new headboard includes bookshelves, so I shelved books (books, I might add, that have been sitting in my room in boxes for many months) and straightened up and changed sheets and dusted and vacuumed. And then, yes, I basked in the cleanness of the room.
This headboard is pretty awesome. I designed it months ago for my dad to build (he's cool like that), and the finished product is actually more impressive than I expected. And the assembly is great in that it easily comes apart into the two bookshelf units (which are a foot deep and a foot wide and six feet tall, quite easily transported via Prius), the fabric-covered board and the top board, which are (obviously) flat. So it can move without being a monster to move.
Oh, and yes, it has built-in lights. Because that's how I roll.
And yes, I know it would be totally mean to tell you how awesome it is and not to post pictures, so here you go. Please to enjoy.
Stealing my own meme from last year, but it seems a worthwhile endeavor.
1. Started a novel. It began as a reckless foray into National Novel Writing Month, totally consuming my life for three weeks, and now remains a nagging project I'd like to finish. Two weeks away from my family next month might be just the push I need to get it done.
2. Preached a full sermon. I'd spoken in church several times before, but this was the first time I was the lone speaker. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. But that doesn't mean I have any plans to become a minister. I'm way too awkward visiting the sick.
3. Got a well-deserved promotion. After the bitter disappointment of being the second-place contestant last year, I laid low and decided to stay in my current department. I had faith in a couple of very trustworthy and loyal colleagues, and it worked in my favor. (Plus, just to make me feel better, the person who got the other job looks just plain miserable every time I see her. Another trusted colleague assures me that I would have hated it and would probably have thrown in the towel by now.)
4. Refinanced my mortgage. Too many scary stories of adjustable rate mortgages ending in foreclosures led me to the loan officer's office for a fixed rate mortgage. Peace of mind? Priceless.
5. Looked long and hard at my priorities and made some changes. I sleep better at night.
6. Met some bloggy friends in real life. Which was just as awesome as it sounds.
7. Drove 850 miles in one day, by myself. It was hard.
Pick up the most recent issue of the Memphis Flyer. There's this awesome family on the cover. I think I recognize the house. (Their website should update Thursday; the last issue is still on the site right now.)
In all seriousness, I'm very, very pleased with the picture and the article. I was in a pretty flippant mood when we were interviewed for the story, so I was a little worried that she didn't have much good material, but I shouldn't have worried.
Plus, it's further evidence that my neighborhood is truly awesome.
And, we're back. Back to school, back to work. To a fairly ordinary life in which the biggest question we face this week is: "Should we turn on the heat?"
In an uncharacteristic move, instead of dragging my old furniture to the curb or calling Goodwill to pick it up, I listed a few pieces of furniture on the Corporation's employee bulletin board. I've used this bulletin board plenty myself, scoring a couch, a car, a dog crate, some video games, and a few other random items. (Should I mention that I've since sold the dog crate via the same bulletin board, and that the couch was one of the pieces of furniture I recently listed?)
But in the interest of the house projects, I have now sold our computer desk, the couch (it was an extra and crowded the guest room, but I'll miss it...it is extremely comfortable), and a dresser.
The funny part is how stunned Craig is by the amount of cash I generated by these sales. He remembers our yard sales, which essentially were our version of the dollar store. We'd sell a dinette set for $10. An entertainment center for $5. But in the Corporation's employee bulletin board, prices are a bit more realistic. My three items, along with the random Arbonne products I was selling, raised about $250, and there's still another furniture item to be sold. Maybe more.
We also tried something else recently. We have loads of books in our house. Many we'll keep forever, but a few we really didn't need. We were already planning to go to the used bookstore that day, and I suggested we bring a few (seriously, a few, like ten) books with us to see if they would buy them.
The store credit we garnered from this transaction (they didn't take all the books, more like three-quarters of them) was sufficient to cover all the items we wanted to buy (a new book for Susie...To Kill a Mockingbird...pretty impressive, right?...three used books for Alex...Lemony Snicket...and a cookbook for me) and even get about $3 back.
True enough, this time of year, from late August to late September, is a financially tight time for our family (one of us is a contract employee with odd pay periods, with a few six-week breaks with no paychecks), but these kinds of things are reasonable. Not humiliating. Not difficult. Not even more effort than taking unwanted items to Goodwill. And they save us money. Which I can definitely find ways to spend.
A few weekends ago, while the children were playing and having a great time, I was cleaning out drawers in my bedroom. I was cleaning out closets. While the children were upstairs watching a movie, I was surfing the intarwebs, looking for ideas for new curtains. My husband called me out on it, telling me how single-minded I can be when I'm working on a project. And that the single-mindedness, especially when it relates to window treatments, makes me lousy company. (Oh, and yes, because you asked, I did find the solution to my window covering issues. I can't wait.)
Giving myself over to this domain, the traditionally-female sphere of house and home, is something that I do in cycles, complete with manias of embroidery, quilting, and knitting. I haven't identified the pattern or frequency (it's not seasonal), nor the stimulus, but something pushes me to obsess about the house every year or two. And obsess I do. It's a little comforting to know I'm not alone in this obsession (maybe it's explained by astrology? nope...just checked and my horoscope today pretty much tells me to get a life: You need to get outside and reconnect with nature in some way. Hiking or gardening would be perfect, but it can be anything that feels right and doesn't require hours of abstract analysis to complete.).
But why do I feel a little guilty about this? Why do I think that I should be doing something more "important"? Is it because I see something lesser, something trivial in "female" domesticity? Now we're back to my women's studies days, the days when I could write a ten-page research paper, complete with footnotes, in three hours, using words I honestly don't know anymore (yes, I found some of my old term papers in all that cleaning and, in reading them, honestly didn't understand them! Because I am apparently killing my brain cells at an amazing pace! Woot!). I can discuss essentialism. I can argue either side. And I can tell you that I always had an intellectual tension with de Beauvoir because her argument against essentialism seemed to me dismissive of the feminine. (See? I can still say smart stuff.) De Beauvoir's insistence that male "transcendence" is superior to female "immanence", in statements like, "The woman who is shut up in immanence endeavors to hold man in that prison also; thus that prison will be confused with the world, and woman will no longer suffer from being confined there: mother, wife, sweetheart are the jailers," just pissed me off in college, and I don't like it any better today. What if I, a "liberated" woman, choose to revel in my immanence? What if transcendence is of no interest to me? Am I imprisoned? I don't feel imprisoned.
What's wrong with the feminine, the immanent? I'll admit upfront that I've not kept up with feminist theory since college, so my reading list only includes titles pre-1992. I remember really, really disliking Camille Paglia when she first hit the scene, telling us that if women had been in charge, we would never have progressed, as a species, to the lofty heights of the Renaissance or Modernism or any of those other things I loved so much in my college days. I disagreed, my twenty-year-old self, secure in the thought that women's softness, our sweetness, our gentleness, was simply enculturation. Camille was saying that if women were in charge we'd still be in mud huts; I countered that if women were in charge, they'd be the same as men, just with different anatomy, and that the roles would simply have reversed, based on who's in power and who's not. (Which meant that I was also guilty of dismissing the feminine, in my certainty that it was no more than a "bad habit" that girls learned as they grew up.)
But I guess that having children and living a few more years in our world has had an effect on my feminism.
These days, I see clearly that girls and boys are not the same. They're sometimes as different as cats and gerbils. But sometimes they're more alike than different. And mothers and fathers are different in how they relate to their children. Women and men are different in the workplace.
I also see that the world of women, the domestic sphere, isn't so bad. We live there, after all. Providing my family with a comfortable, attractive home is a way I demonstrate my love for them. Sometimes it's even a way I express whatever artistic intentions I still have. (And, when people come over and ooh and aah about how pretty, cozy, or whatever other positive adjective they use to describe my house, it feeds my ego a little. And I'm okay with that.) Cooking, cleaning, raising children, changing diapers: it's all hard, honest work. I would never say it's only work to be done by women (fortunately, Craig and I agree on that one), but it's traditionally been in the sphere of women.
Is it unliberated for me to want to make our house a lovely home? Is it unliberated to want window treatments that do what I want them to do (open from the top AND the bottom)? I don't think so. I think it's part of being human, whether female or male. And if knitting and quilting and making dinner and moving furniture makes me happy, then who cares? And seriously, these window treatments are so cool! Let's liberate the windows!
I'm just coming off a busy few weeks, with a busy week coming up, but I see some blank spaces in my calendar in the not-too-distant future. Bringing that together with my to-do list makes for a perfect meld. That white space in the calendar shall not be spent on bon-bons on the chaise lounge. Especially because I don't have a chaise lounge.
No, I've got projects to do. Projects involving sewing machines and paintbrushes. We've lived in our house two years now, which is long enough for it to look "lived in." And, since we worked with a decorator to select our flooring and paint and all that other stuff, we're not quite ready to scrap the colors, so it's time to touch-up whatever the magic eraser can't fix.
But please understand that this is entirely at odds with every fiber of my being.
Because my name is Kaleigh and I'm addicted to redecorating.
The only thing (besides the potential for guilt at undoing the decorator's great work, and my love of her work, and my love of the compliments we hear all the time about our house....wow, that's a lot of things, really) standing in the way of me scrapping things and redecorating with all new colors is that amazingly tall (and unreachable) piece of wall over the stairs. When I look at the stairway walls and grumble about the handprints and how we should have chosen a different color or semi-gloss paint or something, I look up and say, "There's no way in hell I'll ever paint that."
So no redecorating because I'm easily daunted and don't handle guilt well. Oh, and because I really like things the way they are.
But, and not just to prove there is a reason for this post, because so far all I've said is that I'm going to touch up the paint and maybe do a little sewing and who the hell writes four paragraphs about that when a couple of bullet points would have done nicely, I do think there is something to this whole, "It's been two years and it's time to do something to change up the space." When I was a kid I rearranged my bedroom furniture every few months. In our old house I changed things around a lot, too, not just rearranging furniture but repainting, often doing new curtains as well, every two or three years. And I did fall deeply in love with a particular color combination right after we had committed to a different (and very beautiful) color scheme. And that color combination sometimes jumps in my head and gets stuck for a few days.
So yeah, it's time to look around the house and see how I can spruce it up without undoing what makes it work.
And maybe once I hit those spots with a paintbrush I'll get all this out of my system and vote for bon-bons instead. Even if I don't have that chaise lounge.
Without anything deserving of a paragraph, here's a collection of bullet points. Because you know you like them.
In a recent post I linked to a site that could, quite possibly, create the greatest timesuck ever in my life.
My name is Kaleigh, and I'm addicted to making lists.
The odd bit of double-helix that causes my daughter to obsess about office supplies almost certainly comes from me, as I can spend hours (hours!) poring over planner refills. I have about five calendars that serve different purposes, as well as color-coded files.
At work, my love of organization serves me well, and intimidates the hell out of student interns. They see how I organize the financial files and tremble. Occasionally I'll catch a gleam in a student's eye and sense that I'm with a kindred spirit. A person who separates the big paper clips from the small ones. A person who prefers a specific type of pen (me? I like gel pens best, medium point, black ink).
But the lists are my favorite.
They serve a practical function most of the time. When I'm really slammed at work, I've found that I'm 100% more effective if I stop for a few minutes, list the tasks that must be accomplished and their deadlines, and write a prioritized list. Sometimes the list is just for the day, and sometimes it's a week or more. And since I write down every single thing that needs to be done (even the stuff that doesn't bear mentioning, the daily routine things), the list is long. But including items that I'm going to do, period, gives me the opportunity to cross something off the list, which provides reinforcement, giving me a sense of accomplishment.
When we were about to put our old house on the market, I was taking a large dose of prednisone that kept me awake most of the night. Since I was also very fidgety, reading didn't help much, and I didn't allow myself to watch television all night. Instead, I made lists. Lists of things we needed to do to get the house ready to sell. Lists of things to pack. Lists of things for the new house. Lists of all the things I hated about prednisone. And, in my sleepless state, I was able to cross things off those lists.
I won't even describe some of the spreadsheets I made on excel at that time. It's scary.
But with various projects going on at the house, I found myself needing a way to wrap my head around it. And started making a list. The beauty of making that list on the computer, however, is that tasks can be moved around, reprioritized, refined, without getting a new sheet of paper.
This week's list is pretty easy. I think I'll get something checked off after work today. Because I can.
I don't know if the heat has gotten to my brain or if it's just a typical cyclical thing that I do, but I've gotten really sick of my house.
Don't get me wrong: I love the house. I love everything about the house. It's my "small-d" dream house, the attainable dream house, and it has lived up to or exceeded expectations in every way. When we decided to build this house, I imagined a lifestyle change. I imagined our family becoming even more tightly-knit, with happy memories being built every day.
And honestly, the dreams have come true.
But on a practical level, I've come to the cold, hard realization that even a dream house has its problems.
In our old house, a 1930's Craftsman bungalow, the constant problem was how to arrange the furniture. With radiator heat and the open floor plan characteristic of that style of house, our options were severely limited. And it was frustrating, all the time, but we came up with some arrangements that worked in the living room (I move furniture a couple times a year because I get bored easily). The bungalow had fewer rooms than our new house, but the individual rooms were bigger. When we moved, we gained 250 square feet, but we went from 3 bedrooms, 1 bath to 4 bedrooms, 3 baths, with real closets in every room. And a laundry room. We lost the basement and a little room off the kitchen, a mere 5' x 10' alcove that housed our old computer desk and my sewing cabinet, as well as "my" books in a built-in bookcase, and a hinged built-in bench housed miscellaneous items, mainly sewing/craft type things that were hard to store.
I feel the loss of that little room more than I could have imagined. So keenly, in fact, that I want to knock out some drywall under the staircase and build in a computer alcove off the kitchen. But that project can wait. Our house has other problems that bother me more.
The primary problem is that the pieces of furniture that my father made (with his hands!) for the old house really don't fit in the new one. Or at least not in the living room. They are crafted of beautiful, red oak, Mission-style, and they looked perfect in a Craftsman bungalow with earth-toned plaster walls and aged oak floors. But in a contemporary, "New Urbanist" house with unstained maple floors and brightly painted walls, they don't quite fit. Our recent purchase of a mid-century Eames coffee table accentuates that feeling of "something doesn't work." The corner entertainment center that he custom-built to fit a particular corner in the old house looks out-of-place on a straight wall, as well as consuming more space than is necessary.
Inspiration struck recently, as I was bemoaning the mis-matched furniture in the upstairs bedroom that serves as kids' media room and occasional guest bedroom. The bookshelf that houses Craig's library of film books is falling apart, dangerously leaning askew. Over 16 years old (and purchased for about $30), it's served us well. But it needs to go. The entertainment center we bought to fit that corner at the old house, but it really didn't fit, the computer desk that my friend James didn't want and that we needed at the time, my sewing cabinet that goes with nothing, as well as a second-hand couch and an ancient futon and a multi-purpose game table and a CD/DVD tower all clutter the room, making it look more like a dumping ground for old furniture than a room in our dream house. Stacks of unshelved books and Rubbermaid bins of fabric round out the tag-sale atmosphere.
I realized that I could fix both my problems at once. If I moved the lovely oak furniture upstairs and got rid of the mismatched mess, I could make a room that made sense, a guest room that would be welcoming and gracious. All I needed to do was find an entertainment center and some bookshelves for the living room.
Enter my parents, who live near an IKEA store and are coming to visit in October. Until the new furniture arrives (and is assembled), I'll live with things as they are. I can prepare for rearranging the space, but I can't do it yet. I can plan how I'll hang family pictures in the guest room (thanks, Dooce, for the inspiration!) and I can draw out furniture arrangements on our floor plans. I can select blinds, touch up the paint and make new covers for throw pillows. But until I actually get the furniture into the space, get the books into the shelves, hang the blinds, and get the old things out of the house, I'll remain a bit of a malcontent. In fact, by preparing for the furniture shift, I'll probably make things worse for a while, boxing items up, removing art from the walls, and making a general nuisance of myself.
On top of the furniture swap between those rooms, I've found that my new bedroom doesn't hold quite as much furniture as my old one did. Again, this is a result of the smaller room sizes in the new house. I inherited my grandparents' bedroom suite when my grandmother moved in with my parents in 2002, and I love that furniture almost unnaturally. But a bed, two dressers (one that is not part of the set), a vanity table and bench, a cedar chest, and a small bookshelf (also not part of the set) crowd the room.
Dad comes to the rescue again, with plans to build a headboard with built-in cubbyholes to hold books, Craig's CPAP machine, a small stereo, and other bedside necessities, as well as built-in reading lights. This will eliminate the need for the small bookcase, and careful organization can also empty the dresser that's not part of the family bedroom suite.
Again, this is a project for which I can prepare in advance, but, just like the other furniture project, most of it can't happen until my parents visit in October.
So, until then, I keep adding tasks to my list.
There's something really appealing to me about our unmade bed.
Craig got in the habit of making our bed every morning around the time we had our first house on the market. We had showings all the time, for nine months, and we did a good job keeping the house neat and clean that whole time. That habit got pretty deeply ingrained in both of us and, as a result, our house is mostly guest-ready at any time.
Every once in a while, however, the bed doesn't get made. That is most likely to happen when Craig gets up before I do. Like today.
I look at our bedroom and see the unmade bed and it makes me smile a little. The bed is rumpled, showing how, and where, each of us slept. It reminds me of the deep intimacy of sharing sleep. It reminds me of the other reasons we share a bed, too.
A few days ago, I called my dad to ask him to build a new headboard for our bed. I'm lucky to have a father who builds stuff and fixes stuff, and does it willingly and even happily. In the conversation we had, I asked him if he remembered what my bedroom looked like. He admitted that he didn't.
It makes sense, really. He's spent only a few days, total, in this house. I'm sure he can describe my kitchen, my living room, my dining room, the guest room, even my bathroom. But the master bedroom in his daughter's home? Not exactly the prime hanging-out spot.
What a change from childhood, from the teen years, even from early marriage. Until I moved into my second apartment (my first was a studio, so it didn't have a separate bedroom), my bedroom was my world. It was the only part of the house that I controlled (and, even then, I didn't have sole control; my parents had veto power). The posters on the wall, the arrangement of the furniture, the way I shelved my books on my bookcases, those were means of self-expression.
Now I have the luxury of imposing my taste on an entire house, the house we custom built. Our builder had an interior designer who worked with his clients, and she and I met several times to make sure the colors and finishes expressed our family's aesthetics and sensibilities as much as possible. She and I selected dramatic colors for the most public spaces of the house, the living room, dining room, and kitchen (my original choices were less-dramatic, but she suggested that the artwork we owned would be better displayed against a more intense background; she was right).
Our bedroom, on the other hand, is less playful. The colors are more muted. The textures are more sensuous. The artwork celebrates romance, the physical, our marriage. It's the most grown-up room I've ever had a role in designing.
Our designer's work was a success. Our house, now a home, expresses our family so well. The capriciousness of candy-pink in the living room. The drama of chocolate brown and hot pink in the kitchen, set off with pale wood floors and cabinets. The light, bright green and pink bedroom my daughter loves. My son's room, with retro fabrics and maps.
And that unmade bed, beckoning me today, telling me it's okay to take a day away from work and accomplishment.
This year marks a drastic break in tradition. Because Susie's birthday, the 11th, has almost always been cooler than normal, ever since she was born. The weekend of her first birthday brought record lows. Two, three, and four were all lovely days. Her fifth birthday was one of the prettiest days I've ever seen, and we were lucky to be spending it outside, as we had an outdoor birthday party. Six was a rainy day. Seven was nice, eight was another quite cool day, and nine was unremarkable but not hot.
Looks like ten might be the hottest yet. The ten-day forecast has those high temperatures going on and on and on and on.
I'm so glad we live in our house, with its modern central air conditioning (our old house just had window units) and energy-efficiency. I'm so glad to have a job inside, with air conditioning.
But please remind me to be grateful when I'm walking home from work at the hottest time of the day. Please remind me to be grateful when I'm watering the yard because we're about 11 inches behind our average rainfall for the year. Please remind me to be grateful when I open my light, gas, and water bill.
/whining
Thank you internets! I've gotten some cool suggestions for the stairway. Once I cull the suggestions to my three favorites, I'll let Craig choose. I'm nice like that. And I'll post pictures once we're done. If I'm clever I'll remember to do "before" and "after" pictures.
These four-day weeks taunt me. When the kids were little, I worked part-time, and it was great. I was gone just enough to get that much-needed break from small hands and mouths and voices and diapers and being touched out. I got to engage in conversation with adults, and I got to enjoy the feeling of being good at my job (and being recognized for it).
Our family's economic reality, however, meant that once the children were big enough, I needed to work full-time. Many people in my generation are not doing as well as their parents, and the cold, hard truth is that we probably never will. My friend Anthony sent an article to me yesterday...pages of statistics and facts and analysis that gives substance to my thoughts and concerns.
I'm not going to dance around it. Six or so years ago, Craig and I were drowning, financially. I will rest most of the responsibility for that squarely on my own shoulders, as I was in charge of the finances and I didn't do my job well. However, a moment of clarity (no, I don't remember the moment at all) changed how I was dealing (or not dealing) with the money, and things got better.
Last Friday I made the final payment on a signature loan we took out in that era. I'm horrified to think of the interest we paid on that loan. But it's paid off, six months early, because I got very, very serious about our finances a couple of years ago. To say that I feel lighter is a huge understatement. Making that payment every month reminded me of a period in my life marked by a lot of fear. Fear that the mountain of debt would swallow me.
Improvements notwithstanding, I'm not saying that we're all living happily ever after. Yes, we have retirement savings to which I contribute at a fairly aggressive rate, and we're putting away money for the kids' education (though not as aggressively as I'd like). Our credit is very good, thanks to my obsessive bill-paying (and a few letters to creditors asking for some mercy in their reporting). But we still don't have much of a cushion; our income and our expenses are nearly identical, which doesn't leave room for savings. And I'm not sure that I'm willing or able to make the lifestyle changes to save more. We're already frugal. We don't drive fancy cars or wear fancy clothes, and we don't eat out much. I even walk to work! We both work more than one job.
So what's the deal?
It's our career choices. We both could have chosen more lucrative careers. But we didn't, for good and not-so-good reasons. Part of it is geography. We wanted to remain in Memphis. Part of it is the kids. We didn't want them to be in day care, and we think it's important for them to come home from school and have a parent there. Part of it is circumstance. Hiring freezes have kept Craig from getting a tenure-track position. Part of it is education. I majored in art; he majored in psychology and communications/film. And that takes us back to geography.
There's more, though. There's a mindset. There's ambition. And neither of us has a lot of ambition, at least not in regards to career. Because any career that would bring in the type of income that would change our tax bracket would also change our lifestyle. It would mean less family time, more stress, more responsibility. It would mean aftercare for the kids on school days, and worry every summer about what they're going to do while we're at work.
And I sometimes wonder if we're winning the battle but losing the war. If we sacrificed some family time now, if we were willing to put up with more job stress now, would we have more time to spend with our grandchildren, unencumbered by stress about money? Are we limiting our children's futures by not having enough money to send them to private colleges? Will they resent not getting cars for their sixteenth birthdays?
Perhaps, though, they'll learn from us. They'll learn that life is the result of choices. And even if you think, in retrospect, that the choices you made were not the best, you have the opportunity, every day, to make the best of your circumstances.
We have a good life. We own a house: it's big enough for us, though modest. We have good health insurance. We have never gone to bed hungry. We pay our bills and give to our church. And most of the time, it feels like enough.
Okay, first, that kind of House. The season finale last night? Was awesome. Best television I've seen all week. Of course, there was very little competition, since we watched University of Arkansas baseball on TIVO all weekend at the in-laws' house. I heart House and his grumpiness.
But I really mean the other kind of house, like the one in which I live.
It's not a done deal yet, but there's a good chance our house is going to be on the Downtown Home Tour this fall. We were invited to be featured last year, but the timing didn't work out.
This means I have some work ahead of me. Yes, our house is only two years old, but we have children. And pets.
The walls along our staircase aren't working for me. Along the wall without the rail, I hung a triptych I had painted as my senior project in college. I put it there when we first moved in because the wall needed something and I couldn't figure out how to make the ladder cooperate to hang anything higher. The paintings don't work there at all. It's a high-traffic area. So the paintings get bumped all the time, so they're askew all the time, and my low-grade OCD can't handle that.
The staircase walls are immense. At the bottom of the stairs, the ceiling is vaulted (for lack of a better word). So the walls go from the floor of the first floor to the ceiling of the second floor, over twenty feet. Repainting the entire wall is not an option. But I'm thinking of painting the area under the rail (roughly 3 feet, from the stair treads to the rail). Something interesting. Maybe stripes (the current color and a slight variation? or something more dramatic?). And I've looked at wall words. But how would they look going uphill? Maybe just several different words, rather than a phrase? Wallpaper is not entirely out of the question, since the area below the rail is not huge. I've hung paper before, and while it's not fun, it's not the worst thing in the world. (Taking it off, however, might be the worst thing in the world. Which is a good argument to skip that idea entirely, despite how awesome this or this or this might look.)
So, the goal is this: interesting wall treatment for staircase. Needs to be durable and cleanable. And needs to match the carpet (greenish tan). And be accomplishable by Craig and me this summer.
Open to suggestions.....
If you don't live in Memphis, this post doesn't pertain to you, but feel free to read anyway.
Yesterday, my friend and fellow blogger Paul challenged the Memphis blogging community (and, one would presume, the Memphis blog reading community) to push Memphis Light Gas & Water's "Green Power Switch." One "block" of green power results in an additional $4 per month on your utility bill. Small price to pay, if you ask me.
From MLGW's site, signing up for the Green Power Switch means:
The best way to describe the impact of green power is to focus on reduced emissions. For example, buying two blocks of green power (at $8.00 per month) for one year provides the same environmental benefit as:
I need your help, Internets. Our washing machine (the laundry type) died on Saturday. I'm not whining and crying about it; we purchased it used (and cheap!) and knew its life would be short. I had predicted 1-2 years and it has been 21 months. So we're fine with that.
But now we need to decide - today - what kind of washer we want. I found this one at Sears and it looks like a good choice. Any feedback?
My birthday is this weekend, but the weekend is so very busy that I'm quite sure I won't post anything, so I thought I'd celebrate early, at least here.
In honor of my 36 years on this planet, here are three dozen things that I love. If you feel the need to buy me a present, or make me something, this would be a great place to get ideas. But if you don't feel that need, that's okay. Just leave comments about how pretty I am. Or something.
1. Fresh baked bread
2. Petunias
3. My pink cell phone
4. Tiaras
5. Kittens
6. The way my dining room and kitchen look when they're clean
7. Country fried steak
8. Coffee
9. Beer
10. Jasmine tea
11. Châteauneuf-du-Pape wine
12. My pillowcases made of this fabric
13. These shoes
14. This makeup
15. This shirt
16. This piece of furniture
17. Books by Anthony Bourdain
18. Books by Poppy Z. Brite
19. The food at Bouchon in Las Vegas
20. Pretty cookbooks
21. The cute backpack my mom gave me for my birthday (thanks, Mom!)
22. My Roomba (but it really needs a friend)
23. The quilts my grandmother made for me
24. The quilts that I made myself
25. Frank Kozik posters
26. Wacky 1950's and 1960's kitsch
27. Yoga pants
28. Flip flops
29. Pajamas
30. Shonen Knife's music
31. Three 6 Mafia (my husband thinks I'm such a dork for that one)
32. My dog, Biscuit
33. My other dog, Gravy
34. My husband
35. My daughter
36. My son
See, that wasn't so hard. Now we have proof that my inner 5-year-old is definitely alive and well (kittens, tiaras?!), but so is my inner gangsta'. Sweet.
And a shout out to my mom, who was so tired of being pregnant thirty-six years ago today. Sorry I didn't manage my escape before Mother's Day. That would have been a nice gift. But watch this space on Mother's Day (probably after dinner). I'm hoping to post the BEST POST EVER!
