fake hair = romance March 31, 2008

As with (I imagine) most brides, what to do with my hair for my wedding was a huge issue. We (my mom and sometimes even my dad) started figuring it out around the same time we started shopping for a dress, which was immediately.

My hair has never been one to hold curl. The only updos I’ve liked on myself have been performed by my childhood hairstylist. We’re talking major hairspray and bobby pins. I didn’t want to be in the chair all day when I got married, or have to worry about my hairdo falling out before I even walked down the aisle. I’m also a short-hair kind of girl, and growing it out past my chin is a major, fugly CHORE.

So of course we enlisted an expert. My mom started getting her hair done by Starlyn when she moved to North Carolina in 1979. She did my hair until I went to college (and sometimes after that, too).

There was the first haircut ever:

The first perm:

and senior prom (photos courtesy of my engagement scrapbook):

There was one way to guarantee I was going to look good, and to look how I wanted on my wedding day. And that was if Starlyn did my hair.

Train and I got married in northern Virginia. Starlyn lived near my hometown near Raleigh, NC. My mom took a chance and asked her if she would come and do my hair. Starlyn was so touched, she said yes. (Bonus! She could do my mom’s hair too!)

A plan was formed. I didn’t have a set hairstyle in mind, but I knew I wanted it up. My hair was pretty short:

wedding dress shopping, June 2002

and I knew (grumble, grumble) that I would have to grow it out, and I better start now. Luckily, Starlyn knew how I felt about it (and was also realistic about the fact that my hair would only grow so much in a year), and suggested we try out some hairpieces.

So my dad cut off a few sample strands for color matching from hopefully inconspicuous places:

We put them in separate bunches:

And took them to Starlyn:

(Step 4 - eight months later when she is getting ready for your bridal portrait, give your stylist a heart attack when she discovers missing chunks of hair)

Starlyn sent my hair off for some hairpiece samples that would match the color. She wasn’t very thrilled with what she got back from the company. She suggested we hit the mall and go to the HairUWear kiosk and see what we could find.

Not only did I find a fancy looking styled hair clip to attach to a ponytail, I also found a fake-hair scrunchy to use on my ever-lengthening but still scraggly-looking ponytail for everyday. It was awesome, and Starlyn was thrilled.

Now I just had to sit back and let my hair grow:

February

at a gown fitting

March

with bridesmaid LittleSister and maid of honor Dr. P before I made them spend a Saturday night tying ribbons on favors

Starlyn loved the piece we had picked and gave me highlights so that my hair color would match the piece even more. That’s the only time I’ve ever colored my hair, and she used a cap (where they use a hook to dig strands of hair out through tiny holes in the cap) instead of foil, and holy crap that was torture.

At some point I decided to grow out my bangs. I finished college in December of 2002 and started working full-time in February of 2003. I think that had something to do with it, I must have thought I looked young or unprofessional with bangs, which I had had since…well, since birth, it seems like. Anyway, that just added a whole level of insanity to this process.

In April it was time for my bridal portrait session. My dad and I went to Starlyn’s shop to get my hair done that morning.

Then it was more waiting, and growing:

at my first bridal shower, May 2003

at my fourth bridal shower, June 2003

the week before the wedding, getting our marriage license

By now Project Anti-Bangs was almost complete.

And finally, it was time to get married.

Starlyn taking a break from the pool to adjust my headpiece

I loved my fake hair and I am so glad Starlyn was able to do it.

And almost as importantly, it was time to get home from the honeymoon and get my hair cut. I begged Starlyn or Dr. P’s sister Jackie to cut my hair that night after the reception, but neither one would agree. Which is why my drivers’ license photo looks like this, because I got it the day after returning from our cruise to reflect my new name:

on my mind today March 26, 2008

Do you remember when Subway would cut the bread so that the top was a u-shape? And the bottom had that thick basket weave pattern? That bread was awesome.

Dear Carter’s, my son wouldn’t keep outgrowing your sleepers so fast if it wasn’t for his enormous feet. Of course, you probably plan it that way. WTF, Erika

There will be no discussion (due to my history of jinxes) of the transition to big boy bed. No news is good news.

Am I having Braxton Hicks? I never had these with Sherman.

This weekend is Kay’s wedding. We’ll be staying with my mom’s best friend, and she’ll keep Sherman while we go to the wedding. Is it too much to hope that she can take him for a walk after we leave and he can fall asleep in the stroller? Am I insane? Like he’s going to go on a walk without Train and I. We are sneaker-out-ers, not proper-goodbye-ers. I’m getting sweaty just thinking about it.

Sherman’s Big Boy Room March 22, 2008

After many weeks of rearranging and angst (woe and strife) and blood, Sherman’s room is 90% complete (as in, suitable for photographing). I still need curtains, and something for the walls (I’m hoping to find something cute on Etsy but I haven’t looked). As I type this, I’m listening to him squirm on the monitor in his big boy bed, since our *&#*!%$#& video monitor is infrared and we put it too high on the wall to see anything in the dark. Don’t worry, we’ll fix it in the morning. But it’s weird to not be able to watch him. Anyway, for your home improvement pleasure:

view from the far corner

view from the closet

view from the rocking chair

view from the doorway

Also, the kitchen floor is done. I still haven’t been able to mop it, but I love it. I also love getting everything that belongs in the kitchen back into it. Photos in Flickr.

and last night I dreamt of plastic-covered doorways March 18, 2008

Well, there have been no further bloody episodes (knock on wood). Sherman’s new room is painted and totally cleaned out. One of Train’s co-workers went with me to Ikea and Target this weekend (mostly to help carry/lift) and we had a great time. It was a really nice break, and Train was able to finish the painting while we were gone and Sherman napped. (I was stressing Friday night because I certainly couldn’t go to Ikea-the-kingdom-of-self-service alone, and I wasn’t sure I would be able to convince Train to go with Sherman and I after a morning of painting.) Hopefully the furniture will get put together this week, which is Train’s Spring Break. Our plan is to have Sherman in his new room and big boy bed Saturday night. Sans blood.

Speaking of Spring Break, it absolutely could not have come at a worse time. Literally, any other week this year would have been a blessing. Our daycare provider works when teachers do. So if there is a holiday or break, she is off too. Which is fine, because Train can keep Sherman.

But it also means that as the kitchen floor replacement project is reaching critical mass, we planned to take a week off from the progress to avoid having Hector working while Train and Sherman were home. Remember Train was planning on ripping out the old stuff himself, and having Hector begin his work immediately after.

We found out Sunday night that Hector wouldn’t be available next week (3/24), so if we didn’t want to push this into April, we needed to do it this week. Train’s brother could help him rip out the tile, but that still left Sherman. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law’s Spring Breaks are not until after Easter, so they couldn’t keep or take him.

So, we decided that I would take off St. Patrick’s Day and keep Sherman entertained while the boys ripped out the tile. We were out of the house by 8:30 for a wholesome McDonalds breakfast, and even by then Sherman was already in the way. (So in other words…thank goodness for me.)

After breakfast we spent a good hour and a half at the mall playground which was thankfully quiet even though it was Spring Break. Then we had a nice lunch at Chick-Fil-A and 90 minute nap in the stroller while I bought some summer clothes for Sherman and enjoyed a milkshake and magazine. (And let me say that Train and I are so entrenched in an only-eating-out-on-weekends schedule that paying for food three different times in a single day makes me hyperventilate a little even now.)

By the time we got home, the tile was gone, subfloor exposed, and everything had been taken to the dump. Two discoveries: (1) in the foyer, the ceramic tile was installed on top of linoleum and sticky tile. Which explains why that tile held up marginally better than the kitchen (where it was installed directly on the plywood subfloor) and why it wasn’t quite as cold. (2) In the kitchen, the previous owners (grrrr) installed tile in the entire room BEFORE installing the cabinets. So the cabinets are on top of tile. WHO DOES THAT? We were afraid it would mean we would have to take out the cabinets, rip out the old tile, and reinstall them.

When I got home from my 20-week OB checkup, Hector was there. I had actually worked myself up into quite a state on the way home. Clearing the stuff off the floor in the kitchen and foyer was challenging enough (including emptying my china cabinet), and if I had to empty all of the lower cabinets and ALSO find a place to put the actual cabinets…I wasn’t sure I could handle it. I can’t live like that, folks.

Of course, my beloved Hector said we wouldn’t have to do that, that he would make it work. I’m sure he will and it will look great (if you’re interested in the details: since we are adding a layer of Durock under the tile, it will sit higher than the old tile, so even if every trace of old tile can’t be hidden, it will be literally covered by new tile). I said it was a good thing, because if we were going to have to take out the cabinets, we were going to replace the countertops and sink. I could actually see the steam coming out of Train’s ears. He was holding Sherman at the time and I’m surprised Sherman wasn’t scalded. Oh well, crisis averted.

Hector should start putting down the underlayment today. Hopefully this will all be done by the weekend. It doesn’t solve the problem that Train will have to entertain Sherman all day and keep him out of the way while Hector works (I’m pretty sure Hector won’t mind taking a break during naptime), which sounds like a miserable Spring Break. But it will be done soon, and I’m especially thrilled that it will be in time for Sherman’s birthday party.

there will be blood March 16, 2008

Question #24 on the final exam for Advanced Parenting Skills 410:

The weekend before you plan to move your 23-month-old into a “big boy bed” and a new bedroom in preparation for the arrival of his new baby brother in 4 months, he is unusually upset about going to bed. While he occasionally fusses after you leave the room and eventually puts himself to sleep, tonight he is screaming and crying. You and your spouse take turns watching him on the video monitor as his flailings move his crib 4 inches from the wall. Periodically you notice that his head seems to be making contact with the top railing of his crib, but is not accompanied by increased hysteria or injured motions on the video monitor. After about 30 minutes, your son goes to sleep. In the morning, there are pitiful smears of blood on the crib railings and Yertle the Turtle. Your son’s chin is swollen and bruised, although he is in a cheerful mood.

Are you:

(a) completely insane to think that he will sleep peacefully in a “big boy” bed?

(b) congratulating yourself on the timing of the upcoming move, since he obviously wouldn’t survive much longer in the crib?

(c) suggesting to your spouse that pipe insulation be installed around the crib railings to soften the blows?

(d) the worst parents in the world?

lay it on me March 14, 2008

As if there isn’t enough going on around here, what with the second son and the moving of the bedrooms, and the big boy bed I haven’t told you about, we are hoping to have our kitchen floor replaced by the end of March.

When we bought our house in November of 2005 (when I was pregnant with Sherman), it was vacant. Our suspicion was/is that it had previously been a boarding house for mostly construction workers. We also suspect that they did most of the work on the house themselves. The kitchen floor and cabinets seemed new; the bathroom vanities were new; the basement full bath seemed almost entirely new.

Of course, we’ve since discovered that they perhaps did not take the pride in their work as we might have hoped. The bathroom vanities are caulked to the hilt, making it impossible to cleanly paint around them (especially in the dark colors I prefer). The sink in our bathroom has mysterious gouges (where perhaps someone left their hammer in the sink and then…rattled it around) that cannot be cleaned. The shower in the basement bathroom was installed without a trap in the drain, meaning sewer gases can come straight up into the house. Thanks guys! And thanks, home inspector!

But most noticeable of all was the ceramic tile in the kitchen and entryway. It was a nice, light neutral color. There were already a few cracked tiles when we moved in, but we weren’t overly concerned. Then as we began moving things into the house and actually walking on the tile, the problems began. Namely that the grout would pop up and out in chunks. I typically vacuum the floor instead of sweeping before mopping (we have hardwood floors and two dogs, come on) and I would vacuum up chunks of grout from between the tiles (and still do). More tiles inexplicably cracked, without major trauma like dropping a heavy bowl or brick or anvil. The bright white grout turned black. The light-colored stone showed every single spill and spot. It is always cold in the kitchen - where there is an exterior door and three large windows - especially in the winter, where it’s usually FIVE DEGREES colder in there than in the living room, which is just around the corner and also where the thermostat is.

(notes in Flickr)

One of the most heavily-trafficked areas of the kitchen, next to the trash can and sink. you can see the cracks and the nasty grout.

This is what the grout looks like under our kitchen table, where no soul has ever stepped. It all looked like this when we moved in.

Our foyer/entranceway. The kitchen is through the door on the right; on the left are stairs down to the basement and up to the top level. I’m including this picture to show you how the hardwood meets the tile and why I am stressed that the tile I picked isn’t going to look good right next to the wood.

Turns out the tile was installed directly on the plywood subfloor, giving it absolutely no room to flex with pressure (such as…the weight of a human). The crawlspace underneath the kitchen was not insulated, so basically we were feeling all of the cold air from under the house seeping up through the subfloor and tile. You literally could not go into the kitchen in the winter without at least socks on, even standing on a rug.

Some of you may remember my beloved neighbor Hector, who is a contractor by trade and a tile specialist. He replaced and re-tiled both of our upstairs showers when I was on maternity leave with Sherman (one leaked, and one was just ugly). He has replaced three sets of exterior doors for us (with Train’s help). He shimmied up into the attic to check our attic fan. He installed a frost-free water spigot in our carport. He installed the toilet in our bathroom after Train discovered a broken floor flange. He’s wonderful. He also has the same house as us, down the street, so he always has good ideas on what works in our house and what doesn’t.

Any time Hector has come over in the last few years, he would shake his head and cluck over our kitchen floor. “I feel sorry for you,” he would always say. What a waste of time and money to get new tile and not install it correctly, just so that it has to be re-done three years later. “We need to fix this!”

Well, we’re finally ready. He came by a few weeks ago to measure and work up an estimate and give us suggestions on what kind of tile to look for. We talked about doing the work while Sherman is at daycare, and doing it in two stages so we only have to keep him out of one part of the room at a time. We can get a darker grout so I’ll basically only have to mop when shoes begin sticking to the floor. On Hector’s suggestion, we’re going with 16 x 16 tile, which I am inordinately excited about.

Train brought it home, all 25 boxes, Wednesday night. Train is going to rip out the old tile, at Hector’s suggestion, to save money. Supposedly it should just pop right off since it wasn’t really grouted down to begin with. Hector has also convinced Train to do the crawlspace insulation himself, so that will save money too.

Once the old tile is gone, Hector will start immediately putting the new stuff in (I’m hoping…really it all comes down to everyone’s day-by-day schedule). So ideally we will only be “inconvenienced” for a few days. The trick is that Train’s spring break begins on St. Patrick’s Day, and it would be impossible to (a) rip out tile while keeping an eye on Sherman and (b) even worse trying to keep him out of Hector’s way while new stuff is installed. So we may have to wait one more week until we can get started, but of course next weekend is Easter so that means we’ll lose some time. We also have set Easter weekend as our target date for moving Sherman into his new room, which still needs to be painted and furnished. Nothing like having a lot going on at one time.

let’s hear it for my baby March 13, 2008

I wanted to post last night but our internet was out. So I was also unable to upload any ultrasound pictures (I will add those to this post later tonight…hopefully). But…

we’re having a boy! YAYAYAYAY!

Now WTF are we going to name him?

arm wrestler

face

feet (ankles crossed)

hand

it’s a boy!

“My colors are blush and bashful, Mama!” March 10, 2008

There are a few things you must do if you’re from the South and you’re getting married. I got married in Virginia, which I never considered to actually be Southern, since most restaurants don’t serve sweet tea. That is how it’s officially determined, right? But I was from North Carolina, raised in the heart of a good-ol-boy, proper-ladies, family-name-matters, right-side-of-the-tracks tiny Southern town. My parents may have been transplanted from Florida (and themselves had eloped), but twenty years of tea parties and pharmacy lunch counters were not wasted on us. If my wedding was going to be official, there were a few non-negotiables.

1 - Bridal portrait. I often tell people that where I grew up, if you didn’t have a bridal portrait, you weren’t really married. Having pictures taken of the “bride only” on the wedding day most certainly did not count. Most photographers offer engagement/bridal/wedding packages. Since my wedding and wedding photographer were in a different state from where my parents and I (and my groom, come to think of it) lived at the time, I had my bridal portraits taken by a photographer on Main Street, across from the tea room where my bridesmaids’ reception was hosted.

My session was three months and one day before my wedding. My mom had unexpectedly had to leave town to be with her sick mother and wasn’t going to be there for the session. So the night before, my dad and I went and bought a video camera so that he could tape the entire thing. My mom asked her best friend to go with us to assist, and one of my bridesmaids (Kay) came also.

Dad and I on our way to the photographer’s studio

The month before, I had picked up a silk bouquet from our Virginia florist that would be a replica of my wedding bouquet to be used in the bridal portraits. That morning, I had my hair done and veil attached. A quick sandwich in the car, and then it was off to the Mary Kay lady to have my makeup done. I arrived at the photographer at 11am for my three hour session (coincidentally, it was exactly three years before Sherman was born).

The session was pretty standard, and my dad videotaped the whole thing. Sitting, standing, with flowers, without, looking up, looking down, looking over the shoulder, gazing at my engagement ring, etc. Halfway through the session, the photographer’s assistant covered me with a sheet and sat me down for a snack of fruit and cookies and water.  The best picture was actually a candid one, when I had my back to the camera, and I had hesitantly peeked out from my veil (with one finger keeping it out of my lipstick), to see what was going on behind me, and the photographer snapped a photo.

A few weeks later, my mom and dad and I went back to the studio to see the results. We watched all of the portraits projected on the wall in the dark room. My mom’s favorite was a full-length of me looking clearly at the camera holding my bouquet and smiling. My favorite was a full-length of me looking down demurely with a soft focus. We each got our own 16 x 20″ canvas portrait (my mom hates mine because she thinks it makes me look “submissive” or unhappy; I hate hers because it’s so straight on and direct I feel like you can see every flaw - including the seam of my dress under my right arm). Then there were countless 5 x 7s and 8 x 10s that dot my parents’ house today.

our portrait

my mom’s portrait

proof

proof

proof

proof

Of course, these portraits weren’t just for our own use. Both of the framed canvases were displayed at the wedding reception, and a 3/4 length portrait was used in our wedding announcement in three local papers.

2 - Wedding announcements. I’m not sure what wedding announcements are like elsewhere, but in my hometown they usually took up half a page each and included every detail of the wedding gown, the bridesmaids’ dresses, and each shower, party, reception, or tea thrown in honor of the couple, including a reprint of the couple’s education, Greek, and employment information from the engagement announcement. And the photo is of the bride, not the couple. It appears in the paper the day after the wedding, so how could it have an actual wedding photo?

my announcement photo

Incidentally, since my husband was not a local boy, and he has two middle names, my hometown paper got confused about what my new last name was and misprinted it, so the whole thing went in again, corrected, the next week. I’m sure my high school classmates were wondering why I got two announcements.

3 - Formal china. Even if you don’t want formal china, even if you will never use it or take it out of the box, you must register for formal china. If not, the older ladies will call your mother and harass her until she gives them a pattern name. Belk holds seminars to educate brides-to-be on how many place settings, which serving pieces, coordinating holiday dishes, and suitable flatware and stemware to register for. One of my friends got married right after we graduated from high school, and she and her husband collected all of the fine china gifts from her grandmother’s and great-grandmother’s friends (at her 10 bridal showers), and hauled all of it to Belk after the wedding to return it and buy a full set of their everyday dishes (and then some). You can’t fight it. We received our first place setting as a Christmas gift from my parents the year before we got married.

4 - Groom’s cake. Wasn’t this immortalized in Steel Magnolias? Train’s cake was actually served at the rehearsal dinner, and it was a motorcycle. I think.

5 - Gift tables. Mothers-of-the bride display their daughter’s engagement and shower gifts in their home so that visitors can survey the loot before the wedding. My mom arranged our gifts on several tables as they arrived at her house, plus framed engagement portraits, wedding favors, and copies of shower and tea invitations.

Even though we only got married 5 years ago, times have really changed. Back then the wedding “industry” was just getting started in utilizing the web and theknot.com to increase all the ways you could customize your ceremony and reception. Our reception was pretty standard based on all of the weddings I had been to as an adolescent in the early 90s: our cake had a champagne fountain; we had matchbooks as favors; I had a cascade bouquet and not one of those fancy schmancy gathered ones. My point is, I imagine as years go by brides pay less and less attention to these old-school “rules,” but it really added something special to my engagement and the planning of our wedding.

on size of family March 7, 2008

I may be beating a dead horse here…but will someone please tell me why there is this assumption that having or being an only child is the worst thing that could EVER happen to a child in the HISTORY of the world?

Because if you listen to a lot of the comments I’ve gotten recently as news of our little addition to the family has spread, all of you that are second- and third-born can assume that the sole reason you were brought into this world is to be a distraction for your bored, lonely, nuisance older sibling. Sorry to be the one to break it to you.

Apparently there has never been a mother who lamented the end of her first-born’s days of sole attention.

Apparently there has never been a mother who worried so much about her heart’s ability to contain love for yet another wonderful offspring that she delayed the decision on whether to get pregnant again.

JUST BRING ON THE BROOD SO I DON’T HAVE TO ENTERTAIN THIS KID BY MYSELF ANYMORE.

It drives me nuts that these women with 2, 3, 4 children have forgotten the days when their first born was their only child. I find it very hard to believe that most mothers of young children are simply biding their time and tolerating their single child until they are able to have another baby. Do you get what I’m saying? This is asinine.

I know it’s useless to be frustrated by these things, but why is the assumption that the reason we are having another baby is to “give Sherman a little brother or sister”? No. What we’re doing is adding another person to our family. We are thrilled and excited and nervous. We can’t wait to see how he/she is the same and different from his/her magnificent older brother. To be frank, I find it offensive that the only thing this child is considered to be is a playmate for Sherman.

Many people are now asking if we only plan to have two children. I give them an unequivocal YES, and if I’m feeling playful I might throw in that I wasn’t even sure I wanted a second, so there is certainly no consideration of a third. More often that not, the response I get to that was “OH! You don’t want Sherman to be an only child!”

Well, what if I did? I mean, I was an only child and I’m certainly not SCARRED. I never wished for siblings and never wanted to share my clothes, toys, or house with a brother or sister. I had plenty of friends to keep me occupied and enjoyed spending time with my parents. It’s especially nice now that it doesn’t take an act of God to get my entire nuclear family together, and I am beyond blessed that in their retirement, I don’t have to share my parents with any siblings or nieces or nephews. I think I would lose my mind being so far from my family (i.e. my parents) if I wasn’t able to look forward to their long visits.

The fact is that no one knows what it’s like on the “other side”. You either had siblings or you didn’t. Even if you have step-siblings you may consider yourself an only child because they didn’t live with you. You either had to share your parents’ attention with another child or you didn’t. When all of your kids are grown, you hope you will look back and say, “That was fun. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” But you couldn’t have had it any other way. Because if you had, you still would say, “That was fun. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

I see the value in brother/sister relationships firsthand in my husband’s bonds with brother and two sisters. I can appreciate, if not always understand, that those relationships are as important to him as the ones with his parents, because they were the bonds that shaped his childhood. But that doesn’t discount the bond I have with my own parents by comparison, just as my relationship with my parents isn’t more important or more sacred than his simply because I didn’t have to share my parents. It’s just different.

I imagine a childhood like Train’s (in a large family) to be full of mischief and chaos, where at the end of the day the family all sits down at the table together. I imagine shared jokes and long games of make-believe and one sibling shoving the other off the porch and older sisters dressing their younger brothers up as Raggedy Ann and everyone sitting together in church while their mother sang in the choir.

But when I think about my own childhood, I think of carefully arranging the pepperonis on a frozen pizza with my father while Mom was at night school getting her bachelors’ degree. Of turning off the TV on Friday nights so the three of us could play Trouble. Of Mom and I propping our pillows against the picture windows in the back of the house so we could spend an icy, electricity-less afternoon reading in the weak daylight. Of jumping on the trampoline in the backyard for hours, singing to Paula Abdul’s “Spellbound” on my tape player.

I think they both sound wonderful, because we were happy, healthy, and loved.

When we talked about having a second baby, part of me wanted to stop with Sherman just to prove a point: that you don’t have to have a sibling to be well-adjusted or compassionate. You don’t have to have more than one child to have a full life. When you take into account the amount of work it takes between the two of us to keep our household running financially and logistically, even Train (formerly Mr. “I-want-my-own-basketball-team’s-worth”) was open to the possibility of Sherman being an only child.

When it came down to it, our main hesitation was that we were/are unsure how we would/will pay for daycare for a second child. And we decided that if that was our only reason not to have another baby, it was a terrible reason (in our situation). That in 5 years, if we could look back and say the only reason we didn’t have a second child was because it would have put a financial strain on us, that we would have serious regrets. The only way Sherman factored into the decision is because we didn’t want him to be too much older than his sibling, not that we wanted to have a permanent playdate for his entertainment.

I hope this diatribe made some sort of sense. There are stereotypes and unsolicited comments all throughout society that we are guilty of perpetuating, and this is, by all comparison, a benign one. But it gets under my skin EVERY SINGLE TIME. How can you sit there and say to me, “The way I lived my life and raised my family was right. You’re doing it differently, and it’s wrong.” By whose definition? At what consequence?

after the math March 4, 2008

Like I said, the move went nicely. Train’s brother helped move the furniture, and the car is packed to the gills and ready for a trip to Goodwill tomorrow. Even my upstairs linen closet got cleaned out, and I really pared down my (embarassing) collection of tote bags. There are still some random things in the upstairs room…mostly things we shouldn’t have or don’t want anyway so it’s hard to decide what to do with them. And the laundry/storage room is totally unacceptable because the full bed and Christmas stuff are just sitting there clogging up the feng shui. But hey…that can wait until Mom comes to visit so she can help me figure out what to do with that shit. I’m reluctant to clean out my Christmas decorations because I may use more as Sherman gets older, but the fact is that out of two Rubbermaid tubs and two boxes, I probably use one tub’s worth of decorations. So, there is hope. Also, there’s empty shelf space in the closet and on the bookshelf, so I don’t feel like we are already stuffing ourselves into this room.

The new basement office is pretty cozy and several times in the last few days we have found all five of us (including the dogs) in this tiny room (admittedly that’s probably because we’ve had so much to do in here).

So, ta-da. Here’s our most recent extreme home makeover. Notes in Flickr, just click on the photos.

Like I said, I am waiting on a few things to go in this closet: namely a gift wrap / gift bag organizer that will hang from the rod.

Train put shelves on the sides of the closet, which is usually wasted space for me since you can’t get to anything. I. LOVE. THEM. They only cost $90. (ACK!)

I love these double shelves. For some reason the closet in the “old” office didn’t have them although the other 2 bedrooms do.