Bad Omen? Or Nowhere to Go But Up?

My husband likes to say that, when I met him, I'd had the longest winning streak of anyone he knew. That may have been true (I found him, didn't I?), but I've also had some jarring losing streaks (like mono at age 30 that knocked me out of work for a month) to break up the wins. Thankfully, the good times always came back around -- but I'm a little worried about this start to 2010 that's causing me to flashback to five years ago.

In the final days of 2004 and the opening of 2005...

• While visiting family in California, we borrowed our niece's car to drive to San Francisco. The car was vandalized at the train station where we parked outside the city (side and rear windows smashed in). After trying to drive the car back to Davis in the rain, we finally gave up and called my husband's sister and her husband to come rescue us. Oh, and I was about 13 weeks pregnant, so you can imagine how even-keeled I was about the whole thing.
• While trying to get home from California, we sat in the plane on the runway for 3+ hours before finally taking off -- then missed our connecting flight in Chicago after running (literally) through the airport and ended up spending a few hours of sleep in an airport hotel before catching an early morning flight home. Did I mention I was pregnant?
• On my first day back at work after the holidays, my wallet was stolen out of my office by a con-man who (through an elaborate scam that I won't detail here) was able to charge several purchases to my ATM card before I realized what was happening. (Thankfully, the Credit Union took great care of me once we got the mess sorted out -- but let this be a reminder to all to NEVER EVER tell anyone your PIN, even if you think they work for your bank. Ever.) And again, did I mention I was pregnant and emotional and exhausted?

Thankfully, despite the disastrous beginning, 2005 brought us great gifts -- namely, one beautiful, healthy baby boy. He came with his own craziness, but he's definitely worth it.

I tell you all of this now because here's what happened today:

• A water pipe burst under the house this afternoon. It was a comedy of errors (okay, it wasn't funny at the time, but you have to laugh so as not to cry) while I tried to locate the tool to shut off water to the house (we have no inside-the-house shut-off) and then attempted to figure out how to use it while my husband coached me over the phone.
• Our home warranty won't cover the plumbing problem because it involves freezing weather and a hose bib. Really? I'm paying you over $500 a year so that you can NOT cover things that break?
• UNC lost to the College of Charleston tonight. C'mon, Heels!
• When I reminded my husband that 2005 turned out to be a great year after all (because of course, we both went back to that jinx when the pipe burst today), he said, "Oh no. I hope you're not pregnant." But clearly that's not a problem as I started my period this morning -- this may seem like a good thing, except that it also means I'm on a 26-day cycle. At this rate, I'll end up menstruating twice a month before the end of the year.

Okay, so that last one was probably more than you wanted to know. But it really was the perfect ending to a completely stellar day.

The good news? The plumber is coming tomorrow morning, so hopefully we'll have water again by tomorrow afternoon. And in the meantime, we have wonderful neighbors who are going above and beyond the call of duty to take care of us.

Hopefully this is all a good sign that 2010 will be just as fruitful as 2005 was -- but in a totally different way.

Cult of Domesticity

I may have joined a cult.

At first, I wasn't sure -- but after today's incident, I'm thinking that's what happened.

It all started innocently enough. Earlier this summer, we installed new carpet upstairs -- the old mess desperately needed to be replaced, so we had it pulled out and put in a lovely loop-and-pile Stainmaster carpet. My bare feet were so happy.

Then, in order to take good care of our fancy new carpet (plus the almost-new carpet already downstairs), we decided to get a new vacuum cleaner. Seemed like a good idea, given that the one we have was a cheap floor model we got at a discount and it makes the house smell bad every time I turn it on. So we spent some time looking online (as we always do) -- reading reviews, checking prices, looking for the best deal.

I also asked friends what they use, laughing each time one of them lowered her eyes, blushed slightly and said apologetically, "I bought a Dyson," adding hurriedly, "but it's amazing what it can get out of your carpet. Really. Seriously. I mean, you should see it. It's amazing." Why so embarrassed, I thought -- I know they're expensive, but it's okay if you really think they're that great.

Finally on Sunday, we found ourselves at a big box appliance store. We started with the Hoover, which seemed like a good basic option that had all the necessary details. My husband was test-driving it when Junius announced that he needed to pee, so I took my son to the potty. When I returned from said potty trip, somehow my husband had moved from the $170 Hoover to the nearly $500 Dyson. You know, the one with the cool ball roller thing and the wand attachment that launches out of the handle like a light saber. That vacuum has more engineering in it than my car.

Long story short, the salesman did his job and we were sold -- plus he had a coupon. An hour later, we had it home, out of the box, assembled and were vacuuming the upstairs. Everyone wanted a turn. And when we were finished, the amount of crap inside that canister was enough to make my stomach turn (see disgusting close-up photo at left). Between knowing that all that mess was no longer under my feet and that the air the Dyson was putting out was actually cleaner that what was already in the house, I was an instant believer.

Then today at the pool, I was chatting with two other moms (who I don't know well) about life, love and the pursuit of cleanliness. One mentioned using her vacuum attachment to clean hard surfaces instead of dusting. "That's brilliant," I said. "Never thought of that, but I just got a new vacuum cleaner with a brush attachment built in, so I could do that at the same time when I'm vacuuming."

And when she asked the next logical question -- "What kind did you get?" -- I promptly lowered my eyes, blushed slightly and answered apologetically, "I bought a Dyson."

Guess that means I'm an official cult member now. But at least my carpet is cleaner than ever.

Before and After: Outdoor Dining Chairs

I love a nice renovation project. Probably a good thing, given all the work we need to do to our house. Sadly, I don't have the carpentry, tiling, dry-walling, plumbing and electrical skills to tackle a lot of projects myself. But I can wield a paint can and staple gun with minimal risk to my personal safety, so that's usually where my solutions start.

We inherited a set of six chairs from my husband's grandparents several years ago. They lived in our shed (the chairs, not his grandparents) at three different houses. The chairs had great lines -- especially the slightly curved backs -- but the faded yellow paint was chipped and rusting, while the vinyl green seat covers were sticky and, well, ugly (see "before" photo above).

This summer I finally brought them out of the shed and into the light. After some scrubbing, I spray-painted them to match the legs on the table on our deck. Then I took the left-over fabric from our outdoor cushions, stretched it over the seat rounds and stapled it underneath.

Et voila! A brand-new-ish set of six chairs that we can use to eat dinner on the deck (see "after" photo at left). I think my mother-in-law will be proud of my craftiness and the fact that we were able to re-use some family furniture -- and I feel good about saving some money and keeping a few things out of the trash.

Now if I can just figure out how to get rid of the flies and mosquitoes, we'll be all set for some lovely dining al fresco.

Saying thank you with ice cream

The following essay was my entry for the Edy's Slow Churned Neighborhood Salute. I'm so excited to be a grand prize winner, which means I'm one of 1,500 people across the country who get to throw an ice cream party for their neighbors courtesy of Edy's. The party will be later in July, but I thought I'd post the essay now because it fits with yesterday's post about moving in. It may also remind you of my 50-word autobiography from earlier in the spring.

In August 2003, my husband and I bought our first house, located in the Lakemont neighborhood of Raleigh, N.C. Over the next few years, we had our first child and became good friends with our neighbors. Our neighborhood group quickly became our community support network – the people who brought dinner when you'd had a family illness, watched your kids in a pinch, offered hand-me-downs and holiday treats, donated to your causes, cheered your talents, celebrated your successes and mourned your losses.

In July 2007, we sold our house in Lakemont to move to Greensboro for a great job opportunity. We didn't want to leave Raleigh, but felt like it was the right decision for our family. Long story short, over the next 11 months, the job opportunity fell apart, we had our second child, my husband found a new job in Raleigh, we sold our house in Greensboro, moved in with my parents for two months, bought a house back in Lakemont (a few streets over from our first home) and moved back to Raleigh in June 2008. Phew.

When our friends from the neighborhood showed up in the front yard of our new house at the same time that the moving truck pulled up to the curb, we knew we'd made the right decision to return. It was an exhausting year – both emotionally and physically – but we felt that coming back to Lakemont was coming home for us, returning to our "family."

Our neighborhood isn't fancy, the houses aren't glamorous, the residents aren't making millions. But we have a wealth of community that I think is rare in a time when people are so transient and keeping up with the Joneses is more about the car you drive than about what sort of help the Joneses might need.

We’d love to host an Edy’s party to say thank you to all our friends and neighbors, new and old, and to celebrate how wonderful they are – they’re what makes Lakemont home for us.

What a difference a year makes

"This is a disaster," I remember thinking to myself. "What have we done?"

Boxes were crammed into the kitchen making it impossible to get to the sink or any of the countertops. Mattresses and bed parts leaned against the bedroom walls, leaving nowhere to sleep. The couch was piled high with bags of toys, pillows and blankets. The maze of stuff throughout the house rendered even the floor impossible to reach.

Exhausted, I took Junius (then almost 3) and Pippi (then 4 months) across the street and knocked on our neighbors' door. We had just met that afternoon, but I was desperate for a soft place to sit -- and there was no such location in the new house.

"Would it be okay if we came in so I could nurse?" I asked her, when she opened the door. She graciously invited us in, as I realized she was also nursing her 5-month-old son.

Pippi had her dinner, then we went back to our house so the rest of us could eat. The same neighbor had thoughtfully brought over not only food that required no cooking, but also paper plates, plastic utensils and napkins.

I'm not sure whether it was the kindness of a stranger (soon to be friend) or the chaotic mess around me or the thought that we'd left behind a perfectly nice, clean, unpacked, already-decorated house, but all I wanted to do was cry myself to sleep. Except that I couldn't find any tissues. Or my bed.

That was one year ago this weekend.

Seems like a lifetime ago. Seems like only yesterday.

Although the house is still a chaotic mess (mostly due to two small children and some remodeling projects), we're much more settled in than we were that day. We've done lots of work upstairs (and by "we," I mostly mean my husband and other skilled people) to make it our own. And with "old" and "new" friends surrounding us -- including that kind neighbor across the street -- this is where we are setting down roots for our family. No longer the "new house"...

This is home.

Timber! Or... Why I'm Apologizing Again

I owe my mom an apology.

Actually, I owe her many -- seems motherhood hands me something to apologize for nearly every day. It's amazing how my understanding and sympathies change as my children show me what I couldn't see in my own mom as I was growing up.

But this one is not parenting related. Today I want to apologize for thinking my mom was over-reacting when she and my dad had several trees taken down around their house last year. She called me or sent me text-messages with photos probably six times that day. At the time I thought, "Why is she being so dramatic? These trees should have been taken down years ago. She's lucky they haven't already crashed into the roof. And it's not like they don't have dozens more still towering in the yard."

And then yesterday I found myself huddled on my neighbor's front porch with my children at 8:30 a.m., my heart racing, tears in my eyes, and a sick feeling in my stomach. The angry sounds of an enormous crane, multiple chain saws and a wood chipper rang in my ears. By 10:30 a.m., five 90-foot pine trees had disappeared from my front yard -- and that was just the beginning.

My reaction caught me off guard. My husband and I had planned to take the trees down from the minute we moved here -- it was exactly what we wanted to do in order to let more light in the house, have a better view, and not live in fear that we'd wake up with a pine tree in our bed during the next hurricane.

But standing there watching, it suddenly seemed more like the execution of an unsuspecting giant than a land management decision. As I choked back tears like it was double-header night at the chick flick festival, I thought of my mom. I felt suddenly selfish, sad and guilty about the trees (a sentiment only exacerbated by the fact that my husband had walked through the yard the night before, touching each tree to say good-bye and teaching Junius to say thank you to each one). And I felt like an idiot for underestimating the power that such tall creatures could have on a mom who had lived under them for more than two decades or even just 12 months.

_____

Today I've settled down again. I'm enjoying all the new sunlight in my yard. I'm imagining new landscaping in the front and more space to play in the back. And I'm thankful for the opportunity to learn yet another lesson from my mom, who is a great teacher and who always loves me in spite of myself.

Loose ends

A few updates on some older posts, for those of you who are keeping track...

1. We didn't get picked to be on TLC's Home Made Simple. Although the producer supposedly thought we were "hilarious," apparently we just weren't TV material. Thankfully, my husband hasn't noticed that I have yet to learn how to make duck for dinner. Go here to read about one of the local families that will be on the show.
   
   
2. The babysitting co-op rocks. I've had two friends over to sit for my kids, and I've gone to two other houses to sit for their kids. Loving care and proper supervision were involved, and everyone had a more fiscally-responsible night out. That said, we still love our "original" babysitters -- both the one who is getting married and the one who moved away for grad school (you know who you are).
   
   
3. The pile is gone, thanks to a complete clearing out of all loose items upstairs in preparation for the new carpet that was installed last month. Of course, the living and dining rooms (where we relocated everything) are a total disaster area -- but the upstairs looks lovely. Will see how long that can last.
   
   
4. The Super Dylan Team raised more than $10,000 to support research for a cure for Cystic Fibrosis. We surpassed our fundraising goal, but it's not too late to give, if you're interested.
   
   
5. I got 10 comments posted on my shameless solicitation for feedback -- the most comments of any post so far (thank you!!). Also, my unintentionally-possibly-racist-but-not-and-still-think-it's-funny joke does not appear to have offended anyone enough to make them leave a nasty note.

I think that wraps up most of it for now. Thanks for reading -- I'm really have fun doing the writing, but it's even better when I know you're out there enjoying it.

Oh, what a night

Dinner at trendy new downtown Lebanese restaurant: $22

Signature cocktail at trendy new downtown bar: $8

Downtown parking deck: free

Neighborhood ladies night out with wonderful friends (including rockin' minivan soundtrack, witty conversation, getting carded, getting hit on by some random guy and staying up WAY past my bedtime), and then coming home to my beautiful family all sweetly sleeping and snuggling up with my husband: priceless

The Pile

If an archaeologist were digging through the layers on top of this dresser in our master bedroom, what could she learn about us...

• The trash basket on the top shows we have small children who like to play with garbage.
• Three shirts and one pair of corduroy pants say that mommy gets the laundry clean and folded, but hasn't figured out where daddy keeps all his clothes (and neither has he).
• Next, the newspapers from President Obama's election and inauguration tell that we're Democrats -- but we have no system for saving memorabilia.
• Below that, the framed storypeople print (previously hanging on the bathroom wall, but removed for painting and never returned) says we're good at starting projects, but not as good at finishing them.
  
• The wadded up handful of receipts in front suggest purchases that might be returned, so we're saving them just in case.
• The Thomas the Train library book on the corner was placed there by Junius, who thought we might want to read it at night.
• The stack of daddy's birthday cards under the book shows he's sentimental enough to hang onto to the cards, but (again) no system for saving them.
• And the knickknacks (candlestick, frosted bottle, etc.) don't fit, but currently don't have anywhere else to go -- another unfinished project.
  

All that in just one little stack. Sadly, our house is filled with piles, big and small. Everytime I tackle one, another one seems to pop up somewhere else.

What do your piles say about you?

Duck in a Crockpot

We recently interviewed to be on the TLC show Home Made Simple. A friend in the neighborhood knew they were looking for families in Raleigh and we volunteered to try out. The show's producer (a very nice guy named Mike) came over on a Friday evening with his video camera to shoot the house and us talking about our home and our life.

It's a strange thing to talk about "our story" on camera, trying to think about whether or not anyone would want to see us on TV. And it's awkward to try to look nice and sound witty while also fixing dinner and feeding two small children, but we did our best. Goodness knows we could use the help with the house, so it's worth a try.

Anyway, during the course of the interviews, Mike asked if there was something we'd like to learn how to cook. I was thinking something boring like anything-that's-easy-to-make-that-my-husband-and-son-will-both-eat crockpot casserole. But here's how the conversation actually went on camera...

Mike: So is there anything you'd like to learn how to make?
Husband: Crepes. [Excitedly.]I'd really like to learn how to make crepes.
Me: [Looking incredulous.] You mean, using the crepe pan that we got as a wedding gift seven years ago that's still in the cardboard wrapping in the way way back of the cabinet?

Yes, he says as he digs the pan out of the cabinet, holding it up for the camera (he's a PR guy, he can't stop himself). And he goes on to explain to Mike that we got engaged in Paris and that he loves crepes because they can be savory or sweet and wouldn't that be a cool thing to be able to make. So Mike follows up by asking where we ate in Paris and what foods we liked best, and Patrick starts telling him about all the fabulous duck entrees we ate while we were there, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out...

Me: [Looking stunned and slightly pained.] Oh my gosh. If I really wanted to woo my husband, I'd learn how to make a delicious duck dish. [Yes, I'm that alliterative when I talk -- probably too much time teaching English and reading Dr. Seuss.] This is terrible! Can you cook duck in a crockpot?!?!

So now I'm ruined. Me -- the girl who until very recently refused to touch raw meat under any circumstances. Me -- the girl who could live just fine on cereal and milk three times a day. Me -- the girl who sometimes serves her kids an all-orange meal (chicken nuggets, sweet potato fries, carrots and mandarin oranges) and thinks that's okay.

Regardless of whether or not we get picked for the show, the idea is out there. I now have to learn how to cook duck.

Quack.