drive by

If I suddenly come into money I think I might need to move here. It's modest, I'm a woman of modest means. Well if modest includes an acre of land. Oh boy, I'm already having visions of cavorting on a flat acre of land that's mine all mine! I'd love to live somewhere that you can forego curtains because their are no neighbors close enough that you have to worry about privacy. And a two car detached garage with a workroom! I have visions of starting a home craft/refinishing business so I'll never have to leave the lovely wilderness of this acre of heaven. The ranch appeals to me because my kids are forever procrastinating going to be or playing upstairs, or even going the bathroom since the half bath is still gutted, because they're scared to be on another floor alone. And the kitchen has so much freaking cabinet space, God knows how I'd make use of it all. A year's supply of juice boxes, gummies and peanut butter crackers perhaps? So the title of the post refers to the fact that I might need to do a drive by and check it out in person. Kittanning Pike isn't really a dream street to live on so I'll have to see how close the house is to the road... because, you know, even though I'll never move here I'm compelled to be practical, even with my daydreams.

basement work table

So this beauty of a work table was hanging out in the basement courtesy of a previous owner and I saw the diamond in the rough, we're talking very rough. I stripped and refinished it and decoupaged the inside drawers because they were really nasty. The paper is some Amy Butler scrapbook collection that I got for $9.99 at Michaels and I loved it so much I had visions of decoupaging everything in the house, I've since calmed down on the decoupage frenzy. The only problem is the table top wasn't really salvageable, it had mastic on it and I'd like the surface to be food friendly being that it's a kitchen island. Does anyone have an idea as to where I could get a piece of lumber, would love butcher block, that's 30 1/2 " by 56 1/2"? I was going to get some ridiculously cheap butcher block from ikea but it isn't wide enough. Oh yeah, and I don't want to pay much, cheapskate that I am.




Yes I am anal enough too even decoupage the bottoms of the drawers, so that the cats have something nice to look up at. Just ignore the rough plaster spots on the ceiling, the kitchen roof and ceiling need to be redone.

sniffle

My Dad came out to visit me Tuesday, he's heading back to Cleveland tomorrow. It's been nice to have him here and real nice for him to see the kids after close to two years without seeing them. My gosh, I don't even know where to begin with what's gone on this week. I'm sitting here alternately sneezing and sniffling and I couldn't figure out why until my Dad mentioned that I did spend a good part of the afternoon weeding. That explains it. There are so many flipping projects going on at this house but not a one is completed. It's like I have Bob Villa ADD. I'm stripping the interior doors and then I started on the back door and that led to the paint on the bricks surrounding the window and door on the back porch, which led into the window ledges because I couldn't deal with the chippy paint look. The window ledges got me started on the metal basement doors that were chippy and rusty. And when the paint chips from said doors wound up in my weedy grassy yard I then started digging up part of the yard and envisioning removing the garage and putting in a flagstone patio. My God, it's like fucking Macbeth how compulsive I am. God forbid I stop for a minute and listen to my head I'll surely go nuts so that's what the late night pig outs are for I guess.

Owen is taking swim lessons this week and next and it's a great time to flagellate myself for the myriad ways I feel that I've let him down. I mean he's closing in on 7 and can't swim to save his life, let alone ride a bicycle - he doesn't even have a bicycle. And I think of all that I had already accomplished at the ripe age of 6 with two divorced parents to just let me go off and play by myself, sort of find my own fun, without qualms or guilt. Why is it so different with me? On Wednesday Oona had a meltdown, as she's prone to do, and I brought her to the car since that's her time out place. The girl needs to be confined or else she'd be like a lemming running into the street or convulsing on the pavement and giving herself a concussion. I moved the car to a shady spot, put the windows halfway down (or else she'll attempt to get out) and was sitting there with her until she tossed her flip flop out the window. I got out handed it back to her and told her if she did it again it was going in the trash. There was a trashcan right next to us so I thought it was especially threatening. Well, she did it again and I placed it delicately on top of the trash in the trashcan. A man got out of the minivan behind me and walked over to see what was going on. I thought he was going to commiserate with me, these kids. But no, he was basically accusing me of child abuse by cooking my kid. It's too hot for her, she must be burning up. Of course I immediately felt horrible, and started second guessing myself and my time out in the car technique. It didn't help that he kept going on about the hot metal with the sun beating down and that she must be burning up. I had him touch her arm to see for himself that she was fine. Owen's lesson ended and my Dad walked him over to the car and got in smilling at the guy and saying pleasantries as he's wont to do. Are you okay now the guy asked me. I'm fine I muttered through my clenched mouth while telling my Dad under my breath the guy thinks I'm abusing Oona. We went to Beechwood Farms - bad idea since my Dad broke his leg in the winter and his ankle is still swollen and gives him trouble. Oona was sitting in the middle of a trail stubbornly refusing to move. It was one of those days where everything went wrong with Oona and I question whether I have any competency as a parent. We went out to Chilis with Toby where I drowned my sorrows in yet another calorie laden chocolate chip paradise pie. Oona was still acting up and Toby took her to the car. I joked that I couldn't with my luck the guy accusing me of abuse would be in the chilis parking lot. Then we went home and Oona acted absolutely insane for close to an hour fighting going to bed but she properly exhausted herself with the hysterics and passed out before 9.

So yesterday when I drove Owen to lessons I was panicky wondering if the man would be there. Ready to put the police on me - seriously I feared they took down my license plate and that Children's services would be at my door on Wednesday. I purposely parked in the exact same spot I had been with Oona and just cracked the windows. The weather was the same as the day before and I needed to assure myself I hadn't abused her. I'm chatting with a neighbor when I noticed Owen sitting outside the pool crying I ran over to see what had happened. His friends had pulled him under water, I couldn't breathe they were trying to drown me Owen cried. Now I don't think they were purposely trying to drown him, they were goofing around. But they're a year older and more athletic and not fearful in the water the way that Owen clearly is. I worry that I've instill this fear in Owen, although I love the water, I was a fish as a kid. I tried to talk with him about it after lessons but I was annoyed with the instructor and myself and his friends for freaking him out like that. He really thought they were trying to drown him even though I was trying to explain that it was just horseplay and he had to gain control of the situation by not letting the incident terrify him about the water, just brush it off. Right, I'm a stellar example of that, retelling Oona's abuse incident to everyone to find validation that I'm not an abusive parent (after an hour in the shady spot with the windows barely open the car was still cool). The instructor said Owen needed to go to the little pool with the younger kids because he wouldn't put his face in the water. I understood that but it seemed like she blew off the incident and I was thinking maybe if you made the kids that dunked him get out and sit by the fence for five minutes it might help things along rather than that you're almost sort of punishing my child by not dealing with his fear and pushing him off onto another instructor. Of course I never know what to say, how to stand up for Owen without coming across as a pushy stage parent. I talked to the instructors today and they understood my concerns but the whole incident pushed Owen into this resolve not to let his head go underwater so he wound up in the little kid pool. And I just torment myself with this guilt that I've got to help him overcome his fear. How could I let him get to this state around water? And he can't even ride a bicycle, you know the whole shame spiral, a vortex of my sucking as a parent. And the abuse allegations. My neighbor was saying I should have told the guy I cook Oona and starve my son, he seriously looks like he's starving but I swear I feed him. When we first joined the pool a young guy passing by turned around to gawk at Owen because he was so thin (you see all his ribs all the time). Then I'm like, what if he has celiac disease and that's why he's so thin and I haven't even bothered to have him tested. It's so flipping exhausting, my mind.

shutterbug

I gave Owen my old digital camera but he wound up taking pictures with my new one last week. I was prepared to be annoyed until I saw the pictures. I love seeing children's photography, I think their perspective is amazing.
I had to buy a swimsuit, ugh, I've gained close to fifteen pounds due to stress eating. It isn't pretty. So many people reply, I can't eat at all and usually lose weight when I'm stressed out. Well lucky you! I'm a former bulimic and head to carbs and chocolate to drown myself and now all the damn clothes that I bought last year on crazy sale are too small. Size 2, honestly what was I thinking?! I should have known that couldn't last. Anyhow... back to the picture, of course the kids were with me while trying on suits, practical sturdy swimmer swimsuits since I'll be managing my two nonswimmers in the community pool. The kids whined for me to buy them goggles and, of course, I did. They really like wearing them, all the time.

This picture of Oona smiling I just love. Maybe it's subtle, something only a parent of her can see, but she is so genuinely happy. Owen is her favorite person in the world. Sure he teases her and drives her crazy at times but that happiness on her face, she lights up when she sees me or her dad as well but Owen is the only one that makes her light up in that very unique way, like he's a superhero in her eyes.

Once again, Oona is killing me. I love her little face poking from the side of the frame.

Our backyard doesn't look too shabby through a screen, blurry, in the rain.

How I wish that white car wasn't in the picture. I might try cropping this and blowing it up. I've got to check out what else he's got on his own camera. I didn't put up the picture he took of me, with crazy morning bedhead which I subdue with a dozen well placed bobby pins.

next up tomorrow, you'll see a bit of my busywork -why I haven't posted so much on the blog lately. in a word stripping. bricks, doors and more...

another day another face plant

Toby and the kids picked me up from the train station Sunday evening, but not before Oona tripped on the sidewalk running to the car and got this beauty on her forehead. I swear, she bangs her head so much I'm fearing she'll have boxers dementia at 4! I had a lovely weekend in Philly with a dear friend who always makes me laugh, a very important quality in a friend. I was going to study for a nursing entrance test I took on Wednesday but blew it off and started The Road instead. Fortunately I passed with flying colors so no biggie there, just tedious little hoops to jump through in order to get accepted at school. At this point I realize that I probably should have gone to med school fifteen years ago, but I wasn't emotionally mature enough and was very insecure about my intellectual abilities. Oh well. So I'll jump the hoops, do the dance, get my RN and carve out a comfortable existence here in the 'burgh.

Five hours into my lovely seven hour train ride home someone's cell phone kept ringing (seriously, like every minute it started ringing). It was obviously bothering other people in the car but no one said or did anything but that flipping ringing was affecting my reading of The Road so I popped out of my chair and asked whose phone was ringing. Three college age guys, recent arrivals and already testing my patience playing Eminem's We Made You a little too loud (cmon, I love Eminem but on a 7 hour train ride?!) point to an inert mass across from them, 'it's his phone but he's passed out.' I recognized the lump from earlier, a guy who was rather boastful, isn't that usually the case with loud talkers, I guess he passed out on the overpriced beer from the snack car. I popped back in my seat but the ringing wouldn't stop and it was going to drive me craaazy. I walked over to the passed out man's seat and said 'Excuse me, do you think that you could switch your phone off? The ringing is really annoying.' I swear I didn't say this with attitude, no hand on hip business. I was polite and just wanted it to stop. He looks at me and says, 'It's not a phone, it's a bomb.' I just stopped. My first thought was, is he serious, but I immediately batted that aside and realized he's just being a MAJOR ASSHOLE. I did an imperceptible shake with my head to rid myself of him and turned back to my seat. 'You didn't think that was funny?' he said. 'No.' I said, sat down and then two seconds later I hopped up and walked the length of the train to find a conductor and relay what had just happened. I know who you're talking about, the conductor told me. Of course he did, these human mosquitos tend to be that way in your face, annoying. He walked back and gave him a stern talking to while I grabbed my bag and found a seat in another car.

Toby and the kids picked me up from the train station and I told Toby what happened. He felt the conductor really messed up and said I should have insisted that he kick him off the train. The guy told the conductor he was a flight paramedic and I'm wondering what person who is supposed to help people says something so stupid, really stupid post 9/11, like that. So I'm ranting throughout the ten minute drive to Toby's place and then as we're walking into the lobby of the apartment complex who should be there but bombscare man?! I said, 'That's him.' and Toby's like 'No!' and then asked me if I wanted him to say something to him. There was a part of me that just wanted to walk over and hit him but I just figured what's the point? Hitting him, trying to reason with the guy, it just seemed useless and I figured anyone who says something so dumb so flippantly in order to what? bully or scare me? It just isn't worth it to expend on more energy on them. So I promise once I finish this post I'm done with it.

So, a couple days ago Oona's preschool took a field trip to the local grocery store, which is about three blocks away from the school. Her teacher was telling me what a great field trip it was and how much fun all the kids had. That they were given so much food, baloney from the deli counter and a reusable bag filled with treats. Oona tore right into a bag of potato chips and opened up a Big Juicy orange drink which says that it's naturally flavored but has only 20 calories for 16 ounces and under no part of the ingredient list is orange mentioned, but high fructose corn syrup, sucralose, yellow 6 & yellow 5 are. No biggie, though. I mean I don't like Oona to fill up on crap but it was one drink, one day from her field trip. But then Oona got a can of pop (that's what they call it out here) out of her bag. Now I have made many transgressions as a mom. I've started to slide and let the kids get sprite or root beer to drink when we go to McDonalds instead of healthier beverages like milk or juice. BUT the pop was a can of Mountain Dew, which back in the day was what college kids used to pep themselves up before Red Bull, Full Throttle and the like. I had to put my foot down when it came to Oona having Mountain Dew. It would be like Hammy the squirrel in Over the Hedge when he finally drinks a can of caffeinated soda (a tip off to native Pittsburghers that I'm not a native).

really

This is an old link but it's spot on and pretty damn funny.

blooming peonies, withering brain

My peonies finally bloomed! Just thought I'd share these pictures with you because in another day or two there'll be nothing but pink petals on the ground. I really had to crop these pictures judiciously so you can't see how bad the rest of the yard looks. I bought a push blade mower, thought I'd be all environmentally friendly, but I didn't realize that my lawn would resemble a bad buzz cut as a result. Speaking of buzzes, I've been stripping my doors, my God why I ever started this endeavor is beyond me! I started it last week, using my environmentally friendly infrared heatgun type paint remover AND my green soybean stripper gel. Can I just say green stripping must been an oxymoron. My week of nausea (flat out puking one night but that might have been something I ate, so I took a break and spent all of Saturday in bed), fatigue, headaches and stupidity could well attest to that. But since I can never leave a task unfinished I feel like I still must push on, plummeting IQ notwithstanding. And why? I'm probably the only one who will notice the difference. It's like some tortuous compulsion in me, to prune, stain and peel my fingers while doing the neurological equivalent to my brain.

Sooo, here's an example of an easy door, and by easy I mean it's only two panels. Please do click on them and enlarge them so you can really grasp the idiocy of my task, Sisyphus comes to mind. The faux bois on the pine doors, in order to make them look nicer back in the day, is the absolute hardest thing to remove. It's like three different varnishes that all congeal into this mustardy goop that gets everywhere and is so tough to remove. There are six doors like this on the second floor. One and a half down, four and a half to go, waahhh!

Okay now I only have three doors to do on the third floor,piece of cake right. Well they're all five panel doors, which really winds up being ten panel since I do both sides because, you know, the boxes and items in storage would know the difference if I didn't strip the door panel inside the closet. This is where being anal could easily shorten your life. The white door looks fine in the small picture but there are so many layers of paint on these puppies that they are all bumpy and textured and cracking, and not in a good way.

If I don't kill myself with this task I'm thinking of conquering the molding afterward, fortunately there is not that much original molding left. Only our diningroom window (72 inches wide) and the eight doorframes. gulp.