Eventually, after a few more tears were shed, the whole family walked out into the garden to start dealing with the matter at hand. Phone calls to friends and family members were made. Discussion about our desire to donate dad's brain and how to do it were addressed. The funeral home was contacted and the nurses were thanked for all of their hard work.
I flipped my Dark Humor setting to On. Tired of crying, I decided to try a different tactic.
My brother asked if we knew what kind of a funeral we wanted for dad and then suggested a Jamaican one. I couldn't let that slide and exclaimed, "What?! You want rum and fist fights? Awesome! Let's do that!"
Cindy then eagerly suggested a bagpiper, then Dawn suggested a trumpeter and I declared that we should do both for the thrill of it. Mom listened to us riffing back and forth and looked a little...perturbed. She was trying not to laugh, but she was also red eyed and trembling on the edge of crying again. I figured she needed a good laugh and kept being ridiculous. Pretty soon, I latched onto the phrase "Dad would've want it that way." and used it to support almost any idea we ran across.
Doughnuts? Dad would've wanted doughnuts. Story time at the funeral home? You betcha. Rum? Absolutely. Pie? Dad really would've wanted us to have pie. (To date, we still haven't had pie. We need to work on that.) And so we passed the time. Outgoing calls, incoming calls, a short round of discussion over whether the local University could have his body or not (By the way, did you know there are brain banks? If you, or someone you know, has a disease like Alzheimer's and wants to donate their brain to help continue research and eventually find a cure, you can donate just your brain. Or, if you'd like to help further medical research as a whole, you can donate your whole body.), we voted not to give them his body if they weren't going to use it for Alzheimer's research. After numerous phone calls my older sister, the nurse, found the right person to get dad's brain to and that bit was done.
The question about whether we'd have an open casket funeral followed by cremation was stomped flat. No one within our family or among dad's friends needed to see dad like that. It was a situation where my silly little phrase was completely useful. Dad never would've wanted that. Instead we opted for immediate cremation. When the van came to take dad's body away, the nursing home staff lined up in the corridor like an honor guard. He'd only been there a few months, but they got to know him pretty well and everyone loved my mom who was there every single day he was in there. We thanked them, said goodbye, and then trooped down to the funeral home to make the last of the arrangements.
Never having lost anyone close to me before, fortunately, I was all at sea when it came to local funeral rituals. What are "visitation hours" used for? Who goes to those? Can't we just skip to the funeral and interment? Why are those are done separately? What about all of those scenes in the movies where herds of mourners are at the grave sites and the famous Dust to Dust speech is given? Clearly I had a lot to learn.
Oh, and in case you were wondering? Funeral homes are kinda creepy. Yeah, you say, you're not surprised, but when you come face to face with an ancient print of Little Bo Peep on the wall that screams horror movie ghost girl at you, you'll know what I mean. Antique furniture that you just know was bought when it was new in the 1800s, depressingly serious wall colors, quietly consoling artwork and the casket room added to the Creep Factor. It wasn't scary, per se, but kinda spooky. Sounds seemed oddly muffled.
As I mentioned earlier, my dad had been dying for a long time and yet mom never got around to choosing an urn. So when the director asked if we wanted to pick it out, we said yes and three of us trooped after him. Up a rickety set of stairs into what would be the attic, with its oppressive slanted roof, where several caskets were on display up on lucite Xs. It's important to note that when not in use, clear lucite Xs should be stored flat along a wall unless you want a 6' tall man, distracted by a room full of coffins, to put his foot right through one.
Oh, yes. Oh, yes he did indeed.
We stifled some laughter at my brother's expense and turned our attention to the shelf full of urns and a rotating display case full of...coffin bling.
I kid you not.
There, on a rotating rack in front of the shelf full of urns, was a selection of what was clearly meant to be coffin or urn adornments. There was an open mouthed bass; a plaque with trees and a lake enscribed with the word Dad; a flowered disc and other items that I can't recall since I was too busy trying not to giggle. Once Cindy made ooh-ing noises about the fish, all I could focus on was how to redirect her interest in case she got serious about it. Veto plans firmly in place, I turned my gaze to what would be the final resting place for my dad's ashes.
Turns out there are all kinds of urns available in all kinds of shapes, colors and sizes. On the way up the stairs, I had threatened my brother with a pink flowered box for dad's ashes and sure enough, there was one waiting. Instead, we all chose the simple stainless urn inscribed with a Greek Key. Dad would have approved. Another bonus: you couldn't attach any bling to it. Fish crisis averted! Decision made, we trooped carefully back down the stairs. My gaze traveled across caskets with pink interiors, fluffy cream colored pillows, engraved brass plaques that declared this to be Dad's Final Resting Place and lids carved with images of trees and deer. I was suddenly glad that we were skipping right to cremation. You can spend an awful lot of money on a tricked out box!
I'm pretty certain dad would've wanted us to save the money for rum and pie.
In the office once again, we finalized the text for the obituary (Those things can get pretty long!) that Cindy had been working on; arranged for cremation on Monday, visitation hours on Tuesday afternoon and the funeral and interment on Wednesday morning. As it turns out, there's a lot of Red Light, Green Light when it comes to funeral planning. Religious funeral? Church. Catholic? Funeral with eulogy. Not Catholic? Eulogy during visitation instead. Mass with service or without? Would the children do readings during the visitation service or the funeral? Readings needed to be on the approved list. I really had no idea.
Updated to add: Cindy reminded me about the Ashes Issue. As we were wrapping up, Cindy remembered to ask for some of dad's ashes to be set aside for scattering, per his wishes.
Cindy suddenly remembered that dad had wanted his ashes sprinkled over the Hammond River and asked the funeral director to save some. "Not a lot!" she added, hurriedly, in case he got the wrong idea. "Just some. A little." I looked at her oddly, a light dancing in my eyes and barely restrained myself. "What?" Clearly I was being a pain.
"You're worried you're going to get a big old bag of ashes to haul around, aren't you? A one pound bag of Dad." Horrified, Cindy began gesturing emphatically and attempted to explain. I laughed at the image of a gallon sized baggie of Dad being thumped down in front of her for scattering, but the director assured us that he understood completely. Second crisis averted! We were totally getting the hang of this!
Decisions made and one burning personal question answered (What happens in cremation if you have a metal hip? What do they do with it? Could you get it back if you wanted it?) for my brother,* we went home to mom's house. We all declared it was time for Rum.
Fisticuffs optional.
*No pun intended. Seriously. I even said it that way while we were in the office. Let's just call it a Freudian slip and move on, shall we?
Where's the pause button on this thing?
Monday, July 11, 2011
Saturday, July 09, 2011
The Final Farewell
After a fast shower and a leisurely brushing of teeth (mine had grown a bit hairy during the long drive), we left Eric behind with the children and drove off to see dad at the nursing home. We were assured he was still alive at this point and responding to others when they spoke to him.
Now, the thing to keep in mind about where we are in the Maritime region is that everything is about an hour away from wherever you happen to be at the moment. Want to go to mom's house from Cindy's house? An hour's drive. Want to go shopping? An hour's drive. Want to run out to the store and grab some milk? An hour's drive. So, going to the nursing home from Cindy's house was going to be...an hour's drive. After I'd spent three days driving with a sense of urgency, you would think that another hour would be easy enough to bear, but that drive wasn't leaving me just yet. Not until I had a chance to see him would I know whether I could step down from Red Alert or not.
As we drove, Cindy and I caught up. We talked about dad, mom, and the miracle of getting my brother Ian to fly in. He would be arriving later that evening with his sweetheart, Deb. Mom was thrilled that he'd be there. We three sisters were convinced that this is what dad was waiting for before he could let go of this existence. The weather was lovely, so many degrees cooler than Colorado, and so much more moisture in the air that it was just a bit like swimming. We drove, reminisced and wondered if we'd make it in time.
As it turned out, we did. We pulled into the Centre and walked in through the security doors. Since some Alzheimer's patients tend to go on walkabout when not supervised they have a keypad lock on the door and large, serious signs about making sure the door was shut all the way and that no patients were lurking about, waiting to make a break for it. The building was surrounded by lovely gardens, maintained by a team of volunteers. I appreciated the lush beauty of it just as I appreciated how very different it was from the depressing look of the hospital in January.
We opened the door to the Palliative Care Room and walked inside. There, on the hospital bed was my father. Cindy had warned me, but there's really nothing you can do to prepare someone for what a loved one looks like at the very end of their days. He was a husk, a mummy, the bare essence of my father. His eyes were still the same, if unfocused and rheumy. He was so very thin, as if all his life had burned up while trying to hang on, just a little longer. Long bones exposed, his hands curled into stiffened claws, his cheekbones sunken in. I held back tears, because I wouldn't lose it just as I walked in the door. I could be strong, at least for a little bit longer.
I walked around the side of the bed to where he could see me and said, "Hi dad!" He worked to focus on my face; his eyes found mine. Did he know who I was at the very end? He did recognize my voice, somewhere deep inside? Did he think I was mom or Cindy or some long remembered relative? I don't know and it doesn't really matter. I remembered him and I had made it in time to say goodbye. Again.
I don't remember what I nattered about for a couple of minutes, but I do remember telling him that we'd had a very long drive. I then joked that I wish I could tell him that we'd flown in and "boy, were my arms tired!". At that old joke, he smiled. He smiled. He was still in there. He'd heard me and smiled at my stupid joke. At that point my ability to tough it out failed and I excused myself and walked out into the garden just outside his door. My face crumpled up and the tears came. Cindy hugged me, hard, as I cried. Dawn came up and wrapped her arms around us both. It was so awful to see him left as just a shadow of his old self; that huge, bluff, loud man we knew as our father. I cried for myself, for my father, for my siblings and our children; for all that we had lost, all that we'd had and all that he'd never been able to do. All of those things he'd kept on putting off until "tomorrow". A tomorrow that never came as all of his yesterdays were erased bit by bit.
Cindy congratulated me for making it that long without crying. Then we walked it off a bit by wandering around the garden and admiring the plants, so lovely, lush and exuberantly alive. Peonies bursting open like slow motion fireworks, hostas with leaves the size of platters. Mom came out, traded off with Cindy and walked with me. She was all choked up.
The thing you need to know about my mother is that she hardly ever cried when we were kids. Apparently these days, tears were never far from the surface. All of those years of being calm and cool had dissolved as her husband of 44 years faded away. I always figured that since he was 12 years older than mom that he'd pass away first, but I never imagined it would be like this. Mom cried a little as we walked and talked. She felt guilty for all the things she should've done. That she should've spent more time just sitting with him when he asked her to. I told her that I often felt the same way about the twins and Caitlin, but that someone has to wash the dishes, do the laundry, sweep the floor. She'd done a fantastic job taking care of dad, all by herself, for all of those long years. She had no need to feel guilt for what else she might've done.
No one could have done a better job of taking care of dad than mom. The doctor expressed his surprise and deepest admiration for all of her work. That he'd never seen anyone as advanced in Alzheimer's in such excellent shape when dad was checked into the hospital in January. He was still ambulatory, he could still speak and eat on his own. I reminded her of all this and told her how strong she was, how proud I was, how heroic she was for taking care of everything. She amazed me.
Now we waited for my brother to arrive; we expected Ian and Deb to arrive at 11:30 pm that night. Dawn, Cindy and I were convinced that dad was hanging in there for mom who was holding him through sheer willpower. Making him wait, just a little longer, until Ian arrived. A steady stream of mom's choir friends came by with cookies, bars, sandwiches and fruit. Time slid by, slowly and steadily, as dad went in and out of a fitful sleep. His labored breath sounded as if he was scuba diving; bubbly and thick. His final bout with pneumonia would be his last.
Finally, Cindy and I drove off to pick up my brother. We warned him that it wasn't pretty. We told him it was going to be hard. I may have used the term "mummy", my black humor was the only thing between me and constant tears. Even with that preparation, he was aghast at what he saw. The last time he'd seen dad was for the twins' 3rd birthday party. That man was long gone. He cried. We cried to see him cry. Mom cried from happiness that he'd finally made it. Dad woke up a bit for mom who asked him to say hi to Ian. He got agitated, although we don't really know why. Was he in pain? Was he tired of listening to all of our voices?
We walked out into the garden to give dad space and told Ian how glad we all were that he'd made it in time. That he showed up.
Sometimes that all it takes. Just show up. Be there for the people that need you.
After awhile, we went back to Cindy's house to sleep. I had had 2 hours of sleep in the last 40 hours. As we drove, I tried to stay awake for Cindy, who was driving. Tried to keep her awake so that we didn't get into any untoward meetings with deer upon the road. I blinked in and out of consciousness as we drove. I passed out entirely when we crossed over the river on the ferry. I felt drugged, heavy and uncoordinated as we climbed up the stairs and into bed. How much longer did dad have? Would mom call us if he passed away in the middle of the night? During our drive home? Early in the morning?
First thing in the morning, Cindy called to check in and dad was still hanging in there. Around 2 pm, mom called. Dad's breathing had changed to agonal breathing. The end was very near. We needed to get there ASAP. We flew out the door and broke every speed limit between here and there. When we arrived, I recognized that sound. Those final breaths. We talked to dad for just a bit. We each said goodbye. Strangely enough, he seemed to be mouthing something. Was he trying to say something to us? What was he trying to say? Cindy swears it looked like he was saying, "Mom. Mom. Mom." over and over again. I couldn't disagree. Was it possible he saw his mother? He tried to reach out, but was too weak. His hand fell back into his lap again.
Mom, Ian and Deb weren't there. Mom had run home for a quick shower; Ian was off washing the car as mom had asked and getting lunch. Was washing the car the funereal equivalent to tearing bedsheets and boiling water?
Cindy was concerned that dad may have been in pain and called one of the nurses in. A pair came in to help readjust him to ease his breathing and give him another shot of morphine to keep him comfortable. As they left the room, one poked her head out the garden door and told us that if we needed anything at all, to call for them. I think she knew, right at that moment that the game was up. We went back inside and stood beside the bed. I recognized that he was fading away at last and that he wasn't waiting for mom and Ian to return. My eyes filled up with tears and a lump formed in my throat.
Dawn stood across from me and held dad's hand. She told him it was OK and that we'd take care of mom for him. That it was time to go. That it was OK to go. Cindy stood next to Dawn and couldn't believe it. I was nodding that yes he was going, then he had one last breath and I shook my head no, but then there was that long, last, slow exhalation and nothing more. After a moment of stunned silence, we held each other tightly and cried. Our tears fell freely at that point.
Gone. All gone. So quietly. Peacefully, even.
We pulled ourselves together just a bit and I asked what time it was. Roughly 4:05 pm. Dawn called mom who was terribly upset that she wasn't there. We figured dad was waiting for her to leave so he could go. Sneaky, stubborn dad. There was a problem, because Ian wasn't back yet. We didn't know where he'd gotten off to, so Cindy jumped into the car to go collect mom and bring her to the nursing Centre. As we waited, the nurse came in to verify my father's death, to check his vitals, and to set the funereal gears into motion. Just a few minutes later, my mother and brother walked in (My mother's house, fortunately, was not an hour away from the nursing home.) and cried. My mother kissed my dad goodbye.
My brother kissed my father on the forehead when he thought no one was watching and whispered something to him.
It was over at long last and we had all made it. We were exactly where we needed to be.
Now, the thing to keep in mind about where we are in the Maritime region is that everything is about an hour away from wherever you happen to be at the moment. Want to go to mom's house from Cindy's house? An hour's drive. Want to go shopping? An hour's drive. Want to run out to the store and grab some milk? An hour's drive. So, going to the nursing home from Cindy's house was going to be...an hour's drive. After I'd spent three days driving with a sense of urgency, you would think that another hour would be easy enough to bear, but that drive wasn't leaving me just yet. Not until I had a chance to see him would I know whether I could step down from Red Alert or not.
As we drove, Cindy and I caught up. We talked about dad, mom, and the miracle of getting my brother Ian to fly in. He would be arriving later that evening with his sweetheart, Deb. Mom was thrilled that he'd be there. We three sisters were convinced that this is what dad was waiting for before he could let go of this existence. The weather was lovely, so many degrees cooler than Colorado, and so much more moisture in the air that it was just a bit like swimming. We drove, reminisced and wondered if we'd make it in time.
As it turned out, we did. We pulled into the Centre and walked in through the security doors. Since some Alzheimer's patients tend to go on walkabout when not supervised they have a keypad lock on the door and large, serious signs about making sure the door was shut all the way and that no patients were lurking about, waiting to make a break for it. The building was surrounded by lovely gardens, maintained by a team of volunteers. I appreciated the lush beauty of it just as I appreciated how very different it was from the depressing look of the hospital in January.
We opened the door to the Palliative Care Room and walked inside. There, on the hospital bed was my father. Cindy had warned me, but there's really nothing you can do to prepare someone for what a loved one looks like at the very end of their days. He was a husk, a mummy, the bare essence of my father. His eyes were still the same, if unfocused and rheumy. He was so very thin, as if all his life had burned up while trying to hang on, just a little longer. Long bones exposed, his hands curled into stiffened claws, his cheekbones sunken in. I held back tears, because I wouldn't lose it just as I walked in the door. I could be strong, at least for a little bit longer.
I walked around the side of the bed to where he could see me and said, "Hi dad!" He worked to focus on my face; his eyes found mine. Did he know who I was at the very end? He did recognize my voice, somewhere deep inside? Did he think I was mom or Cindy or some long remembered relative? I don't know and it doesn't really matter. I remembered him and I had made it in time to say goodbye. Again.
I don't remember what I nattered about for a couple of minutes, but I do remember telling him that we'd had a very long drive. I then joked that I wish I could tell him that we'd flown in and "boy, were my arms tired!". At that old joke, he smiled. He smiled. He was still in there. He'd heard me and smiled at my stupid joke. At that point my ability to tough it out failed and I excused myself and walked out into the garden just outside his door. My face crumpled up and the tears came. Cindy hugged me, hard, as I cried. Dawn came up and wrapped her arms around us both. It was so awful to see him left as just a shadow of his old self; that huge, bluff, loud man we knew as our father. I cried for myself, for my father, for my siblings and our children; for all that we had lost, all that we'd had and all that he'd never been able to do. All of those things he'd kept on putting off until "tomorrow". A tomorrow that never came as all of his yesterdays were erased bit by bit.
Cindy congratulated me for making it that long without crying. Then we walked it off a bit by wandering around the garden and admiring the plants, so lovely, lush and exuberantly alive. Peonies bursting open like slow motion fireworks, hostas with leaves the size of platters. Mom came out, traded off with Cindy and walked with me. She was all choked up.
The thing you need to know about my mother is that she hardly ever cried when we were kids. Apparently these days, tears were never far from the surface. All of those years of being calm and cool had dissolved as her husband of 44 years faded away. I always figured that since he was 12 years older than mom that he'd pass away first, but I never imagined it would be like this. Mom cried a little as we walked and talked. She felt guilty for all the things she should've done. That she should've spent more time just sitting with him when he asked her to. I told her that I often felt the same way about the twins and Caitlin, but that someone has to wash the dishes, do the laundry, sweep the floor. She'd done a fantastic job taking care of dad, all by herself, for all of those long years. She had no need to feel guilt for what else she might've done.
No one could have done a better job of taking care of dad than mom. The doctor expressed his surprise and deepest admiration for all of her work. That he'd never seen anyone as advanced in Alzheimer's in such excellent shape when dad was checked into the hospital in January. He was still ambulatory, he could still speak and eat on his own. I reminded her of all this and told her how strong she was, how proud I was, how heroic she was for taking care of everything. She amazed me.
Now we waited for my brother to arrive; we expected Ian and Deb to arrive at 11:30 pm that night. Dawn, Cindy and I were convinced that dad was hanging in there for mom who was holding him through sheer willpower. Making him wait, just a little longer, until Ian arrived. A steady stream of mom's choir friends came by with cookies, bars, sandwiches and fruit. Time slid by, slowly and steadily, as dad went in and out of a fitful sleep. His labored breath sounded as if he was scuba diving; bubbly and thick. His final bout with pneumonia would be his last.
Finally, Cindy and I drove off to pick up my brother. We warned him that it wasn't pretty. We told him it was going to be hard. I may have used the term "mummy", my black humor was the only thing between me and constant tears. Even with that preparation, he was aghast at what he saw. The last time he'd seen dad was for the twins' 3rd birthday party. That man was long gone. He cried. We cried to see him cry. Mom cried from happiness that he'd finally made it. Dad woke up a bit for mom who asked him to say hi to Ian. He got agitated, although we don't really know why. Was he in pain? Was he tired of listening to all of our voices?
We walked out into the garden to give dad space and told Ian how glad we all were that he'd made it in time. That he showed up.
Sometimes that all it takes. Just show up. Be there for the people that need you.
After awhile, we went back to Cindy's house to sleep. I had had 2 hours of sleep in the last 40 hours. As we drove, I tried to stay awake for Cindy, who was driving. Tried to keep her awake so that we didn't get into any untoward meetings with deer upon the road. I blinked in and out of consciousness as we drove. I passed out entirely when we crossed over the river on the ferry. I felt drugged, heavy and uncoordinated as we climbed up the stairs and into bed. How much longer did dad have? Would mom call us if he passed away in the middle of the night? During our drive home? Early in the morning?
First thing in the morning, Cindy called to check in and dad was still hanging in there. Around 2 pm, mom called. Dad's breathing had changed to agonal breathing. The end was very near. We needed to get there ASAP. We flew out the door and broke every speed limit between here and there. When we arrived, I recognized that sound. Those final breaths. We talked to dad for just a bit. We each said goodbye. Strangely enough, he seemed to be mouthing something. Was he trying to say something to us? What was he trying to say? Cindy swears it looked like he was saying, "Mom. Mom. Mom." over and over again. I couldn't disagree. Was it possible he saw his mother? He tried to reach out, but was too weak. His hand fell back into his lap again.
Mom, Ian and Deb weren't there. Mom had run home for a quick shower; Ian was off washing the car as mom had asked and getting lunch. Was washing the car the funereal equivalent to tearing bedsheets and boiling water?
Cindy was concerned that dad may have been in pain and called one of the nurses in. A pair came in to help readjust him to ease his breathing and give him another shot of morphine to keep him comfortable. As they left the room, one poked her head out the garden door and told us that if we needed anything at all, to call for them. I think she knew, right at that moment that the game was up. We went back inside and stood beside the bed. I recognized that he was fading away at last and that he wasn't waiting for mom and Ian to return. My eyes filled up with tears and a lump formed in my throat.
Dawn stood across from me and held dad's hand. She told him it was OK and that we'd take care of mom for him. That it was time to go. That it was OK to go. Cindy stood next to Dawn and couldn't believe it. I was nodding that yes he was going, then he had one last breath and I shook my head no, but then there was that long, last, slow exhalation and nothing more. After a moment of stunned silence, we held each other tightly and cried. Our tears fell freely at that point.
Gone. All gone. So quietly. Peacefully, even.
We pulled ourselves together just a bit and I asked what time it was. Roughly 4:05 pm. Dawn called mom who was terribly upset that she wasn't there. We figured dad was waiting for her to leave so he could go. Sneaky, stubborn dad. There was a problem, because Ian wasn't back yet. We didn't know where he'd gotten off to, so Cindy jumped into the car to go collect mom and bring her to the nursing Centre. As we waited, the nurse came in to verify my father's death, to check his vitals, and to set the funereal gears into motion. Just a few minutes later, my mother and brother walked in (My mother's house, fortunately, was not an hour away from the nursing home.) and cried. My mother kissed my dad goodbye.
My brother kissed my father on the forehead when he thought no one was watching and whispered something to him.
It was over at long last and we had all made it. We were exactly where we needed to be.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
The Race Cross Country
My sister Cindy called me at 6 am on Monday morning, June 27th, and told me my dad was dying.
Since he was in the final stages of Alzheimer's, he'd been dying for a long, long time, but this was it. She had called a month ago and said we were getting close to the end, but this was the final curtain call.
We had planned on going out mid-July, but I had made it very clear to both my mother and Cindy that if anything changed that we'd drop everything and come out earlier. A month ago, they said we should just continue with our current plan. Monday morning, everything changed. Dad had had four bouts of double pneumonia since January. Four times he was dosed with antibiotics and three times he bounced back.
Not this time.
I answered the phone, voice rough with sleep, to hear Cindy's voice choked with tears. "You need to get here. Soon."
Suddenly, our leisurely search for a house/plant/cat sitter plunged into full gear. Mountains of laundry were washed; e-mails mailed; plans made; friends contacted.
All of the plants that I'd grown from seed that were still on the back deck needed to be dealt with before we left. Tomatoes, bell peppers, basil, and parsley needed to be rescued. I couldn't just run off and let them die. At some point I would be back and would regret it if I didn't take a few hours to pot them all up. It was also something to focus on instead of freaking out while all of the laundry whirred in the washing machine and dryer. Something to keep busy with instead of sorting through memories of my father. I asked Eric to buy me 3 large bags of potting soil, two more very large pots and set to work. Later, I'll be glad I did it, I assured myself.
Finally, at 1:30 pm on Tuesday, we were ready to go. I'm sad to admit that a great deal of yelling occurred as we rushed the kids into the car. One of the main reasons we bought the minivan, in all of its hugeness, was to make this very trip. Trying to fly was prohibitively costly: well over $6000 for all five of us and there was no way I was going to go alone. I knew I'd need my support system. I also knew my mom would want to see everyone. So we yelled. We hollered. We packed. I baked 2 dozen muffins for the trip and finished writing up my Taking Care of Hatchetville note to leave for my friends who were watching the house.
Then we hit the road.
We drove for 12-14 hours the first day and slept in a hotel somewhere in Nebraska. We repeated that long day of driving and slept somewhere in Pennsylvania. On Thursday, we hit the road around 10 am local time and drove forever. Eric was beginning to flag after about 12 hours, but my urgent need to be there kept me awake and sharp. I drove through the night. Through upstate NY, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and finally saw the sun rise while flying through Maine.
Just before the border into Canada, I stopped and let Eric take over. It was 5:30 am and I had just driven us to the edge of my ability. Now we only had an hour and a half to go to get to Cindy's house. I had slept for a total of 2 hours in the last "day".
At 7:30 am we pulled into Cindy's driveway and knocked on her bedroom window. "What does it take for a girl to use the bathroom around here?!" I called to my befuddled younger sister. She was amazed we'd made it there that early. We checked in with mom and my older sister and dad was still hanging in there.
Waiting for us.
Waiting to say goodbye.
Since he was in the final stages of Alzheimer's, he'd been dying for a long, long time, but this was it. She had called a month ago and said we were getting close to the end, but this was the final curtain call.
We had planned on going out mid-July, but I had made it very clear to both my mother and Cindy that if anything changed that we'd drop everything and come out earlier. A month ago, they said we should just continue with our current plan. Monday morning, everything changed. Dad had had four bouts of double pneumonia since January. Four times he was dosed with antibiotics and three times he bounced back.
Not this time.
I answered the phone, voice rough with sleep, to hear Cindy's voice choked with tears. "You need to get here. Soon."
Suddenly, our leisurely search for a house/plant/cat sitter plunged into full gear. Mountains of laundry were washed; e-mails mailed; plans made; friends contacted.
All of the plants that I'd grown from seed that were still on the back deck needed to be dealt with before we left. Tomatoes, bell peppers, basil, and parsley needed to be rescued. I couldn't just run off and let them die. At some point I would be back and would regret it if I didn't take a few hours to pot them all up. It was also something to focus on instead of freaking out while all of the laundry whirred in the washing machine and dryer. Something to keep busy with instead of sorting through memories of my father. I asked Eric to buy me 3 large bags of potting soil, two more very large pots and set to work. Later, I'll be glad I did it, I assured myself.
Finally, at 1:30 pm on Tuesday, we were ready to go. I'm sad to admit that a great deal of yelling occurred as we rushed the kids into the car. One of the main reasons we bought the minivan, in all of its hugeness, was to make this very trip. Trying to fly was prohibitively costly: well over $6000 for all five of us and there was no way I was going to go alone. I knew I'd need my support system. I also knew my mom would want to see everyone. So we yelled. We hollered. We packed. I baked 2 dozen muffins for the trip and finished writing up my Taking Care of Hatchetville note to leave for my friends who were watching the house.
Then we hit the road.
We drove for 12-14 hours the first day and slept in a hotel somewhere in Nebraska. We repeated that long day of driving and slept somewhere in Pennsylvania. On Thursday, we hit the road around 10 am local time and drove forever. Eric was beginning to flag after about 12 hours, but my urgent need to be there kept me awake and sharp. I drove through the night. Through upstate NY, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and finally saw the sun rise while flying through Maine.
Just before the border into Canada, I stopped and let Eric take over. It was 5:30 am and I had just driven us to the edge of my ability. Now we only had an hour and a half to go to get to Cindy's house. I had slept for a total of 2 hours in the last "day".
At 7:30 am we pulled into Cindy's driveway and knocked on her bedroom window. "What does it take for a girl to use the bathroom around here?!" I called to my befuddled younger sister. She was amazed we'd made it there that early. We checked in with mom and my older sister and dad was still hanging in there.
Waiting for us.
Waiting to say goodbye.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
I spoke to my father today
and the conversation went like this:
Me: [Cheerful] Hi dad! [In the background, I can hear mom explaining who I am to dad.]
Dad: [Breathing]
Me: [Still cheerful] I just called to say happy Father's Day!
Dad: [Breathing]
Me: [Beginning to crumble a little] I love you, dad. I'll talk to you again later.
Dad: [Breathing] OK.
Mom: [Takes back the phone]
Now, my younger sister had given me a heads up as far as what to expect from dad so I wasn't surprised. Also, his conversation skills on the phone had been limited to about 30 seconds to one minute this last year or so, but this was clearly the next phase in his Alzheimer's progression.
As sad as this was, I took the fact that he responded to my "I love you" with "OK" as a win. Normally (and by "normally" I mean back when he used to know who I was) his response to "I love you." was "Same here."
He's only ever told me "I love you" about three or four times my whole life, so that "OK", that acknowledgement of my existence on the phone, was good enough for me. I'll take it. How far have we come that listening to my father breathe at me on the phone and say OK is all I need from him? To know, logically, that this is the normal progression for Alzheimer's victims, and to accept it are two very different things.
I can't help but hope that if there is a heaven, that dad will get all of his memories back when he dies, and can remember that we loved him. So very much.
Happy Father's Day, dad.
Me: [Cheerful] Hi dad! [In the background, I can hear mom explaining who I am to dad.]
Dad: [Breathing]
Me: [Still cheerful] I just called to say happy Father's Day!
Dad: [Breathing]
Me: [Beginning to crumble a little] I love you, dad. I'll talk to you again later.
Dad: [Breathing] OK.
Mom: [Takes back the phone]
Now, my younger sister had given me a heads up as far as what to expect from dad so I wasn't surprised. Also, his conversation skills on the phone had been limited to about 30 seconds to one minute this last year or so, but this was clearly the next phase in his Alzheimer's progression.
As sad as this was, I took the fact that he responded to my "I love you" with "OK" as a win. Normally (and by "normally" I mean back when he used to know who I was) his response to "I love you." was "Same here."
He's only ever told me "I love you" about three or four times my whole life, so that "OK", that acknowledgement of my existence on the phone, was good enough for me. I'll take it. How far have we come that listening to my father breathe at me on the phone and say OK is all I need from him? To know, logically, that this is the normal progression for Alzheimer's victims, and to accept it are two very different things.
I can't help but hope that if there is a heaven, that dad will get all of his memories back when he dies, and can remember that we loved him. So very much.
Happy Father's Day, dad.
Friday, May 06, 2011
Recipe: Triple Coconut Cupcakes (When Double Coconut Cupcakes just aren't enough for your coconut needs.)
What is it about coconut that you either love it or hate it? Some of the folks I know can't stand this nut, while my family and I are all for it.
I suspect my Jamaican heritage is at play here, as well as in my rabid love of all things mango.
To whit, when I took a pastry class, lo these many years ago, one of the recipes was for coconut cake. Mind you, this isn't just a recipe for white cake with a marshmallow-like frosting that has toasted coconut sprinkled on top. This is coconut cream and coconut extract, coconut buttercream frosting and toasted coconut. Or you could try to mix it up with a coconut cream cheese frosting.
Triple Coconut Cake with Mods for Cupcakes
Adapted from Cooks Illustrated by the Cooking School of the Rockies and again by moi.
Cake recipe with Mile high elevation changes listed in parentheses.
5 lg egg whites @ room temp
3/4 c cream of coconut
1/4 c water
1 lg egg, room temp
1 tsp coconut extract
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 1/4 c cake flour (Add 1/4 c extra flour for mile high elevation for a total of 9.8 oz cake flour)
1 c sugar (Less 1/4 cup sugar for elevation)
1 tbsp (Only 2 tsp in CO) baking powder
3/4 tsp salt
12 tbsp unsalted butter, cut into 12 pieces and softened (I've used salted butter and just dropped the amount of salt added by 1/4 tsp, works fine.)
1. Set oven to 325°F (340°F for elevation) with rack set to middle position. Lightly coat 2 9" round cake pans w/ veg oil spray and then line bottoms w/ parchment paper circles.
2. Whisk egg whites, cream of coconut, water, whole egg and extracts together in lg bowl and set aside.
3. Whisk flour, sugar, baking powder and salt together in a large bowl. Beat in the butter, one piece at a time, with an electric mixer on low speed until the mix resembles coarse crumbs, about 2-5 min.
4. Add 1 c of egg mixture, increase speed to med-high and beat until light and fluffy, about 45 sec. Add the remaining egg mix in a steady stream and continue to beat until batter is combined, about 30 sec, scraping down the bowl as needed. Batter will be very thick.
5. Divide batter evenly between pans and smooth tops. Bake approx 30-35 min, rotating pans half way through baking time.
6. Cool cake in pans 10 min on wire racks. Run a small knife around cake edge to loosen and then invert onto racks. Remove parchment paper, let cool completely before frosting, 1-2 hrs.
Mods for Cupcakes:
1. Set oven to 340°F. Oil muffin tins or use cupcake liners.
2. If you don't have cake flour, you can use 7/8 c AP flour + 2 tbsp cornstarch for every cup called for in the recipe. Total weight again is 9.8 oz. The cupcakes were no longer dished in the center when I did it this way.
3. Stick with 3/4 c of sugar for high elevation as called for in recipe.
4. Baking time will be less than 30 min. Check with toothpick after 15-20 min, being sure to rotate after 15 min.
5. Makes approximately 21 cupcakes when I used an ice cream scoop to ladle out identical amounts in each muffin tin. I highly recommend the ice cream scoop method of batter portioning. That way, they're all the same size and should bake at the same rate. Also, fewer arguments about this one getting a bigger/smaller cupcake than that one.
Coconut Buttercream Frosting
2 tbsp heavy cream
1 tsp coconut extract
1 tsp vanilla extract
pinch salt
16 tbsp unsalted butter, softened (If your butter is salted, don't bother with the pinch of salt. You may notice the frosting being salty, or it may just cut down the sweetness a little. Try it, if that's all you have on hand, and see if you like it that way. I do.)
1/4 c cream of coconut
3 c confectioners sugar, sifted
2 c toasted sweetened, shredded coconut
Stir cream, extracts and salt together until salt dissolves. Beat butter and cream of coconut in a lg bowl w/electric mixer at med-high speed until smooth, about 20 sec. Reduce speed to med-low, slowly add confectioners sugar, and beat until smooth, 2-5 min. Beat in the cream mixture. Increase speed to med-high and beat until the mixture is light and fluffy, about 4-8 minutes. Assemble cake and press toasted coconut onto sides and sprinkle across top. For cupcakes, you can either slather it on with a palette knife or use an icing bag and a large tip like the Wilton 1M. Pretty!
Coconut Cream Cheese Frosting
8oz cream cheese, room temperature
1/4 c butter, room temperature
1/4 c cream of coconut
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp coconut extract
3-4 c confectioner's sugar, sifted
Mix cream cheese and butter together until creamy. Add cream of coconut and extracts until combined. Add confectioner's sugar 1 cup at a time until frosting is thick and smooth. Top with toasted coconut.
Now, be careful! These things are addictive.
Seriously.
If you need help, call me and I'll throw myself on a batch for you. Ayup.
Hatchet: keeping the world safe from unwanted cupcake consumption.
I suspect my Jamaican heritage is at play here, as well as in my rabid love of all things mango.
To whit, when I took a pastry class, lo these many years ago, one of the recipes was for coconut cake. Mind you, this isn't just a recipe for white cake with a marshmallow-like frosting that has toasted coconut sprinkled on top. This is coconut cream and coconut extract, coconut buttercream frosting and toasted coconut. Or you could try to mix it up with a coconut cream cheese frosting.
Triple Coconut Cake with Mods for Cupcakes
Adapted from Cooks Illustrated by the Cooking School of the Rockies and again by moi.
Cake recipe with Mile high elevation changes listed in parentheses.
5 lg egg whites @ room temp
3/4 c cream of coconut
1/4 c water
1 lg egg, room temp
1 tsp coconut extract
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 1/4 c cake flour (Add 1/4 c extra flour for mile high elevation for a total of 9.8 oz cake flour)
1 c sugar (Less 1/4 cup sugar for elevation)
1 tbsp (Only 2 tsp in CO) baking powder
3/4 tsp salt
12 tbsp unsalted butter, cut into 12 pieces and softened (I've used salted butter and just dropped the amount of salt added by 1/4 tsp, works fine.)
1. Set oven to 325°F (340°F for elevation) with rack set to middle position. Lightly coat 2 9" round cake pans w/ veg oil spray and then line bottoms w/ parchment paper circles.
2. Whisk egg whites, cream of coconut, water, whole egg and extracts together in lg bowl and set aside.
3. Whisk flour, sugar, baking powder and salt together in a large bowl. Beat in the butter, one piece at a time, with an electric mixer on low speed until the mix resembles coarse crumbs, about 2-5 min.
4. Add 1 c of egg mixture, increase speed to med-high and beat until light and fluffy, about 45 sec. Add the remaining egg mix in a steady stream and continue to beat until batter is combined, about 30 sec, scraping down the bowl as needed. Batter will be very thick.
5. Divide batter evenly between pans and smooth tops. Bake approx 30-35 min, rotating pans half way through baking time.
6. Cool cake in pans 10 min on wire racks. Run a small knife around cake edge to loosen and then invert onto racks. Remove parchment paper, let cool completely before frosting, 1-2 hrs.
Mods for Cupcakes:
1. Set oven to 340°F. Oil muffin tins or use cupcake liners.
2. If you don't have cake flour, you can use 7/8 c AP flour + 2 tbsp cornstarch for every cup called for in the recipe. Total weight again is 9.8 oz. The cupcakes were no longer dished in the center when I did it this way.
3. Stick with 3/4 c of sugar for high elevation as called for in recipe.
4. Baking time will be less than 30 min. Check with toothpick after 15-20 min, being sure to rotate after 15 min.
5. Makes approximately 21 cupcakes when I used an ice cream scoop to ladle out identical amounts in each muffin tin. I highly recommend the ice cream scoop method of batter portioning. That way, they're all the same size and should bake at the same rate. Also, fewer arguments about this one getting a bigger/smaller cupcake than that one.
Coconut Buttercream Frosting
2 tbsp heavy cream
1 tsp coconut extract
1 tsp vanilla extract
pinch salt
16 tbsp unsalted butter, softened (If your butter is salted, don't bother with the pinch of salt. You may notice the frosting being salty, or it may just cut down the sweetness a little. Try it, if that's all you have on hand, and see if you like it that way. I do.)
1/4 c cream of coconut
3 c confectioners sugar, sifted
2 c toasted sweetened, shredded coconut
Stir cream, extracts and salt together until salt dissolves. Beat butter and cream of coconut in a lg bowl w/electric mixer at med-high speed until smooth, about 20 sec. Reduce speed to med-low, slowly add confectioners sugar, and beat until smooth, 2-5 min. Beat in the cream mixture. Increase speed to med-high and beat until the mixture is light and fluffy, about 4-8 minutes. Assemble cake and press toasted coconut onto sides and sprinkle across top. For cupcakes, you can either slather it on with a palette knife or use an icing bag and a large tip like the Wilton 1M. Pretty!
Coconut Cream Cheese Frosting
8oz cream cheese, room temperature
1/4 c butter, room temperature
1/4 c cream of coconut
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp coconut extract
3-4 c confectioner's sugar, sifted
Mix cream cheese and butter together until creamy. Add cream of coconut and extracts until combined. Add confectioner's sugar 1 cup at a time until frosting is thick and smooth. Top with toasted coconut.
Now, be careful! These things are addictive.
Seriously.
If you need help, call me and I'll throw myself on a batch for you. Ayup.
Hatchet: keeping the world safe from unwanted cupcake consumption.
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
The Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything
just happens to also be my age. The age that I turned back in March.
For my birthday, there was no cake and no party and no hullaballoo. I went to dinner with Eric and we made a quiet evening of it. A day later, however, we went to a fancy party for the Colorado Environmental Coalition and I was able to spend the evening with like-minded eco-conscious folks. A dinner where I get to talk about backyard chickens, composting and gardening? And no one looks at me like I'm crazy? Sign me up! We ate seriously delicious food and we even got a chance to dress up.
Since I have few dresses these days (Being a SAHM means your fancy clothes wardrobe is generally limited to the "nice" jeans and the "clean" shirt.), I begged my friend Misty to go dress shopping with me.
This may have been a mistake.
She convinced me to buy not one, not two, but four dresses because they were far too cute to leave behind. I fell for the dresses and wandered out of the store a little poorer, but with a greater selection of fun dresses to wear on fancy occasions. Here's the blue dress.
I tell you this to give you fair warning that I'll probably post a picture of the crazy, fancy, red dress that I bought since I have another dinner with the CEC later this month. I needed a red dress, you see. I think every woman does. Long, swishy, sexy. I had to have it.
Related to the dresses and getting older and all that jazz, Eric and I have taken up weight lifting again to attempt to get into better shape. We tried going to the gym back in November, but Logan put the kibosh on that thought by screaming like a Banshee being attacked with a buzzsaw. It wasn't a pretty sight. Or sound. Apparently all of those kids were too much for his tiny brain.
A few months later, though, and everything is OK. He and Emma are excited to go visit the gym and be dropped off in daycare. Suddenly, we get to go workout and have a short break from the kids! It's like a mini-vacation where you get to tote heavy bales voluntarily! Golly!
Now if only I could make myself stop making cupcakes! I bet I could actually lose weight if I did that. The draw of the cupcakes is too strong, though. At least, so far. I blame Stef at The Cupcake Project blog for all of her fantastic recipes and photos. Oh and the recipe for Double Vanilla Cupcakes by Simply Recipes which is where the sudden interest in cupcakes started. I had all of these leftover vanilla beans and wanted to make something with them. I settled on vanilla extract, vanilla sugar and the vanilla cupcakes. To say they were good is a massive understatement. They were damned good.
Yes, I'll post some recipes. because you, too, deserve togain weight right along with me eat scrumptious cupcakes. Cupcakes from scratch rock!
Anyway, fair warning: I'll be bouncing around on subject matter and going back and forth in time to bring you up to speed on family, gardening, baking and other strange things I get involved in. (I've even been fiddling around with making my own personal care products....You know you want to know how to make underarm deodorant!)
Clearly, I have too many interests and not enough time.
Ciao!
For my birthday, there was no cake and no party and no hullaballoo. I went to dinner with Eric and we made a quiet evening of it. A day later, however, we went to a fancy party for the Colorado Environmental Coalition and I was able to spend the evening with like-minded eco-conscious folks. A dinner where I get to talk about backyard chickens, composting and gardening? And no one looks at me like I'm crazy? Sign me up! We ate seriously delicious food and we even got a chance to dress up.
Since I have few dresses these days (Being a SAHM means your fancy clothes wardrobe is generally limited to the "nice" jeans and the "clean" shirt.), I begged my friend Misty to go dress shopping with me.
This may have been a mistake.
She convinced me to buy not one, not two, but four dresses because they were far too cute to leave behind. I fell for the dresses and wandered out of the store a little poorer, but with a greater selection of fun dresses to wear on fancy occasions. Here's the blue dress.
Hatchet at 42
I tell you this to give you fair warning that I'll probably post a picture of the crazy, fancy, red dress that I bought since I have another dinner with the CEC later this month. I needed a red dress, you see. I think every woman does. Long, swishy, sexy. I had to have it.
Related to the dresses and getting older and all that jazz, Eric and I have taken up weight lifting again to attempt to get into better shape. We tried going to the gym back in November, but Logan put the kibosh on that thought by screaming like a Banshee being attacked with a buzzsaw. It wasn't a pretty sight. Or sound. Apparently all of those kids were too much for his tiny brain.
A few months later, though, and everything is OK. He and Emma are excited to go visit the gym and be dropped off in daycare. Suddenly, we get to go workout and have a short break from the kids! It's like a mini-vacation where you get to tote heavy bales voluntarily! Golly!
Now if only I could make myself stop making cupcakes! I bet I could actually lose weight if I did that. The draw of the cupcakes is too strong, though. At least, so far. I blame Stef at The Cupcake Project blog for all of her fantastic recipes and photos. Oh and the recipe for Double Vanilla Cupcakes by Simply Recipes which is where the sudden interest in cupcakes started. I had all of these leftover vanilla beans and wanted to make something with them. I settled on vanilla extract, vanilla sugar and the vanilla cupcakes. To say they were good is a massive understatement. They were damned good.
Yes, I'll post some recipes. because you, too, deserve to
Anyway, fair warning: I'll be bouncing around on subject matter and going back and forth in time to bring you up to speed on family, gardening, baking and other strange things I get involved in. (I've even been fiddling around with making my own personal care products....You know you want to know how to make underarm deodorant!)
Clearly, I have too many interests and not enough time.
Ciao!
Monday, May 02, 2011
Oh! Hello there!
So...how you doin'?
What?! Do I really think I can just waltz right back in here just as easily as that without an explanation? Do I? DO I?!
Um...I've been, you know...busy!
There have been plants
and Easter egg hunts;
cleaning up the garden and growing tiny plants from seed;
getting my house painted,
and buying a new car and selling off my old one.
Well, OK, that's a minivan, but kind of a cool one. Caitlin now has her very own row and the twins can no longer punch her in the face. Ahhh! The soothing sounds of a little less whining!
There have also been cupcakes,
because anniversaries and birthdays are coming up and I need to test out some recipes!
I've also been thinking about all of the photos I haven't edited and all of the stories I haven't written. I'll get to them. It's been tough. Being busy with the short people and thinking about my dad; visiting with my mom and sisters; watching the weather and waiting for a chance to do some planting. I even gained a year and didn't mention it back in March. Heh!
You know...life. It just keeps on rolling.
I'm still here, though and that's a good thing!
What?! Do I really think I can just waltz right back in here just as easily as that without an explanation? Do I? DO I?!
Um...I've been, you know...busy!
There have been plants
Prairie smoke in the front yard.
and Easter egg hunts;
Logan searches high and low. Well...OK. Just low.
cleaning up the garden and growing tiny plants from seed;
Chamomile, calendula, TX sage, cardinal climber, parsley, and zinnias.
Tomatoes, bell peppers, cucumbers, basil, thyme and an itsy bitsy heliotrope.
getting my house painted,
Blue!
and buying a new car and selling off my old one.
Well, OK, that's a minivan, but kind of a cool one. Caitlin now has her very own row and the twins can no longer punch her in the face. Ahhh! The soothing sounds of a little less whining!
There have also been cupcakes,
Coconut cupcake with coconut cream cheese frosting and toasted coconut flakes. Is it good? Ohhhhh yeahhhhh!
because anniversaries and birthdays are coming up and I need to test out some recipes!
I've also been thinking about all of the photos I haven't edited and all of the stories I haven't written. I'll get to them. It's been tough. Being busy with the short people and thinking about my dad; visiting with my mom and sisters; watching the weather and waiting for a chance to do some planting. I even gained a year and didn't mention it back in March. Heh!
You know...life. It just keeps on rolling.
I'm still here, though and that's a good thing!
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Looking for Advice: Boys and Potty Training
WARNING!
This entry will be filled with poop, not unlike Logan's underwear, so if you're easily offended you may want to read something else. Maybe about kitties?
I know they're 3 1/2 years old and you know they're 3 1/2 years old, but Logan has decided he's completely uninterested in pooping on the potty. As in, we know he can but he won't. We've asked, we've begged and pleaded, we've offered bribes of the chocolate variety and of the toy car variety, we've threatened, we've taken away toys. No dice.
That boy has no interest in pooping in or on the potty. He pees in one like a champ, unless he's playing outside in the yard. Somehow neither Logan nor Emma can remember that there are toilets inside the house if they are outside the house. Too distracted throwing sand around, I guess. Neither one of them wakes up dry, either, so they're still wearing the Bum Genius diapers at night*. Emma started to, but I think she backslid after watching Logan get away with peeing everywhere like a puppy.
Maybe I'm wrong, but there has got to be a way to get him to poop in the potty! Please help me! I'm really tired of having to wash soiled Pixar undies and have him freak out when he's all out of Lightning McQueen underwear. You know, because they are filled with poop.
What can I do?
* Yes, they really have been wearing the same reusable diapers for two years and nine months. How awesome is that? Freakin' incredibly awesome, that's how much! The velcro closures have taken a beating, but I've just been using a strip of velcro over top to hold them on. The diapers still look good and work great. Except that Logan pees like a racehorse, so he's always soggy in the morning. I'm starting to wonder if his bladder grows larger as he sleeps and sucks in the moisture from the air.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Plant Check! (Alternative title: Spring Has Sprung...Hatchet Style)
You know how you felt, as a kid, when you grew your very first bean-in-a-cup? Or the first time you saw newborn kittens and/or puppies? That moment of squee married to fascination? I get that feeling every spring.
Every. Single. Spring.
This spring is extra special since it's the first one I haven't come out of winter all sad and grumpy. Instead I'm perky and raring to go.
This doesn't mean I've planted a single seed, though. I've been distracted by all of those other projects I'm still working on like finishing Caitlin's wall unit, baking bread and making yogurt and dabbling in making personal care products. (I made deodorant and it works like a charm! I'm steeping vanilla beans in jojoba oil and lavender in witch hazel! Lotion, moisturizer, toner and lip balm aren't far behind.)
So after I finished putting a few coats of lacquer on Caitlin's wall cubes, I went wandering around in the back yard. Eric thought I was crazy for hanging around in the blustery cold, peering at plants, but when I reminded him that I'm a druid at heart, he concurred and returned indoors. I kept poking about, checking for signs of new life and found them all over the place!
And nothing compares to the thrill of seeing plants I've ripped out of the ground and relocated putting out new growth.
"Yay! I haven't killed it!"
"Woo! You survived!"
"Well hello there, peonies!"
Yes. I talk to my plants. And cheer for them. And threaten to rip them out of the ground if they don't shape up.
I'm a benevolent dictator, for the most part.
From the looks of it, it should shape up to be a fabulous spring...if all of those newly relocated plants bloom this year, that is! Columbine are popping up all over (as are weeds, of course) along with a host of other plants. The lavenders I relocated are alive as are the peonies, catmint, smoke plants, sedum, autumn sage, agastache, prairie winecups, bleeding hearts, etc., etc., etc. I am pleased with all of the work I put in last fall and am looking forward to seeing the results of that work!
You know you're a real gardener when you can walk into almost any garden center, look at the thousands of plants on display and mentally tick off your list:
"Yup, killed that one. And that. And those. Oh! I remember that one! It was so pretty!"
The flip side is that you're always willing to try again. Maybe this time it will be happier over there?
As always, no matter how many I have, there's always room for one more. Or fifteen more.
Those bags of daylilies and dahlias begged to come home with me. Seriously.
Every. Single. Spring.
This spring is extra special since it's the first one I haven't come out of winter all sad and grumpy. Instead I'm perky and raring to go.
This doesn't mean I've planted a single seed, though. I've been distracted by all of those other projects I'm still working on like finishing Caitlin's wall unit, baking bread and making yogurt and dabbling in making personal care products. (I made deodorant and it works like a charm! I'm steeping vanilla beans in jojoba oil and lavender in witch hazel! Lotion, moisturizer, toner and lip balm aren't far behind.)
So after I finished putting a few coats of lacquer on Caitlin's wall cubes, I went wandering around in the back yard. Eric thought I was crazy for hanging around in the blustery cold, peering at plants, but when I reminded him that I'm a druid at heart, he concurred and returned indoors. I kept poking about, checking for signs of new life and found them all over the place!
And nothing compares to the thrill of seeing plants I've ripped out of the ground and relocated putting out new growth.
"Yay! I haven't killed it!"
"Woo! You survived!"
"Well hello there, peonies!"
Yes. I talk to my plants. And cheer for them. And threaten to rip them out of the ground if they don't shape up.
I'm a benevolent dictator, for the most part.
From the looks of it, it should shape up to be a fabulous spring...if all of those newly relocated plants bloom this year, that is! Columbine are popping up all over (as are weeds, of course) along with a host of other plants. The lavenders I relocated are alive as are the peonies, catmint, smoke plants, sedum, autumn sage, agastache, prairie winecups, bleeding hearts, etc., etc., etc. I am pleased with all of the work I put in last fall and am looking forward to seeing the results of that work!
You know you're a real gardener when you can walk into almost any garden center, look at the thousands of plants on display and mentally tick off your list:
"Yup, killed that one. And that. And those. Oh! I remember that one! It was so pretty!"
The flip side is that you're always willing to try again. Maybe this time it will be happier over there?
As always, no matter how many I have, there's always room for one more. Or fifteen more.
Those bags of daylilies and dahlias begged to come home with me. Seriously.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Caitlin says...
Caitlin is upstairs in her room with her friend. They're having a 2 day sleepover and are having fun.
Eric [Downstairs in the kitchen]: Caitlin!
Caitlin: Yes?
Eric: Did you drink my soda that I had here in the fridge?
Caitlin: No.
Eric: Do you know where my soda is?
Caitlin: [Guilty silence]
Eric: Caiiiiit-lin?!
Caitlin: It's underneath my pillow because we couldn't open it and we thought we'd get yelled at.
Eric retrieves the soda and returns to me shaking his head.
Caitlin: Splitter of Hairs Extraordinaire.
We now will attempt to return to Woman with a Hatchet. Some assembly may be required.
Eric [Downstairs in the kitchen]: Caitlin!
Caitlin: Yes?
Eric: Did you drink my soda that I had here in the fridge?
Caitlin: No.
Eric: Do you know where my soda is?
Caitlin: [Guilty silence]
Eric: Caiiiiit-lin?!
Caitlin: It's underneath my pillow because we couldn't open it and we thought we'd get yelled at.
Eric retrieves the soda and returns to me shaking his head.
Caitlin: Splitter of Hairs Extraordinaire.
We now will attempt to return to Woman with a Hatchet. Some assembly may be required.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
The Craftiness Continues! Now for fun with...DRAPES!
I blame my sister Cindy and Ana White for the crafting bug that has taken hold of me recently. If it weren't for Ana's web site and her cool plans for furniture, I never would have found Young House Love.
The problem with having found their site is that it immediately filled my brain with all sorts of cool ideas about how I could finish Caitlin's room. Finish as in decorate. I've been so busy working on my garden for all of these years that I never really think about the inside of the house a whole lot. Mostly because to me, mopping a floor that will be dirty again just as soon as a twin passes by is a lot more frustrating than pulling a weed that I know will come back. However, time between weed regrowth is usually a matter of weeks, while floor destruction is only a matter of moments.
That sense of satisfaction that you get from a job well done is far more fleeting inside the house than outside the house.
That being said, making furniture has been a heck of a lotta fun. At least for me. Now, after having spent hours scouring decorating blogs (There are some amazingly talented people out there! They have some fantastic taste! I am so totally stealing their ideas! Woo!) for cool ideas and easy/cheap ways of doing things, I learned about heat bond tape. It means no sewing.
No sewing.
At least for simple things like drapes, that's frickin' awesome! So I ran out and bought some and then pulled out some white fabric that has been laying around for a few years in my garage. What did I buy it for originally? I can't remember, but there was plenty of it to make Caitlin some very, very simple drapes.
Want to make some, too? First we'll need some supplies.
Measure your hem and iron it down. Another blogger had mentioned that professionals make 4" hems and after checking the ones that I'd had made for me years ago, confirmed that to be the case. So, being a wannabe, I made my hems 4" wide on both the top and the bottom. I think this is where I made my length miscalculation. I ironed that sucker flat and rolled it over a second time and ironed that flat.
Then I pulled out my new magical crafting tool (I might like it almost as much as I like my sander!) and double checked the directions on the back of the package. I'm glad I did, because unlike Sherry's tape, mine didn't have any paper on it to peel off. If I'd put the hot iron on it...well. Let's just say I'd have suddenly started searching for How To Remove Glue from your Iron.
I plopped my 4" hem on top of the tape, ironed it down and repeated the process on each side of the panel. When I was done, it was a thing of beauty. I didn't have to curse out my sewing machine. I didn't have to pull out my hopelessly messed up stitches. Amazing!
That's it! I was done making a panel! All I needed to do then was do the same thing on the second panel and then go grab some ring clips. I had a curtain rod that I'd bought back when I made a curtain for the living room, but found out it was too long for the space. Since I figured that I'd eventually use it in my room, I just put it in the closet. Where's it's been for almost 5 years. Sigh.
My next step was to attach the ring clips to the panels and have Eric install the rod. Then, as the final touch, I pinned the cute flowers to the panels and called it Good Enough.
It's not perfect, but it's fun. If I run across more of those flowers, I'll be sure to snag them and add them to the 10 I found originally.
I think Caitlin will like it! What's more, what I've learned here will stand me in good stead when I start working on my room!
What do you think? Easy and cute! Easily changed, too, if Caitlin doesn't like it or wants something different or wants simple, white curtains.
Awwwwwe-some!
The problem with having found their site is that it immediately filled my brain with all sorts of cool ideas about how I could finish Caitlin's room. Finish as in decorate. I've been so busy working on my garden for all of these years that I never really think about the inside of the house a whole lot. Mostly because to me, mopping a floor that will be dirty again just as soon as a twin passes by is a lot more frustrating than pulling a weed that I know will come back. However, time between weed regrowth is usually a matter of weeks, while floor destruction is only a matter of moments.
That sense of satisfaction that you get from a job well done is far more fleeting inside the house than outside the house.
That being said, making furniture has been a heck of a lotta fun. At least for me. Now, after having spent hours scouring decorating blogs (There are some amazingly talented people out there! They have some fantastic taste! I am so totally stealing their ideas! Woo!) for cool ideas and easy/cheap ways of doing things, I learned about heat bond tape. It means no sewing.
No sewing.
At least for simple things like drapes, that's frickin' awesome! So I ran out and bought some and then pulled out some white fabric that has been laying around for a few years in my garage. What did I buy it for originally? I can't remember, but there was plenty of it to make Caitlin some very, very simple drapes.
Want to make some, too? First we'll need some supplies.
- The magical heat & bond tape that I grabbed from the local craft store. I bought a bag that had 4 rolls in it, since I didn't know how much I'd need or if I might get all crazy and make something else after I was done with this set of drapes. I had a coupon, so it the tape was 40% off. Nicely done, me!
- I snagged some cloth daisy pins for 50 cents each, also at the local craft store, since I didn't want the curtains to be just plain white.
- I pulled out my measuring tape, iron and ironing board.
- Don't forget the fabric you want to make into a curtain. I'd already cut it to the length I'd wanted, although since I'm notoriously crappy at math, I didn't quite cut it long enough, so it isn't fully floor length like I'd originally wanted it to be. Oh well! This is only my 2nd time making curtains, so I don't feel so bad!
- Finally, you need ring clips (unless you want to make cloth tabs) and a curtain rod.
Measure your hem and iron it down. Another blogger had mentioned that professionals make 4" hems and after checking the ones that I'd had made for me years ago, confirmed that to be the case. So, being a wannabe, I made my hems 4" wide on both the top and the bottom. I think this is where I made my length miscalculation. I ironed that sucker flat and rolled it over a second time and ironed that flat.
Then I pulled out my new magical crafting tool (I might like it almost as much as I like my sander!) and double checked the directions on the back of the package. I'm glad I did, because unlike Sherry's tape, mine didn't have any paper on it to peel off. If I'd put the hot iron on it...well. Let's just say I'd have suddenly started searching for How To Remove Glue from your Iron.
I plopped my 4" hem on top of the tape, ironed it down and repeated the process on each side of the panel. When I was done, it was a thing of beauty. I didn't have to curse out my sewing machine. I didn't have to pull out my hopelessly messed up stitches. Amazing!
That's it! I was done making a panel! All I needed to do then was do the same thing on the second panel and then go grab some ring clips. I had a curtain rod that I'd bought back when I made a curtain for the living room, but found out it was too long for the space. Since I figured that I'd eventually use it in my room, I just put it in the closet. Where's it's been for almost 5 years. Sigh.
My next step was to attach the ring clips to the panels and have Eric install the rod. Then, as the final touch, I pinned the cute flowers to the panels and called it Good Enough.
It's not perfect, but it's fun. If I run across more of those flowers, I'll be sure to snag them and add them to the 10 I found originally.
I think Caitlin will like it! What's more, what I've learned here will stand me in good stead when I start working on my room!
What do you think? Easy and cute! Easily changed, too, if Caitlin doesn't like it or wants something different or wants simple, white curtains.
Awwwwwe-some!
Sunday, March 06, 2011
How to ...Make Your Own Magnetic Blackboard
That's right. Now I've caught the crafting bug and I've got to finish up the desk backing for Caitlin's room. My plan is to make a magnetized blackboard to fit that opening.
Hope you're having a great day!
Tutorial with photos!
The primer I picked up suggested a minimum of two thin coats, so I went for three and tested in between each coat with a small magnet for strength after allowing it to dry for 30 minutes each time. After 3 coats, it seemed to be strong enough for my needs.
By the way, this stuff is really whiffy, so you'll want to paint it outdoors or in an extremely well ventilated location. I was in the garage with the door open and I still chose to put on a mask to fend off the fumes. By the time I was done with the third coat, it was starting to get a little too chilly to move on to the next phase of the project: applying the chalkboard paint.
I will start on that tomorrow, assuming it's not too cold to paint!
- - -
Of course I couldn't finish what I'd started. It dropped below freezing and has stayed there the last 2 days. So...instead I'll put this post on hold until the weather returns to the "spring" setting.
In the meantime, I'm working on an indoor project. More about that later.
Hope you're having a great day!
Tutorial with photos!
- First, get yourself a thin piece of plywood, for sturdiness. Have it cut to the size you'd like. (Do you have an old frame that needs a new purpose? Wall space crying out for some magnets?) I have two of them around 30" x 20", one is for Caitlin's desk and the other is going to be my menu board/shopping list board mounted in the kitchen.
- Get a quart of magnetic primer. You don't want spray paint for this. From the reading I've done, it doesn't appear to work so well. Make sure to either have the store you buy it from use their agitator to shake it or expect to stir it up a lot when you get it home and while painting it on. You need to ensure the primer is well mixed for it to work properly.
- Use a very smooth roller or a foam brush. I went the foam brush route, since that's what I had on hand.
- Sand your plywood with a fine grit sandpaper, just to ensure it's nice and smooth. Wipe away the dust with a damp rag and allow to dry before priming.
The primer I picked up suggested a minimum of two thin coats, so I went for three and tested in between each coat with a small magnet for strength after allowing it to dry for 30 minutes each time. After 3 coats, it seemed to be strong enough for my needs.
By the way, this stuff is really whiffy, so you'll want to paint it outdoors or in an extremely well ventilated location. I was in the garage with the door open and I still chose to put on a mask to fend off the fumes. By the time I was done with the third coat, it was starting to get a little too chilly to move on to the next phase of the project: applying the chalkboard paint.
I will start on that tomorrow, assuming it's not too cold to paint!
- - -
Of course I couldn't finish what I'd started. It dropped below freezing and has stayed there the last 2 days. So...instead I'll put this post on hold until the weather returns to the "spring" setting.
In the meantime, I'm working on an indoor project. More about that later.
Thursday, March 03, 2011
Caitlin's New Desk: Hatchet and Husband Take on the DIY World!
Just under a week of hard work, swearing, sanding, painting, sawing, swearing, building and then last minute panic, ripping apart and refacing, it's done.
One third of the giant wall unit for Caitlin's bedroom is finished. Now she has a place to do her homework...in her room and away from the babies. No excuses.
Check it out!
One desk with hutch and drawer. It's not perfect at all, but talk about proud! Aaaaand a massive learning experience for Eric and I. I'll be making sure that he takes into account the measurement for any drawer slides before putting the drawer together in future!
The drawer interior. I totally stole the idea from Young House Love (Crafty devils!) because I thought it was a fabulous touch. Caitlin chose the wrapping paper and I got my first dose of decoupage. Be afraid!
The knob Caitlin chose after much back and forth with me. White knobs on a white drawer weren't going to work for me. This, on the other hand, is lovely! We have another pair of matching handles for the drawers on the base units. Base unit construction starts...tomorrow!
Caitlin's finished door with her colorful name and the desk we've been working on for a week! Caitlin even did homework on it this evening!
Whew! What a lot of work! I'm so glad it's done.
On to the next piece! Huzzah!
Whaddayah think?
One third of the giant wall unit for Caitlin's bedroom is finished. Now she has a place to do her homework...in her room and away from the babies. No excuses.
Check it out!
One desk with hutch and drawer. It's not perfect at all, but talk about proud! Aaaaand a massive learning experience for Eric and I. I'll be making sure that he takes into account the measurement for any drawer slides before putting the drawer together in future!
The drawer interior. I totally stole the idea from Young House Love (Crafty devils!) because I thought it was a fabulous touch. Caitlin chose the wrapping paper and I got my first dose of decoupage. Be afraid!
The knob Caitlin chose after much back and forth with me. White knobs on a white drawer weren't going to work for me. This, on the other hand, is lovely! We have another pair of matching handles for the drawers on the base units. Base unit construction starts...tomorrow!
Caitlin's finished door with her colorful name and the desk we've been working on for a week! Caitlin even did homework on it this evening!
Whew! What a lot of work! I'm so glad it's done.
On to the next piece! Huzzah!
Whaddayah think?
Emma says...
After a quick bath this morning, Emma asked Eric if he liked her pretty hair.
"I love your pretty hair," Eric replied. "Do you like my pretty hair?" and gestured to his shiny shaved head.
Emma's eyes crinkled and her nose squinched up. My favorite laugh bounced around the kitchen and she said, "You don't have any hair, Daddy!" When he asked what she thought happened to Daddy's hair, Emma said, "You frew it away! It's in da garbage!"
Logan walked in with his bag of toys, bright yellow hard hat and Lightning McQueen snow boots and exclaimed, "Sniper took it!"
"We have to go find it, Yogan!" Emma squealed and jumped down from her chair. "Let's go get Swiper!" She grabbed Logan by the hand and together they ran into the living room.
Moments later we heard a pair of voices yelling, "Swiper no swiping! Swiper no swiping! Swiper no swiping" from the living room. Emma came back to us and held her hands out, empty and sad. "It's all gone."
So much for getting Eric's hair back!
"I love your pretty hair," Eric replied. "Do you like my pretty hair?" and gestured to his shiny shaved head.
Emma's eyes crinkled and her nose squinched up. My favorite laugh bounced around the kitchen and she said, "You don't have any hair, Daddy!" When he asked what she thought happened to Daddy's hair, Emma said, "You frew it away! It's in da garbage!"
Logan walked in with his bag of toys, bright yellow hard hat and Lightning McQueen snow boots and exclaimed, "Sniper took it!"
"We have to go find it, Yogan!" Emma squealed and jumped down from her chair. "Let's go get Swiper!" She grabbed Logan by the hand and together they ran into the living room.
Moments later we heard a pair of voices yelling, "Swiper no swiping! Swiper no swiping! Swiper no swiping" from the living room. Emma came back to us and held her hands out, empty and sad. "It's all gone."
So much for getting Eric's hair back!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
I'm in real trouble now!
See what happens when you go visit your kid sister? You come back with a hundred ideas about how to organize your house and Oh! wouldn't it be nice to paint the bedroom and living room again and Oh! what colors should I use and Ooh! we need to build Caitlin a desk/cubby system and on and on and on.
Next thing you know you're falling down the rabbit hole of links and find wall art so sensational that you know you must recreate it in your own room. I'm doomed and here's the picture that doomed me (From Girl in Air's blog. Too crafty for words.). I searched her site thinking that I was looking at a stencil, but it turns out she used a projector and here are the step by step instructions from Vintage Revival's blog. Now I'm seriously all squee-y about those trees and the burning need to paint them in my own room.
No, those aren't going into Caitlin's room. I think I'm done there, other than the cubby/desk furniture. Fortunately for me, Ibugged Eric until he couldn't take it anymore got Eric to start work on the desk yesterday. Today I started sanding and filling in holes while he put the drawer together. If I weren't so tired from being up at 3am with a screamy Logan (Why? Whyyyy did I offer to let them sleep with me last night?!), I'd be out in the garage right now priming that sucker.
I should probably take pictures, huh?
Tomorrow, in daylight, I'll take pictures.
Then I'm gonna bug the heck out of Eric to finish the cubby system until we can get all of Caitlin's crap out of our room so that I can start work on renovating our bedroom! Lemme tell you, it's a wreck.
I don't know about you, but my bedroom becomes a dumping ground for all of the laundry, books, confiscated toys and books and other debris that needs to find a home. The main problem with it being our room that I've waited so long to work on is the fact that I know the Diderot Effect will get me. I will want blackout shades that match those in the kids' rooms instead of the ones we installed 16 years ago. I'll want to rip out the carpet and replace it with bamboo flooring to match the rest of the house (Why didn't I just do that when we had the floor installed during the kitchen remodel 9 years ago?! Clearly I'm a blockhead.) and then I'll need to update all of our trim to white to match Caitlin's.
I already gave in to the idea that once I started changing trim out that I'd then have to do the whole rest of the house. Bit by bit.
The problem with me is that once I have an idea for something, I wanna do it now! Now! NOW! Quick! Before my inner slacker takes over!
I can just feel Cindy laughing at me in Canada and my mom shaking her head at me and mumbling something about "not doing anything by halves". Again. Yeah. Fortunately (?) for me Eric is on the critical path (Project manager speak, there. Don't mind me.) to getting stuff built, so I have to move at his speed. His speed, when compared to mine, is often...lackadaisical. (Yeah. Second definition down.) Good thing I'm good atpushing motivating him.
[Breaks out the coconut cupcake recipe.]
Next thing you know you're falling down the rabbit hole of links and find wall art so sensational that you know you must recreate it in your own room. I'm doomed and here's the picture that doomed me (From Girl in Air's blog. Too crafty for words.). I searched her site thinking that I was looking at a stencil, but it turns out she used a projector and here are the step by step instructions from Vintage Revival's blog. Now I'm seriously all squee-y about those trees and the burning need to paint them in my own room.
No, those aren't going into Caitlin's room. I think I'm done there, other than the cubby/desk furniture. Fortunately for me, I
I should probably take pictures, huh?
Tomorrow, in daylight, I'll take pictures.
Then I'm gonna bug the heck out of Eric to finish the cubby system until we can get all of Caitlin's crap out of our room so that I can start work on renovating our bedroom! Lemme tell you, it's a wreck.
I don't know about you, but my bedroom becomes a dumping ground for all of the laundry, books, confiscated toys and books and other debris that needs to find a home. The main problem with it being our room that I've waited so long to work on is the fact that I know the Diderot Effect will get me. I will want blackout shades that match those in the kids' rooms instead of the ones we installed 16 years ago. I'll want to rip out the carpet and replace it with bamboo flooring to match the rest of the house (Why didn't I just do that when we had the floor installed during the kitchen remodel 9 years ago?! Clearly I'm a blockhead.) and then I'll need to update all of our trim to white to match Caitlin's.
I already gave in to the idea that once I started changing trim out that I'd then have to do the whole rest of the house. Bit by bit.
The problem with me is that once I have an idea for something, I wanna do it now! Now! NOW! Quick! Before my inner slacker takes over!
I can just feel Cindy laughing at me in Canada and my mom shaking her head at me and mumbling something about "not doing anything by halves". Again. Yeah. Fortunately (?) for me Eric is on the critical path (Project manager speak, there. Don't mind me.) to getting stuff built, so I have to move at his speed. His speed, when compared to mine, is often...lackadaisical. (Yeah. Second definition down.) Good thing I'm good at
[Breaks out the coconut cupcake recipe.]
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Caitlin's Room Remodel
What does the Hatchet do when she can't garden and doesn't really want to bake bread?
Well, she finds something else to obsess over. Like organizing the house starting with the bedroom of her eldest child; there has never been a room in more desperate need of a good cleaning and makeover as hers.
Here are the Before pictures. However, "before" doesn't mention the 4-6 hours worth of cleaning that it took to get her room into this shape. Three bags of trash. Two bags of recycling. Sweeping and sweeping and vacuuming and sweeping and a great number of unanswerable questions like "Why is there a half eaten quesadilla under her dresser?" and "What's with the billions of tiny pieces of paper?" and "Oh my gawd! Look at her closet! WTH?!".
That last was me since I spent the majority of the time pulling the huge piles of crap out of her closet.
Then we moved all of her stuff into our bedroom, leaving her with a clean/empty room and us with a wrecked/stuffed room.
Anyway, on with the show!
It's been almost 10 years since I last touched that room with a paint brush. At the time, it was a lovely room. It was a nursery, with bright colors and very suitable for an infant. Now...well, she's about to enter double digits, so it seemed like a good idea to take time to remodel her room now rather than wait until the summer when it will be murderously hot and my garden sings its siren song.
Just to put this all into perspective, Caitlin's room is 10' x 10' with 8' ceilings. It took me 10 days to go from the nursery pictures. to this:
If you don't like lilac/lavender, you won't like this room.
Note that Caitlin also got a new comforter set to complete the makeover. While we were shopping she informed me that she doesn't like pink. I was stunned, I tell you, stunned! So much for my idea for pink accents! That's OK though, I like the bright green and aqua blue.
We took the sliding doors off her closet with plans to turn them into doors that open outwards and possibly have a shelving unit built in like this, but I'm not sure we have the room.
Nothin's says lovin' like sanding, priming and painting wood trim. I blame Cindy. She convinced me that I should update the trim in my house to white. I bought into the idea and now I will have to go room by room on my hands and knees and change it. Eventually. Maybe in the fall. Spring is coming, after all!
Now all I have left to do is sand, prime and double coat her door and it can go back on its hinges. Then I'll bug Eric to work on the desk and cubby system, which I'll then be required to paint. By the time we're done, there should be no excuses for stuff left on the floor or shoved into the bottom of the closet. Actually, I'm moving her dresser in there, so I'm hoping she won't be able to stuff anything in it!
Later I'll build her an end table and a shelf/cubby for the gerbils to live on where she can store their stuff. Storage! It's all about storage!*
Like I said, I am suddenly obsessed with home organizing and learning how to do some woodworking that will allow us to fit our stuff in our home more comfortably will be awesome!
* Even later still I'll build some toy boxes, maybe more shelves for the twins room and a bench and hook system for the front entryway. I'm sick of shoes all over. I blame Cindy for all of the woodworking ideas!
Well, she finds something else to obsess over. Like organizing the house starting with the bedroom of her eldest child; there has never been a room in more desperate need of a good cleaning and makeover as hers.
Here are the Before pictures. However, "before" doesn't mention the 4-6 hours worth of cleaning that it took to get her room into this shape. Three bags of trash. Two bags of recycling. Sweeping and sweeping and vacuuming and sweeping and a great number of unanswerable questions like "Why is there a half eaten quesadilla under her dresser?" and "What's with the billions of tiny pieces of paper?" and "Oh my gawd! Look at her closet! WTH?!".
That last was me since I spent the majority of the time pulling the huge piles of crap out of her closet.
Then we moved all of her stuff into our bedroom, leaving her with a clean/empty room and us with a wrecked/stuffed room.
Anyway, on with the show!
Caitlin with the hippo our friend Steve painted for her right before she was born. It's been almost 10 years; time for a makeover!
The ceiling that I painted with oddly shaped clouds. It's a dog! It's a pig!
This is Caitlin's closet after we had spent hours and hours cleaning her room out. Three bags of trash and two of recycling later, it looked like this. Then we had to COMPLETELY empty it for painting. Her dresser was just pushed in there for a size check.
The wall her dresser used to be on. Note the multiple color paints. This required the use of tinted primer to cover up. Yup. I did that to myself. Oh and there USED to be a wallpaper border, but Caitlin peeled it off when she was 3. After that, I swore I'd never use wallpaper again.
The window wall, left side.
Window wall, right side.
It's been almost 10 years since I last touched that room with a paint brush. At the time, it was a lovely room. It was a nursery, with bright colors and very suitable for an infant. Now...well, she's about to enter double digits, so it seemed like a good idea to take time to remodel her room now rather than wait until the summer when it will be murderously hot and my garden sings its siren song.
Just to put this all into perspective, Caitlin's room is 10' x 10' with 8' ceilings. It took me 10 days to go from the nursery pictures. to this:
AFTER! Woohoo!
These are display shelves that Eric built and I primed and painted, and the VERY purple walls. Each display shelf is 4' long and built with 1 1x2, and 2 1x6s. Pretty cool and seriously easy. The plans are at ana-white.com.
Thanks to my sister Cindy for turning me on to Ana White's DIY site! Next up: a giant shelving/desk system on the opposite wall! Eric is going to be spending a LOT of time building stuff for me this year!
Thanks to my sister Cindy for turning me on to Ana White's DIY site! Next up: a giant shelving/desk system on the opposite wall! Eric is going to be spending a LOT of time building stuff for me this year!
If you don't like lilac/lavender, you won't like this room.
Note that Caitlin also got a new comforter set to complete the makeover. While we were shopping she informed me that she doesn't like pink. I was stunned, I tell you, stunned! So much for my idea for pink accents! That's OK though, I like the bright green and aqua blue.
The room is actually 2 colors: the walls of the main room are a dark lavender (Mystic Purple) and the ceiling and closet interior are a lighter lilac (Purple Dragon). Today I finished painting all of the wood trim bright white, like that shelf in the closet.
We took the sliding doors off her closet with plans to turn them into doors that open outwards and possibly have a shelving unit built in like this, but I'm not sure we have the room.
Nothin's says lovin' like sanding, priming and painting wood trim. I blame Cindy. She convinced me that I should update the trim in my house to white. I bought into the idea and now I will have to go room by room on my hands and knees and change it. Eventually. Maybe in the fall. Spring is coming, after all!
The finished wall where some day there will be a cool desk and a set of cubby shelves like this. Minus all of the pink, of course.
Now all I have left to do is sand, prime and double coat her door and it can go back on its hinges. Then I'll bug Eric to work on the desk and cubby system, which I'll then be required to paint. By the time we're done, there should be no excuses for stuff left on the floor or shoved into the bottom of the closet. Actually, I'm moving her dresser in there, so I'm hoping she won't be able to stuff anything in it!
Later I'll build her an end table and a shelf/cubby for the gerbils to live on where she can store their stuff. Storage! It's all about storage!*
Like I said, I am suddenly obsessed with home organizing and learning how to do some woodworking that will allow us to fit our stuff in our home more comfortably will be awesome!
* Even later still I'll build some toy boxes, maybe more shelves for the twins room and a bench and hook system for the front entryway. I'm sick of shoes all over. I blame Cindy for all of the woodworking ideas!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Regional Spelling Bee and Where HAS the Hatchet Been, Anyway?!
I'm sorry I've been offline for so long. A lot has been going on, not least of which was the fact that I was still processing my trip to Canada.
There's nothing quite like dropping everything, rushing off to hang with your mom and sisters to give you a lot to think about. Then, after I returned home again, Eric and the kids were kind enough to share the plague that they had contracted whilst I was away. I ran a 103.6 - 104 degree fever for a week.
That'd put a dent in anyone's blogging schedule, I betcha.
Add a little crazy life action, a decided lack of desire to edit photos that leave me sad, a screamy Logan (Being ill doesn't suit him.) and a sudden and burning desire to organize my entire house, starting with Caitlin's room and that's where I've been.
Oh yeah, and watching Caitlin at the Regional Spelling Bee.
She really didn't want to go, which I chalked up to nerves. I don't really blame her, but I knew it was better for her to go than to give in and let her skip out. This was a learning experience, people!
Eric studied with her, cramming words in right up to the day of the Bee, after chasing her around for a month trying to get her to study a little at a time. Hmm. Wonder where she inherited the Cramming Gene from, eh?
Anyway, we went to the Bee and it turns out she was slotted to sit in seat #1. Oooooh! No pressure, kid! The kids there ranged from 7(!) to 14. The winner gets an all expenses paid trip to Washington for the National Spelling Bee. How cool would that be?
Caitlin, like all the other 52 kids, was terrified up on the stage and spent many minutes during the practice round picking the sparkly bits off of her shirt, tapping her feet and holding her breath. Not that we noticed or anything. Or tried to get her to stop. Nope. Heh! (Practice word: "admiral", which she nailed.)
It was fascinating to me to see how the Bee actually worked and that clearly, a number of these kids had all been there before in previous years and had the pattern down!
Caitlin's word: "contiguous". Unfortunately, being as nervous as she was, she didn't make better use of the tools they reminded all the kids they could use. Ask to hear the word again, get a definition, and hear it used in a sentence. She missed the -uous by changing it to -ious and that was all she wrote. turns out you only get one opportunity to spell the word and once you say a letter, there are no take-backs.
Suddenly, we were done.
Since we had a sitter watching the twins at home, we took the opportunity and our Champion Speller off for a day of Alone Time with the Parents. We had brunch, did a little shopping and picked up How To Train Your Dragon on DVD. All by ourselves.
Win, lose or draw, it was an excellent day and she's an excellent girl.
We're already negotiating whether or not she is going to be in the Bee next year. Hah! We told her to not even worry about it until next fall. Then we'll see.
Next up: What have I been doing in Caitlin's room?
There's nothing quite like dropping everything, rushing off to hang with your mom and sisters to give you a lot to think about. Then, after I returned home again, Eric and the kids were kind enough to share the plague that they had contracted whilst I was away. I ran a 103.6 - 104 degree fever for a week.
That'd put a dent in anyone's blogging schedule, I betcha.
Add a little crazy life action, a decided lack of desire to edit photos that leave me sad, a screamy Logan (Being ill doesn't suit him.) and a sudden and burning desire to organize my entire house, starting with Caitlin's room and that's where I've been.
Oh yeah, and watching Caitlin at the Regional Spelling Bee.
She really didn't want to go, which I chalked up to nerves. I don't really blame her, but I knew it was better for her to go than to give in and let her skip out. This was a learning experience, people!
Eric studied with her, cramming words in right up to the day of the Bee, after chasing her around for a month trying to get her to study a little at a time. Hmm. Wonder where she inherited the Cramming Gene from, eh?
Anyway, we went to the Bee and it turns out she was slotted to sit in seat #1. Oooooh! No pressure, kid! The kids there ranged from 7(!) to 14. The winner gets an all expenses paid trip to Washington for the National Spelling Bee. How cool would that be?
There in the background is the 3rd time winner of the Regional, a 14 year old. In second place was an 11 year old. Awesome!
Caitlin, like all the other 52 kids, was terrified up on the stage and spent many minutes during the practice round picking the sparkly bits off of her shirt, tapping her feet and holding her breath. Not that we noticed or anything. Or tried to get her to stop. Nope. Heh! (Practice word: "admiral", which she nailed.)
It was fascinating to me to see how the Bee actually worked and that clearly, a number of these kids had all been there before in previous years and had the pattern down!
Conspicuous? Continuous? Oh man! What did he SAY?!
Caitlin's word: "contiguous". Unfortunately, being as nervous as she was, she didn't make better use of the tools they reminded all the kids they could use. Ask to hear the word again, get a definition, and hear it used in a sentence. She missed the -uous by changing it to -ious and that was all she wrote. turns out you only get one opportunity to spell the word and once you say a letter, there are no take-backs.
Suddenly, we were done.
Since we had a sitter watching the twins at home, we took the opportunity and our Champion Speller off for a day of Alone Time with the Parents. We had brunch, did a little shopping and picked up How To Train Your Dragon on DVD. All by ourselves.
Win, lose or draw, it was an excellent day and she's an excellent girl.
We're already negotiating whether or not she is going to be in the Bee next year. Hah! We told her to not even worry about it until next fall. Then we'll see.
Next up: What have I been doing in Caitlin's room?
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Happenstance
When you think about the sheer number of incidents that occurred in the lives of my grandparents and parents lives, it's a wonder the four of us kids were ever born at all.
To whit:
My grandmother, Corinne, was born 2 months early. In Jamaica. In 1908.
NINETEEN OH EIGHT, people!
Mom said they pinned her to a pillow to keep her close by. She must've been teeny tiny at birth, because she was tiny as an adult.
Then, at 18, in 1926, she got pneumonia. Her doctor sat beside her bed and begged her not to die. Only two shots of penicillin were sent to the island and were meant for someone else, but that person died before they got there. The shots were given to my grandmother instead. She went on to outlive all of her immediate family, doctors and friends and died at the ripe old age of 96.
My dad, born in 1933, was what they called a "blue" baby. Apparently my Nanny had rH factor problems after her first child was born and my dad, the third surviving child, could've died. They actually gave him a blood transfusion to save his life. Then later, still as an infant, he got horribly ill with what we think was bronchitis. All of the doctors in the area were at a conference, so none were available to come and help. Someone apparently put a mustard plaster on his chest, but he didn't improve. A cousin who was also a nurse went out to find the one doctor that didn't go to the conference. He came, saw dad was turning blue (Again!), ripped the plaster off and gave him a teaspoon of brandy. Mind you, this was during Prohibition, so that teaspoonful came dearly. The brandy caused him to shudder and cough and breathe again.
Saved by booze.
Then, my parents having met at all was sheer coincidence. Mom was supposed to have left for the US on a piano scholarship in the fall, except that the nun she gave her application papers to didn't submit it. Dad was on assignment to the bank in Jamaica, but was already past his allotted time. He should've only been there for 2 years, but was finishing up his 5th year by the time he met HER. At the bank. So she should've been in the States, but wasn't. A friend of hers told her that a girl had just quit and a position had opened up at the bank and that mom should apply for the job. She did and was hired. Dad showed up a few months later to relieve the bank manager and met mom.
From the stories I've heard, once dad laid eyes on mom he immediately started referring to her as Mrs. Family Name (i.e. where Family Name is my maiden name. Obviously.). Nowadays, we'd call that harassment. Back then? That was flirting. Dad was dead lucky that mom was able to get past his "stuffed shirt" appearance to get to know him.
Their romance is a tale in itself. One day I'll get the whole story. A drunken serenade is involved, so you know it's good!
Our family tales are made of equal parts unlikely happenstance, pathos and comedy.
But maybe that's the stuff of which all of us are made. We just have to live through it and make the most of it while we're here.
To whit:
My grandmother, Corinne, was born 2 months early. In Jamaica. In 1908.
NINETEEN OH EIGHT, people!
Mom said they pinned her to a pillow to keep her close by. She must've been teeny tiny at birth, because she was tiny as an adult.
Then, at 18, in 1926, she got pneumonia. Her doctor sat beside her bed and begged her not to die. Only two shots of penicillin were sent to the island and were meant for someone else, but that person died before they got there. The shots were given to my grandmother instead. She went on to outlive all of her immediate family, doctors and friends and died at the ripe old age of 96.
My dad, born in 1933, was what they called a "blue" baby. Apparently my Nanny had rH factor problems after her first child was born and my dad, the third surviving child, could've died. They actually gave him a blood transfusion to save his life. Then later, still as an infant, he got horribly ill with what we think was bronchitis. All of the doctors in the area were at a conference, so none were available to come and help. Someone apparently put a mustard plaster on his chest, but he didn't improve. A cousin who was also a nurse went out to find the one doctor that didn't go to the conference. He came, saw dad was turning blue (Again!), ripped the plaster off and gave him a teaspoon of brandy. Mind you, this was during Prohibition, so that teaspoonful came dearly. The brandy caused him to shudder and cough and breathe again.
Saved by booze.
Then, my parents having met at all was sheer coincidence. Mom was supposed to have left for the US on a piano scholarship in the fall, except that the nun she gave her application papers to didn't submit it. Dad was on assignment to the bank in Jamaica, but was already past his allotted time. He should've only been there for 2 years, but was finishing up his 5th year by the time he met HER. At the bank. So she should've been in the States, but wasn't. A friend of hers told her that a girl had just quit and a position had opened up at the bank and that mom should apply for the job. She did and was hired. Dad showed up a few months later to relieve the bank manager and met mom.
From the stories I've heard, once dad laid eyes on mom he immediately started referring to her as Mrs. Family Name (i.e. where Family Name is my maiden name. Obviously.). Nowadays, we'd call that harassment. Back then? That was flirting. Dad was dead lucky that mom was able to get past his "stuffed shirt" appearance to get to know him.
Their romance is a tale in itself. One day I'll get the whole story. A drunken serenade is involved, so you know it's good!
Our family tales are made of equal parts unlikely happenstance, pathos and comedy.
But maybe that's the stuff of which all of us are made. We just have to live through it and make the most of it while we're here.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Regrets
I don't know about you, but here's what I've learned about myself: I've never, ever regretted spending more time with my family.
No matter how inconvenient or expensive or late or distant a trip might have been, it has always been worth it to go. To attend. To be there for whatever event may have occurred. Weddings. Funerals. Anniversaries. Birthdays.
Sometimes it was just dinner.
It's always been worth it.
Now the issue is illness.
And here I am, in Canada, with my mother and sisters, brother-in-laws, nieces and one nephew. I am here, because here is the right place to be. My dad is not doing well. My mom needed me to be here, although she never asked me to come. She wouldn't have, because she doesn't ask for things like that. She doesn't make requests for herself.
She's used to being The Rock. She's not used to being on the receiving end of caring. However, I knew that I needed to come out and see her now. Not in a few months from now. Not after I've processed the emotions I'm currently running through (Grief. Remorse. Fear. Sadness. Horror. Anger. Disbelief. Loss. More fear. Anxiety.), which will take quite awhile. Not when it may be more convenient for me or I can find a cheaper flight, or any of a billionreasons excuses that I might otherwise come up with to not come.
Now is the time to be here. The troops have rallied. My sisters and I are here. Even if we can't do anything for dad (And honestly, we can't. There's nothing TO be done.), we can be here for mom and for each other. Even if all we did was sit around and stare at one another over dinner for the week I'll be here, we can do it together and provide each other a shoulder to cry on (That would be my job: to cry.), an ear to listen, someone to bounce ideas off of, or just to chat about completely unrelated things (So, this one time in Band Camp? No...wait...we talk about raising children and gardening and food and I listen to weird stories about television shows I know nothing about and offer completely unsolicited marital advice and tips on child raising because I'm such an expert. Ayup.) and to sometimes even laugh.
Even though dad isn't going to look up and recognize any of us and you can't really hold a conversation with him and you certainly can't resolve any outstanding issues you may have with him, you can still show up and be counted. Maybe he will look up suddenly and recognize me for a moment. He probably won't. But if I wasn't here to see him myself, I would never have even the slimmest chance of that happening.
Each time I see him, my heart breaks a little more. It's true. Each time I see him, I have to say goodbye. Each time I say goodbye, there's always that chance that I never will see him again. Hell, I could get hit by a bus and he could outlive me by years and years. You never know.
You never know when your "last" visit will come. Not with anyone.
I'm not willing to waste time making up excuses for why I can't come and see my father or my mother, or my sisters and their children. I'm not willing to waste my life waiting for the "right time" or "enough" money.
Now is the time.
Now is the only moment we have.
I have no regrets. I am exactly where I should be.
Even though it hurts.
No matter how inconvenient or expensive or late or distant a trip might have been, it has always been worth it to go. To attend. To be there for whatever event may have occurred. Weddings. Funerals. Anniversaries. Birthdays.
Sometimes it was just dinner.
It's always been worth it.
Now the issue is illness.
And here I am, in Canada, with my mother and sisters, brother-in-laws, nieces and one nephew. I am here, because here is the right place to be. My dad is not doing well. My mom needed me to be here, although she never asked me to come. She wouldn't have, because she doesn't ask for things like that. She doesn't make requests for herself.
She's used to being The Rock. She's not used to being on the receiving end of caring. However, I knew that I needed to come out and see her now. Not in a few months from now. Not after I've processed the emotions I'm currently running through (Grief. Remorse. Fear. Sadness. Horror. Anger. Disbelief. Loss. More fear. Anxiety.), which will take quite awhile. Not when it may be more convenient for me or I can find a cheaper flight, or any of a billion
Now is the time to be here. The troops have rallied. My sisters and I are here. Even if we can't do anything for dad (And honestly, we can't. There's nothing TO be done.), we can be here for mom and for each other. Even if all we did was sit around and stare at one another over dinner for the week I'll be here, we can do it together and provide each other a shoulder to cry on (That would be my job: to cry.), an ear to listen, someone to bounce ideas off of, or just to chat about completely unrelated things (So, this one time in Band Camp? No...wait...we talk about raising children and gardening and food and I listen to weird stories about television shows I know nothing about and offer completely unsolicited marital advice and tips on child raising because I'm such an expert. Ayup.) and to sometimes even laugh.
Even though dad isn't going to look up and recognize any of us and you can't really hold a conversation with him and you certainly can't resolve any outstanding issues you may have with him, you can still show up and be counted. Maybe he will look up suddenly and recognize me for a moment. He probably won't. But if I wasn't here to see him myself, I would never have even the slimmest chance of that happening.
Each time I see him, my heart breaks a little more. It's true. Each time I see him, I have to say goodbye. Each time I say goodbye, there's always that chance that I never will see him again. Hell, I could get hit by a bus and he could outlive me by years and years. You never know.
You never know when your "last" visit will come. Not with anyone.
I'm not willing to waste time making up excuses for why I can't come and see my father or my mother, or my sisters and their children. I'm not willing to waste my life waiting for the "right time" or "enough" money.
Now is the time.
Now is the only moment we have.
I have no regrets. I am exactly where I should be.
Even though it hurts.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Healing Power of Tears
"Go ahead and cry," my mother said to me. "Tears will heal you."
If only they could heal you. If they actually possessed a magical healing power I would capture them all in a cup for you and anoint your brow with them; your eyes with them; your ears with them. If I covered you in my tears would you come back to me? Would you remember me? Would you awaken from this walking sleep that holds you?
If I could brew you a bittersweet draught from my tears that would strip this fog away, I would cry every tear for you. I would weep again at all of the sadness I've ever caused you; all the pain I ever inflicted on you; all the anger I engendered in you. I'd weep for all of the things you've lost. All of the people you've lost. All of the years you've lost.
But it doesn't work. These tears I can't shed in front of you go unused. Dripping down my cheeks, they land useless in my hands. Only my eyes are changed by their passing. You remain the same.
The hollow man. A ghost of your former self. A shadow. A shade. A revenant.
Where are you? Where have you gone?
Are you still in there? Do you rage inside your mind when we don't understand you? When you want to communicate and yet can't? Do we frustrate you when we can't translate what you want or need into a form we can understand?
I want you to know me. To remember me. To recognize me.
Just for a moment. Just for a minute. Just a bubble of memory that will cause you to look me in the eye and let me know that you see me.
It's still your voice, your chuckle, your hazel eyes that look back at me.
Dad? Daddy? It's me. I'm here.
Come back.
I miss you. We miss you. We love you.
Please.
These tears are for you, though you may never know that they are for you or that I am yours. To you, I am no more than the smiling stranger with the tears standing in her eyes.
But I know. I know you.
I miss you.
I love you.
I'm sorry.
If only they could heal you. If they actually possessed a magical healing power I would capture them all in a cup for you and anoint your brow with them; your eyes with them; your ears with them. If I covered you in my tears would you come back to me? Would you remember me? Would you awaken from this walking sleep that holds you?
If I could brew you a bittersweet draught from my tears that would strip this fog away, I would cry every tear for you. I would weep again at all of the sadness I've ever caused you; all the pain I ever inflicted on you; all the anger I engendered in you. I'd weep for all of the things you've lost. All of the people you've lost. All of the years you've lost.
But it doesn't work. These tears I can't shed in front of you go unused. Dripping down my cheeks, they land useless in my hands. Only my eyes are changed by their passing. You remain the same.
The hollow man. A ghost of your former self. A shadow. A shade. A revenant.
Where are you? Where have you gone?
Are you still in there? Do you rage inside your mind when we don't understand you? When you want to communicate and yet can't? Do we frustrate you when we can't translate what you want or need into a form we can understand?
I want you to know me. To remember me. To recognize me.
Just for a moment. Just for a minute. Just a bubble of memory that will cause you to look me in the eye and let me know that you see me.
It's still your voice, your chuckle, your hazel eyes that look back at me.
Dad? Daddy? It's me. I'm here.
Come back.
I miss you. We miss you. We love you.
Please.
These tears are for you, though you may never know that they are for you or that I am yours. To you, I am no more than the smiling stranger with the tears standing in her eyes.
But I know. I know you.
I miss you.
I love you.
I'm sorry.
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