are things complicated yet?

Airplane adventures

For those unfamiliar, Chris is a pilot (by hobby, not trade) and we have a very, very small aircraft that we cram everyone into on the weekends and use to shortcut traffic to go visit family. It is awesome.

We keep it hangared at a small airport a few miles away. When we want to go somewhere we drive up to our hangar, unlock it and load up the plane with our things. Chris performs a pre-flight inspection (10 minutes), we get in and buckle up, taxi to the runway and take off. The whole thing takes less than a half hour. There is no security to go through, I do not have to pay to park, I keep my shoes on and I take as much bottled water and as many nail clippers on board as I like. It is nice to leave when we want and come back when we want (weather permitting) and not waste so many hours of our lives with the total bullshit that is the entire commercial air travel experience. 

Chris has held a pilot's license since 2000 and he has an IFR rating and is about to earn a Commercial rating. (Ratings to non-professional pilots are kind of like Karate belts. You earn the next one up simply because you can and want to learn and get better, not necessarily because you want to fly people around for money.) Chris is, very exclusively, a private pilot that ferries his family around on the weekends. He flies by himself, sometimes, just because he loves it. It is kind of like golf or fishing or hunting. It's his hobby. I love it because it's something we can ALL enjoy and get utility from, versus golf or something similar (which can easily cost as much from a day-use standpoint).

Owning an airplane is kind of a weird thing. You say you have an airplane and people automatically, without thinking about it really, assume that you are swimming in gold coins every night like Scrooge McDuck. This is not true. I do not have a pool of gold coins. (And if I did? I would keep them in a safe deposit box like a responsible person and not like an elderly duck that wears clothes.)

But seriously, do not get any ideas about lumping me in with those Private Airplane Owners that politicians love to blame for our nation's problems. (Thanks, Barack! We appreciate the dig. We get it: you hate aircraft owners and they are an easy target to pick on as the evil money-grubbers of the nation, no matter the reality of our nation's actual general aviation population, which you seem to be DRAMATICALLY out of touch with.) (Which, what is it about people that own airplanes that is so AWFUL? Why do Americans continue to buy this line of horse crap about how if you don't fly Delta you don't pay enough income tax? What???? HOW DOES THAT IDEA EVEN COME ABOUT? What about people with Aston Martins? People with quarter-million-dollar Ferraris?  Why aren't we picking on them? Those cost more than a small plane, they are bound by the same speed limits as a 1981 Corolla and THEY DO NOT EVEN FLY. Those cars aren't even made in America. FOR SHAME, FERRARI OWNERS.)

Ahem. Anyway.

Our aircraft is very tiny. I am limited to about 35 pounds of luggage, including the weight of the bags themselves, FOR THE ENTIRE FAMILY. I have become very good at packing light in the past two years. It has 4 seats, but the back seats are really only meant for children as they have almost no leg room. It is a tight squeeze, but our family of four fits and that's fine by us. I do not care to own (and pay for) more aircraft than we need.

This is our airplane. I do not mind at all telling you that it cost less than a Corvette (never mind a Ferrari). A 1960-1970 Mooney, depending on the avionics and how it has been maintained, will run you $35,000 – $75,000. 

We have taken it to Orlando and New Orleans, but we mostly stay in Texas because that is where our family is and we like to visit them. The fastest it's ever gone, while I was in it, is about 200 mph (with a rare 50 mph tailwind) but it normally goes about 160 mph with no tail or headwind. Fast, but not crazy-fast. (You need a jet to go crazy-fast.) With a strong headwind, I have seen our speed plummet to a pathetic 90 mph. We try not to fly at altitudes with big headwinds. (The wind blows different directions and speeds at different altitudes.)

Chris normally takes us up to 7,000 or 9,000 feet, depending on the length of our trip. It takes a lot of fuel to climb quickly and if we're not going very far it's not worth it. Then again, the higher you are, the more time a pilot has to recover if something goes wrong (EEP!) so I am always a fan of flying as high as we most efficiently can. Plus, it is colder up there than at lower altitudes.

Ah, yes, here is the part where you become screamingly jealous about my airplane and how hoity-toity it is because the damn thing is NOT AIR CONDITIONED. (What do you say about my so-called fancy-ass airplane now, Mr. President?) Air conditioners are heavy and they take up valuable cargo space where my 35 pounds of bags are supposed to go. If we had A/C, we would not be able to fill up with gas all the way and I would have to half my luggage. Most older and cheaper single engine aircraft don't have A/C. It's a serious luxury, particularly since you don't really need it once you get in the air.

You should also know that since our airplane is small, it has small wings and wings are where aircraft store their fuel. We can take on 50 gallons of Avgas ($4.50/gallon these days at our airport, can go up to $6 at fancier airports which HA HA NO we do not buy gas there). That 50 gallons gives us a range of about 4 hours (650 miles-ish) before we have to land and fill up again. Because Chris is an intelligent person, we never go that far without filling up because you don't really want to be close to E when flying an airplane as runways are not exactly everywhere (like the shoulder of a highway is) and it takes time (and fuel) to descend and land safely. Plus, the gauges on an aircraft are only required to read correctly when it's on E. (I know, I was also shocked when Chris told me that.) If it says it's half full? That's just sort of a guess. It's up to the pilot to monitor speed and time and keep close tabs on fuel consumption. Because there are two wings, and two tanks, Chris also has to rotate the tanks every half hour via a manual dial on the floor. Otherwise, if we emptied the right wing first the aircraft would be all lopsided and the weight/balance ratio would be off and...bad things would happen.

Flying is hard work, dudes. Someone has to pay attention while I take pictures. (There is only enough room to take the same self-portrait, over and over again. I told you it was a small airplane.)

It takes us 5.5 hours, door-to-door, to drive to see my parents. It takes us about 2 hours, door-to-door, to fly. It costs about the same in gas (and snacks and milkshakes and fancy coffee, which I require when we drive but not when we fly). The flight itself ranges from 55 minutes to 90 minutes, depending on the headwind/tailwind situation and how busy things are in the sky that day. Taking our plane is a HUGE timesaver. Three hours each way? Six hours total? That's half a freaking day! We arrive not-beat-down, not tired, not cranky. It's nice.

We've done lots of math about how owning our aircraft nets out versus flying commercial and, most of the time, we come out ahead flying ourselves. If we're going to any destination within range of one tank of fuel, we DEFINITELY come out ahead based on time and it's often cheaper. But if we're going from Texas to, say, California? We should probably fly commercial. The distance is quite far, our plane is quite slow (compared to a jet) and the number of fuel stops required really lengthens the total trip.

Then again, there's something to be said for controlling your own destiny. If we fly commercial, we're subject to weather, capacity, schedule changes, airline rules, TSA, unexpected fees, etc. It could easily take longer to fly commercial to California if there were a couple of delays with an airline. When we fly ourselves, we can see bad weather coming and change our plans to accommodate. We can stay an extra day or go home early or just go somewhere entirely different where the weather isn't an issue. If our plane has a mechanical issue we're kind of screwed versus an airline (no replacement aircraft for us!) but that's why we pay a lot of attention to the scheduled maintenance. 

It allows us to be flexible. Do we want to stay later than we were planning to and hit that brunch spot someone told us about? We can do that. We don't have a set departure time. There has been a lot more spontaneity with our travel. We don't have to plan months and months ahead and get tickets and shop around for the best fares.

We just go.

Last summer, we decided to go to Orlando on a Monday and we left on Thursday. We saw Space Shuttle Atlantis take off and went to Disney World. It was AWESOME and it was something we absolutely could not have pulled off without our trusty, tiny plane.

I am so, so, so glad that Chris has this hobby and skill we can all enjoy. Flying, and being a part of the American general aviation community, has been such an interesting and enriching and totally unexpected part of being married to him.

Reflux: Damn, that sucked

So, not to dwell on last week too much because it really WAS totally sucktacular, but there was this other thing also going on that put the stress level to somewhere in the Barely Tolerable For Humans range.

Charlotte turned into The Incredible No Sleeping Baby. Really. It went like this:

Did you catch that? TWELVE HOURS without the baby sleeping.

And then this, the next day:

That was SIX HOURS! The next day:

Four days after that:

Two days later:

The pattern was pretty clear. She'd cry and cry and cry for two days and then crash out and sleep for the next one because (big surprise!) when you don't sleep for two days you get really, really tired. 

Throughout the whole thing I was remarkably nonplussed by it. The daytime non-sleeping bothered me more than the evening non-sleeping. She's crying, but all of her needs have been met and I know she's okay so...just cry and I'll hold you and rock you but that's really all I can do, Charlotte. Please go to sleep. But after a few cycles of this it became pretty clear that it wasn't random jags of irritability or a growth spurt that lasted forever, it was a legit pattern (thanks to Emily for pointing it out) and she was also appearing more and more like she was in pain. She was arching her back and stiffening her legs and refusing to be laid down flat or slouchy. The car seat was her worst enemy. She was unpredictable and just plain angry, which is normal for a baby but not ALL THE DAMN TIME. Babies should be happy for some of the time.

No big surprise that on Day Nine I was so done with this situation. Having obtained medical degrees from University of Google AND University of Twitter AND University of Mommy Bloggers, I knew it was reflux. I KNEW IT. She had all the classic symptoms. I even cut dairy from my diet, and it didn't help, which only left reflux and then Jonna used the word "reflux" and that's all I needed to see since she has a Ph.D on the topic.

REFLUX! AM MEDICAL SOOTHSAYER!

Unfortunately, my three medical degrees do not qualify me to write prescriptions for medication (HARRUMPH) so we had to go visit the pediatrician. Our pediatrician was not there that day and while I do not like seeing OTHER doctors very much, I was willing to in this case. There was a lot of crying and I was very interested in making it stop. It seemed so cut and dry. I'll get the RX for Zantac, she'll be medicated by lunch and things will get back to normal by dinner.

But you know what? Doctors hate it when you go in and say, "This is the problem and this is the drug I want." I think it makes them feel like all of those loans aren't worthwhile if they don't get to play Socratic Method with their patients.

The doctor we ended up with, I like her, but she intimidates me. (Not many people intimidate me, even fewer that I will admit to in a public space.) She only gets to me because she is the doctor that diagnosed Claire with bronchiolitis when I was utterly convinced she only had a cold and it was nothing at all to worry about. But this doctor brings in a nebulizer and tells me that she has this condition that comes with a pre-printed handout and added respiratory risks for the rest of her life and I pretty much crumpled in that room.

This doctor, I respect her a great deal because she is very thoughtful and astute and kind, but I am always scared she's going to tell me something awful that I've completely overlooked or thought less of.

I am not kidding about her Socratic Method line of questions. What is the problem? Describe it to me. Does she do this? That? What about this other thing? I can never tell what answer I am supposed to give her to get what I want (an obvious error on my part, I KNOW), so I found myself, ah, padding my answers a bit in the hopes that they were leading to Zantac in a weird kind of "Choose Your Own Adventure" line of questioning. I wasn't lying or making anything up but I was trying to communicate that there was an actual PROBLEM here and that it wasn't normal by any stretch because the last thing I wanted her to tell me was something asinine like "Babies cry. Just roll with it." I know that babies cry and I can handle that but what Charlotte was doing was absolutely not normal.

When she asked me if she was projectile vomiting I said, "Maybe? I don't know?" I said that sometimes it comes out with force and lands at the edge of the burp rag (true). In my head I knew it was not CLASSIC projectile vomit but I wasn't sure if she thought there should be SOME projectile vomit to merit the Zantac. And really it did sort of...fly out of her mouth so, I don't know.. MAYBE? JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN ZANTAC. This doctor, she has an incredible poker face. I could not tell what she thought. Then she asked when it started and to be honest I could not remember the exact day. I felt like it had been about a week (upon looking at Twitter much later, it had been about ten days). I guessed 5-7.

With the relatively fast onset (according to me) and the maybe projectile vomit she thought it MIGHT be pyloric stenosis and we should ultrasound her to make sure before we tried Zantac. I was really unhappy when she said that because I knew it would be a separate trip to another facility and it would cost a bunch of money and, most of all, I thought she didn't need it.  But this doctor had found something serious before in symptoms that I thought were innocuous so I went with it even though I knew in my gut that it was not necessary and it was most definitely not the economically efficient way to treat these symptoms. Wouldn't the smart, economic way to go about this be to try the Zantac and if that's not it, THEN ultrasound for the more serious condition? She was eating, keeping most of it down and she was not exhibiting any signs even CLOSE to failure to thrive. She weighed 11 pounds, 10 ounces at this visit. (Birth weight, 7 weeks prior was about 8 pounds. Girl is putting on deliciously kissable fat.)

But, whatever! This is the game! I want the Zantac, this is the route to it. LET ME WASTE MY DAY WITH THIS FIRST WORLD PROBLEM. We got to Children's Imaging that afternoon and they didn't see us until FORTY MINUTES after our appointment. The entire time I am stewing about this whole damn thing and how much it costs and what a waste of time and effort and resources it is. Also, they told me I could not feed Charlotte for three hours prior to our appointment. So, now it has been three hours, forty minutes and to a 7-week-old? That is too damn long between meals.  She is screaming in the waiting room, but I feel zero guilt about subjecting everyone to this lovely serenade because it is actually all their fault in the first place. I actually stand next to the check-in window while she is screaming for this exact reason. You can't run your appointments on time? I will give you a screaming baby in your face for a half hour. 

From the waiting room at Children's Imaging, I call the doctor because I'm really over this whole charade. I ask if we can try the Zantac first because this does not seem like an economically efficient way to treat this. I say that exactly: ECONOMICALLY EFFICIENT. I wonder if she was approaching it from that angle to begin with. I should have said this to her hours ago, should have had this conversation face-to-face the moment she suggested the ultrasound.  I tell the nurse (because you can never talk to the doctor, of course) that it costs $225 and I think this is ridiculous. She comes back and says that the Doctor says it is "absolutely necessary!" And I am like, Dr. M. isn't PAYING for this or wasting her entire damn day chasing something fictitious and just when I am about to lose my shit to her on the phone we are finally called back for the ultrasound. 

We did the ultrasound. There was no pyloric stenosis. (OF COURSE.) She phoned in the prescription for Zantac and heaven opened up its gates me. $265 (the ultrasound was $225, $35 co-pay, $5 for the Zantac) and eight hours later, we had solved the problem.

We're on day 6 of Zantac and it's like I have my old baby back. She's happy and predictable and she sleeps in nice, big several-hours chunks like babies should.

I could make a lot of snotty, first-worldy, ranty, American comments about how this all went down and I DO have some concrete thoughts, but my reality tonight is that I just wanted to get this all down in the permanent record and come back to the ethics and policy and fiscal responsibility of it later. I'm going to eat a cupcake and watch Deadliest Catch with my husband. Later, ya'll.

It was bad, but then it got worse.

Life without Jake is weird. I keep thinking he's been the victim of a series of hapless, unfortunate mistakes that need to be remedied immediately.

The dog's food and water bowls are not in the utlity room. Who took those out of here?! Jake is probably really hungry and thirsty!

His door is closed, which I discover after we've been home for hours. Who closed Jake's door? OMG, he can't go outside!

I haven't seen Jake in a while. Where's the dog? Is he hiding out somewhere? Did he go upstairs and can't come down?

Of course, all of these end with me thinking, "Ohhhhhh. Riiiiight." Every day stings a little. Tomorrow will be better than today. But, yeah. We miss him.

***

As painful as that was, what happened next was worse. It was far, far worse.

On Monday we said goodbye to Jake. On Tuesday, a friend's 15-year-old son was struck by a pickup truck while he was crossing the street. His injuries left him brain dead, but on life support. On Wednesday, his family made an incredibly difficult, awful, heart-wrenching decision. His organs were donated. Five lives were saved.

But, Jackson was gone.

It was terrible. Beyond awful. I have known this family for most of Jackson's life and I have watched him grow up through the stories I've heard from his mother. Jackson did this and Jackson said that. The girls at school liked his Beiber haircut and I do too. Beiber suits him. Here's a story from last September that I found in my inbox:

Jackson is now a freshman in high school.  His mother overheard this pick up line he tried to use at Dairy Queen.

 

"Did you pass gas? Because you just blew me away."

 

The line was not successful.

Funny, right?  He was loved and bright and he had such a wonderful, happy future in front of him. It is so unfair. Beyond comprehensible. It's wrong and there's not a way to right it and I just want to scream at God and really chew him out for this. But, that's not really how He works. He doesn't take appeals on topics like this. 

My mother told me that after a funeral or memorial service she usually feels better. She may not feel good, exactly, but she usually feels somewhat better or a sense of closure or peace. She did not feel that way this time. It's too tragic, too awful. He was so young. 

It just sucks.

***

After all of that, I'm kind of in a hug-my-kids-a-little-tighter mood these days. I am forgiving of a lot more bad behavior. I'm a little more indulgent. It was a week that made me give thanks for the good things we have and the blessings that surround us.

So, yeah. That's it for now. Next week will be better.

Jake

Last Friday, I told Chris he needed to stop at the grocery store on the way home and buy some more food for Jake. When he got to the store, Chris stood in the aisle for what seemed like a long time, pondering a simple question that he had never had to consider before.

"Big bag or little bag?"

He got the big bag. He has always been optimistic.

***

On Saturday Jake started to deteriorate rather quickly. His leg started to swell up again, indicating the tumor was again blocking return blood flow and pooling in his leg. His belly began to turn crimson, indicating blood there as well. As the day went by, the color turned a light purple and then, by Sunday, a dark purple. Sunday evening it was almost black.

He was eating a lot of grass, which we took to mean that the steroids had finally given him an ulcer, as his vet said they might with extended dosage. He had an accident in the house, which I have never, ever seen him do. He hobbled and refused to put weight on the leg. We doubled his pain medication. He still hobbled.

I watched him try to sit down for 25 minutes while I nursed Charlotte on Saturday afternoon. He leaned this way and that, tentatively lowered himself and then decided that it hurt too much and he'd just stand. He did this about ten times, never getting himself all the way down to the floor

He smiled and was happy to see us and he ate our dinner scraps on Sunday, but he was absolutely high and totally out of it. He was hurting.

***

By Sunday evening it was clear that he needed to go back to the vet for a final visit. It was time to say goodbye. Chris barely slept that night, in part due to Charlotte but mostly he was thinking about the next day. He got up in the middle of the night to research it. I let Jake out at 3 am and silently wondered if this was going to be his last time to explore our back yard. I tried not to cry. I gave him some extra pats when he came back inside.

Our hearts were so heavy when we woke up this morning. I could barely look at Jake, much less say a proper goodbye.

***

The appointment was for 830. I herded Claire upstairs and Chris put Jake in the car and left. We told Claire that Daddy was going to go get donuts for breakfast. Not ten minutes later Claire had noticed that Jake was nowhere to be found.

"Mommy, where's Jake?"

It's the first of many recitations, I'm sure.

Chris came home with the donuts, but without Jake. I had secretly been hoping that the vet would say something like, "Oh! I can fix this after all! No need!" and Chris would come home with him. But, he didn't. He came home and said that the people at the vet's office were very, very nice. He didn't say much else.

***

We left the house after lunch today and I had a brief series of thoughts that had me in tears as we prepared to leave.

Gathering up final bags to load into the car: "I need to go let Jake out before we leave...oh, wait."

Closing and locking the garage door: "Make sure to leave the utility room light on so Jake can see his food and water bowls...ohhh. I don't need to do that. I can turn the light off."

I whispered to Chris that I just remembered we don't need to let Jake out. I was starting to cry. He said it would probably be a long time before the reminders went away, and that's okay.

***

In the car, Claire falls asleep. I tell Chris that I want to know what happened, what the vet said, now that small ears aren't listening. The tumor was visibly and palpably in his abdomen. Blood was collecting and pooling there as well. He guessed that there were only a few days before the tissue in Jake's leg started to deteriorate and became "unviable." He was very sorry that there wasn't really anything to be done. He was in pain, it was only going to get worse, and, if we were ready, it was time.

They let Chris have a few moments alone with Jake before coming back into the room. It was quick. And then he was gone.

***

At home tonight, there is a storm. There is thunder and lightning and while the storm is still far away I know that Jake would be able to hear it with his super dog hearing and he would be nervous. He would be panting. He would be at my bedside, seeking comfort from simply being close to us.

But, he's not here tonight. I miss him.

***

Claire is asleep. I need to go pick up Jake's food and water bowls, empty them and put them in the dishwasher while she can't see me and ask too many questions. I need to take his bed and stash it somewhere. I need to figure out what to tell her when she asks me about him tomorrow. And then I need to figure out what to tell her the next day and the day after that.

***

As it turns out, the surgery to remove the tumor bought us about two months before it grew back and the steroids bought us about 20 days instead of a handful. One of them is shorter than we thought, the other longer. I still find myself surprised by what happened today. I really can't believe it. It's over and he's gone and he's not ever going to greet me when I come home.

This is shitty. This is the shittiest, most grown-up, crappy thing I have ever had to do.

***

Oh, Jake. We loved you, buddy. You were the best dog and you gave us so much joy. You made our lives richer.

Thank you for loving us, too. There will never be another puppy quite like you were. We miss you already.

xoxo

Decorating Help: The Picture Wall

This wall taunts me. It's a huge expanse of textured drywall with n-o-t-h-i-n-g on it. Seriously, have a look:

The three photos on the right were hung the first week we moved in when the furniture was arranged in a completely different (and really awful) way. I know they look ridiculous over in the corner, all by their lonesome, but I just never moved them. (However! They do give you a good idea of the scale we're looking at.) (Also, I had just cleaned up all the toys and done a major toy edit. You can never, ever see this much of my living room carpet if Claire is awake. Heaven help me when Charlotte becomes mobile and there are a PAIR of them.)

I have been working on a vision of a sort of photo collage for this wall, with bits of artwork or odd, meaningful items hung with the photos, but it's taking me a really long time to collect the items and figure out how to arrange them.

This is my inspiration for the wall:

Source: flickr.com via A'Dell on Pinterest

 

I like how the format is free form and not perfectly symmetrical and also allows for unframed items. My goal for this wall is to have it be highly personal, very us, and a joy to look at every day. We spend a lot of time in this room. I want photos, artwork and personal mementos. Maybe a small shadowbox even. I also really liked how the addition of the metal letter lets objects start to come AWAY from the wall for a more three dimensional look. With a wall this big I think I can get away with more dramatic items than I could in, say, a hallway that you have to walk past every day. I am definitely going to make use of one or three of those brackets to bring small photos away from the wall an inch or two. I'd also like to incorporate a round clock if I can find one I like, but I am slowly discovering that damn, they make a lot of ugly clocks these days.  But even with all the things I like about it, I'm really concerned about this ending up looking cluttery and distracting since I am normally the kind of person that hangs things with perfect symmetry. This is a big change from normal for me.

One thing I have been struggling with is whether to do frames or canvas gallery wraps for the photos. I have thought about this too much. I have pros and cons. Here, let me share my overthinking with you.

Frames

Pro: I can change the photos as often as I'd like!

Con: I will probably not change them very often because I am lazy. Perhaps negates the 'pro.'

Pro: I already have eight frames that match each other that I can steal from other rooms and re-purpose for this wall. The wall might be almost FREE! I like free.

Con: That means I'll have to buy new frames for the rooms that I stole from. Plus, maybe I'll want different sizes than what I have already and I don't like being boxed in.

Canvas Wraps

Pro: Don't have to buy frames and mats!

Con: Canvas wraps are a decidedly different look. Not sure I want a whole wall of them in my living room. They feel less formal and while this is not a formal room I an old fashioned and I kind of like mats and frames.

Pro: Canvas wraps are cheaper than a print plus frame plus mat.

Con: I can't change the wrap. Once I have it, it's mine forever. Would be expensive to change the wall and then I have to find a new home for the displaced wrap. if I did this a couple of times I would have a closet full of discarded wraps.

Pro: Canvas wraps require almost zero work on my part. Order and hang! Done!

Con: I have all of those frames already and they're free...All new canvas wraps are not free.

Con: I lack the Photoshop skilz to edit my photos so there is a black border on the wraps and people's heads aren't cut off.

If you are still reading I think the obvious choice is to go for frames. Right? Frames? I'm going to try and re-purpose as many of the frames I already own, but I think I will still have to buy a couple. Buying a couple will still keep the cost pretty low though. As for the rooms I'm stealing them from, I'm going to rethink what goes in THOSE rooms in the first place and start over in them. They only have frames on the wall because when we moved in we sort of threw things up just to get started. The rooms I'm stealing frames from are by no means finished, decor-wise.

So! Now all I need to do is collect a bunch of awesome stuff so I can figure out how to arrange it. Here is what I have to hang so far:

This totally rad letter "S" that I got on Etsy for $42 shipped. I am not certain that's a great deal but I didn't have to climb any bulding or walk through a dump or garage sale to find it, so I was cool with paying $42. It's about 13" high and 11" wide.

I love the giant metal letter that is reclaimed from building signage in my inspiration pic, and I've long-since wanted a giant S in our house somewhere anyway. Anthropologie used to sell giant letters but they were something stupid like $100. It looks like they've spray-painted the one up top with a high gloss red and I want to do that too. Maybe navy or a deep, inky, eggplant color. Or maybe chocolate or coral? Haven't decided yet. 

This is not something I'm hanging, but is just a sample color palette I think would work in my room

Source: supermarkethq.com via A'Dell on Pinterest

 

This is kind of pretty, right? My curtains are more of a kelly green and my walls are a bit lighter yellow, but I think coral and grey might look nice in this room. Maybe I should spray paint the letter S coral? Hmmm. I am definitely on the lookout for things that fit within this palette though. Not sold 100%, but looking.

Family Print from Nella Designs (11x17)

OH! SIDEBAR!

See that kick-ass red Swingline stapler? From Office Space? Until I took this picture I kind of forgot that this stapler was a Moderate Topic Of Discord while we were dating. Chris and I went on our first date in April, 2004. By the time we got to my birthday in January, 2005 we were pretty serious. I was thinking that I was going to get some kind of really amazing birthday present from him. Perhaps jewelry! Perhaps an engagement ring, even! Imagine my surprise when he took me out for a very nice dinner and presented me with this lovely bit of office supply with a pop culture twist.

Yes, a stapler. For my birthday. You're making the same face that I did in 2005, aren't you?

In his defense, we had recently been on an Office Space kick and were making a lot of jokes about it at the time and he happened to see the stapler online somewhere and thought I would like it. Which, I did like it but not for a birthday present.

He maintains that as long as I liked it, he is in the clear and it was a good present.

Various photos of Claire from my kick-ass photographer, Angela Majerus. (I have a TON to choose from and it is impossible to pick my favorites. I've been dithering on this for more than two years.)

 

We'll throw in a baby photo of Charlotte since we have some, but I am hesitant to do more than one as she will only get cuter as she gets older (obviously) and I don't want to junk up the wall with smooshy newborn photos.

Oh, who am I kidding? I LOVE SMOOSHY NEWBORN PHOTOS. Choosing one will be hard, but I think it's this one:

Handprints

I would like to do some handprints of the girls on little canvases. I went to Jo-Ann last week and they had the 5x5 canvases for $5 and they were 50% off. I got three (in case I screw one up) and a bottle of pink paint for $1 but maybe I should do a chocolate color. Or navy? Or something else?

Source: landofnod.com via A'Dell on Pinterest

 

Here are some things I've been eyeing but haven't decided on, because I want to get a better idea for how this is shaping up size and color wise before I buy more.

Family Tree

Source: allposters.com via A'Dell on Pinterest

Source: etsy.com via A'Dell on Pinterest

So, yeah. Lots of oddball ideas plus a few others that are still half-baked and rolling around in my head. I think I need about 5 more items (whether they're photos, art, a clock, something else totally random) before I start playing around with how to arrange them, so if you have any suggestions or favorite things you've bought recently I am all ears. I wish I had some decent Photoshop skills so I could take little thumbnails of each of these and play around with them on the bigger picture of the room to see, quickly, how it's all shaping up. (There's an idea for a dot-com. Anyone invent that kind of thing yet?)

Man. Decorating is tough. I mean, I have thought about this wall a lot, guys. A WHOLE LOT. I can see why some people hire this out. This is just one wall in one room. I still have the entire rest of the house to do. There are many, many walls after this one. (Prefer not to think about that just quite yet.)

(Also, I bet if you hire it out it does not take an entire year. Hmmmm.)

This and that

The Magnolia Tree

A long time ago, some moron planted a magnolia tree a mere four feet from the edge of the patio in my back yard.  The tree isn't too much of a nuisance at this point, but the roots are spindly and at the surface and it's only a matter of time before they start messing up the concrete. Right now, because it is a stupid magnolia tree that has its seasons backwards, there are tons of brown leaves in the yard the size of my face. SO attractive.

What is it about some people that makes them unable to understand how trees work? You know, that the wee sapling you plant today will be a HUGE GINORMOUS TREE in two decades? So you'd better plant it somewhere that it has room to grow? Use your imagination, picture the tree bigger and make sure it's still a good spot? Did these people skip the part of second grade where everyone else learned about photosynthesis and how, through a long series of events, it ultimately results in a tree getting taller and wider? Exponentially so? I think they did.

My parents have a dude next door to them that is Habitual Tree Planter. He picks crappy trees that are not native and he plants them all over the damn yard. His yard is big enough for maybe two trees. I think there are four plus a handful of odd ones in the back. There's even one on the property line. As a wee sapling it was kind of an adorable example of topiary but now it's a legit-for-real TREE and its all over their yard and...annoying. These Habitual Tree Planters need to be rounded up and sent to Arborist School.

Long way to say that I am not a fan of our magnolia tree and every time I look at it I wonder what on earth someone was thinking when they planted this sucker. Then I think about how much it will cost me one day to have it removed and I start to haaaaate that moron who planted it in the first place. I should invoice him.

Dear Former Owner Of My House,

Here's a bill for $1,000, mostly because you are an idiot and can't select or plant a tree for toots.

Kindly,

The New Owner, who is ripping out the tree to may way for a swimming pool, just as soon as an enormous sum of cash lands in her lap.

The Curtain Mistake

In a fit of "curtains! I will make some!" I cut the fabric hanging in the breakfast room (on the left) from the bolt, thereby creating two 6' lengths. I have 9' leftover, still on the bolt. I was thinking I would use the extra fabric (left over from the living room curtains on the right) rather than buy new fabric. I was being thrifty! How wise of me!

But, now I think it's too much green and I am so pissed that I cut that stupid fabric before I realllllly thought about it some more. Now I have two 6' lengths and I'm not sure what to do with them. I should not have cut it, much less cut TWO. In my defense, I have owned this bolt of fabric since last summer so I truly did think that I was finished dithering over it.

(BTW, that fabric is thumbtacked up so I can decide. Should I decide to make them into curtains, I will line them with blackout liner and hang them on a rod like a proper adult.)

These are the swatches of fabric under consideration. I like the way the aqua looks on the wall in the kitchen and breakfast room, and I think the color is complimentary to the green since they will be in the same visual space. It also matches my KitchenAid, which is stupid to match curtains to an appliance, I know, but I really like the color of that sucker.

I am strongly leaning towards the bottom one, but I don't know if it's even in stock any more since it's a Summer 2010 pattern. I am not exactly asking for advice or opinions since I'm pretty well sold on the aqua, at least as a general direction, but I do want you to learn from me: those measure twice, cut once people are NOT kidding. (A step should be added at the front, "Decide what you want to do. No, really, make sure you've actually decided before you cut anything.")

Jake

Jake seems to have good days and bad days. The good days are normal and the bad days are where he has trouble sitting down. The steroids and painkillers seem to have made him nearly good as new. Honestly, I did not think he would be here this week. Not for a second. I thought he was going to go downhill again, fast, and it would be over imminently.

But then he rallied. (And honestly he might have just been enjoying the attention of the entire internet.) (Well, the attention of MY entire internet, which is a rather small slice, I know.) And his leg wasn't as swollen and he was walking and running and we were thinking, "Um, okay? We have our dog back?"

So, I don't know. For now he's fine. I keep thinking about what every one of you said about how we'd know, deep down in our guts when it was time to let him go, and I just look at him and I know that it's not the time. I know.

Natalie sent me the most lovely book, "Dog Heaven," by Cynthia Rylant. I swear to you I cried like a child when I read it the first time. (I actually haven't made it through the whole book even now without crying.) The book talks about what happens in Dog Heaven:

God knows that dogs love children more than anything else in the world, so He fills Dog Heaven with plenty of them. There are children on bikes and children on sleds. There are children throwing red rubber balls and children pulling kites through the clouds. The dogs are there, and the children love them dearly.

I mean, just YES, right? Lovely, lovely book. I am not sure that I'll be able to read it to Claire without upsetting her (the tears flow with this one for me), but it was just so thoughtful of Natalie to send it. (Internet friends! They are amazing!)

 Snickerdoodles

I think I have eaten, oh, about 15 of these today? Maybe?

Look, all I'm saying is if you would like to not eat a lot of cookies today, then definitely navigate away from the link to some other non-cookie recipe site because if you make these cookies they will end up all in your belly. Your pants might not fit afterward, but I can't be sure because my pants haven't fit in a long time anyway so, um, I'll have another cookie now please.

Library Books

Is there anything more annoying than the child who deliberately rips up library books? Claire loves the library, takes so much joy out of the whole thing, reads her books and loves them dearly, but then when she gets mad about having to go to bed? She rips them! Rips entire pages out and rips them in half and then when I discover said vandalism of city-owned property and tell her that it's not good she says,

"It's okay, it's just a little tear. We fix it."

I'm having enormous difficulty getting across the idea of PERMANENT DAMAGE to her. And really, anything permanent is a tough sell. Sharpies, toys irreparably breaking, killing bugs, etc. She has no concept of the idea of forever, which I am sure is normal but it would be very helpful if she understood it even on a simple level.

But, back to the stupid books. She's done this before and I...returned the books quietly in the book drop and didn't mention the missing pages. (Yes! There was more than one! I'm a terrible person! In my defense, those books were due about seven days after Charlotte was born and simply returning them seemed like the easiest thing to do.) Now I feel like I should mention it. Partly because we did damage the book and this is the proper thing to do and partly because I think if the librarian makes a face and says something stern and she sees me paying for the book it might have more impact. I have used phrases like "If you do X that lady over there will make us leave because it's HER library" and that seemed to work and give me the behavior I wanted right that instant.

In the meantime, we are on a strict diet of only board books from the library.

I was not expecting to need to talk to my daughter about tattoos quite this soon

We went to Costco on Friday, just me and the girls. There was a guy sitting outside of Costco that had a really impressive, really gigantic, really colorful tattoo of a dragon on his leg. It wrapped around his leg and he had some other tattoos on his arms and the other leg. But, the dragon was the best one. It's fair to say he was a fan of ink.

Claire was instantly drawn to this guy. I saw her staring at him while we got the cart and I put Charlotte in it. I could tell that she wanted to say something about him and I guessed it had to do with the dragon because hey, even I had noticed it and thought silently to myself, "I am not really into tattoos but that is one HELLUVA tat." She wasn't sure what to say or how to phrase it. Finally, she pointed at the man and in a very loud, admiring voice said,

"MOMMY! That man has STAMPS on his leg!"

(Pause)

"I LIKE 'EM!"

So. That was pretty funny.

***

When kids are good at her school they give out stamps on their hands as a reward. Claire also has lots of stamps here at home that she likes to play with and if I leave her alone with them for a microsecond she will stamp her arms all the way up to her shoulders with trains, airplanes and doggy paw prints in a rainbow of colors. (Whatever, they're washable.) At first I was mildly confused about the "stamps" part of her description, but it makes total sense that she thinks a tattoo is a "stamp." (A very elaborate, large stamp.)

Now I just have to work on the part about how some stamps are washable and some are permanent and Mommy would really prefer if you keep away from the permanent ones, but if you must get one at some point in your life, FTLOG please do not put it on your lower back. PLEASE. There are too many pop culture references to this location and just...please do not do that Claire. I figure I've got a couple of years to deliver that message but by then there will probably be a new version of the infamous Tramp Stamp that I don't even know about.

I don't have any tattoos. I remember a period in college where it seemed like everyone was going to the tattoo/body piercing shop to get something done. I remember briefly considering whether I wanted to join the crowd. I was far too squeamish to pierce my tongue and that idea didn't even appeal to me anyway. I never had the kind of navel that merited piercing and after my 5' 11" model roommate got hers pierced I was like, "There is no way I'm going to do that and then stand next to HER at the swimming pool to make for easy comparisons, HA HA NO."

As for a tattoo, I could never figure what bit of artwork I wanted to carry around with me forever or where I wanted to put it. I was very concerned about being able to hide it in a professional situation and also not having something frivolous or trendy that I was sure to grow tired of. I was also uncomfortable with the idea of a tattoo just for the sake of having a tattoo. So, I dithered on the topic for not very long (perhaps a weekend), left the idea behind and never returned to it due to a complete lack of interest on my part.

Now, as a 32-year-old mom of two? I AM SO GLAD I MADE THAT DECISION. I don't think tattoos are wrong and I don't have Opinions about them or the people that have them. They're just not right for me because I change my mind about certain things very frequently. I'm pretty sure anything I would have chosen as a twenty-year-old would not agree with me 12 years later. (Twenty-year-old me thought a pair of platform, red, faux-snakeskin boots were totally amazing and an excellent investment.)

This got me wondering, do you have a tattoo or piercing that you got a long time ago? Do you still like it? Would you have maybe done anything different? Location, size, color, artwork, care of it over time? I think I have heard that some tattoos fade or something in the sun? I know I have seen tons of people not apply sunscreen to theirs so I have always wondered about that. Plus, there's also the part about how I know MY body has changed a great deal since I was 20 and I wonder if I HAD gotten a tattoo if my wonky, has-had-two-babies body would, um, display the artwork as nicely as it had a decade ago (you know, depending on location). Or, perhaps you're shaking your head because you did make a great choice and you still love it.

Anyhoodle, tattoos. Claire likes them at two-years-old. That's definitely one for the baby book.

Life goes on

I have noticed that I don't seem to have much time for enjoying the baby.

Wait, that sounds awful. I do enjoy the baby, most definitely, but there has been none of the hibernation at home for several weeks with baby ogling and worshipping that happened with Claire. The whole baby thing seems so routine and common, which sounds AWFUL and like Charlotte isn't special when she obviously is, but the existence of a new person and all of the chores and disruption that go with it are definitely old hat to us. Didn't sleep much last night? Yeah, well, she's 4 weeks old, we expected that.

There are still all of the lovely things that come with a new baby, like the way their heads smell and their teeny hands and the gassy smiles that make your heart flip, but they're not NEW. Perhaps it is because we knew what to expect and we are somewhat better equipped to handle it a second time around, but life does not seem to bring as many shocking new developments every day. (Dear Four-Month Sleep Regression: You will not catch me by surprise this time. I know you're out there and I'm ready.) Even though all of the things that she does are wonderful and every moment of her infancy is cherished, life goes on. There is a lot of noise that surrounds her special-ness and it's difficult for me to sometimes stop and observe and make a memory. There is none of the time standing still that happened the first time. I think it is probably classic Second Child Syndrome. (Sorry, Charlotte.)

The dog is sick and it's very upsetting but we have to eat and play and do laundry and even though the dog is pathetic and it's sad to think about what might happen to him next week, there are two small humans to care for and...life goes on. There are art projects to complete and goldfish to pass out and diapers to change.

The baby was up a lot last night and took forever to calm after she ate at 11, 1, 3 and 5 and both adults hardly slept but Claire will be up at 7 (when her clock turns green) and Chris must go to work at a reasonably early hour and the dog wants to go outside and...life goes on. There will be no sleeping in and snuggling in bed with the baby until 9 am.

Claire is being awful one afternoon and she throws a train at me and I send her to her room, where she falls asleep, which totally screws up my plans for the day but I won't complain about a nap without a fight, so whatever. The baby, on the other hand, will NOT nap and requires massive amounts of jostling and constant contact with me for FOUR HOURS, but in the meantime there are important phone calls about health insurance claims to return and bills to find stamps for and various other deadlines that have to do with the daily running of a household and...life must go on. I jostle her while speaking to someone at United Health Care and I am deeply embarassed when I am That Mom with a crying baby while trying to make an Official Phone Call.

With Claire, we turned our lives upside down to fit her in. Maybe even upside-down, inside-out and topsy-turvy. Everything revolved around her and we changed so many parts of our lives to accomodate her needs. But with Charlotte it's the exact opposite. Charlotte is being fit into all of these other things we have going on. We seem to have already made most of the correct allowances for babies. (Which, I would hope so as we already did this once.) She's a priority, but she's not the sole priority. (Our other priority speaks English fairly decently and, well, you know what they say about squeaky wheels.)

With Claire there was a total work stoppage for 14 weeks on my part. I often did nothing but stare at her for hours and hours. I had no other responsibilites! I could do that! With Charlotte, the moment she is asleep there is someone else pulling at my attention. If Charlotte is happy in her bouncy seat I am far less inclined to stare at her or chatter at her when I have Claire to divide my attention with. And then there is the fact that I KNOW Claire. Claire is funny and kind and full or wonder. It's so much more fun to hide under a blanket with her and play pretend games than sit next to a bouncy seat and stare at non-talking, non-imaginative, wide-eyed Charlotte. (No offense, Charlotte! I know you've got it in you, but just not quite yet!) I do stare at her but I mostly limit myself to a few minutes rather than entire half days. The moment I realize that I'm shifting my attention from her I feel guilty for not soaking up the baby-ness more. Baby-ness is special and, more urgently, RAPIDLY FLEETING.

The daily feeding, watering and general care of two small humans is not relaxing or simple or easy. It is often fun and delightful but just as often it's not, which is not different from any other job or task that someone has to perform every day, but it's just kind of a reality check versus the dreamy, sunflare version I sometimes imagined life would be like with two. It is definitely more difficult than one, tougher than the first time, and different in ways that are not within my vocabulary to describe. It's just...there is no luxuriously slow and idyllic babymoon period going on here.

In the middle of fighting about Cheez-its for the tenth time in a morning, I have noticed that I need to force myself to remember that life goes on. It won't always be like this so I really do need to stop when I can and blow raspberries on this sweet belly before she starting fighting with me about Cheez-its too.

Because, really. It will be a shame when there is no more baby belly to zerbert whenever I want.

Charlotte is one month old today. I know. HOW?

I don't know what to call this except maybe, "Tell me something happy because I don't have anything to say in that category."

Oh my gosh. Just...wow. You are the nicest, kindest, most empathetic people and I am so glad that you read my piddly website because your nice words carried me this week. CARRIED ME. I cannot even count how many times I teared up just looking at Jake this week and knowing that today might be his last day and I might have to decide to euthanize him soon so, here you go Jake! Eat all these Milk Bones!

I felt so dumb really, for clogging up Twitter with "My dog!" and "What do I tell Claire?" and "HOW CAN THIS BE HAPPENING?" Talk about a buzzkill lasting several days. Every time I clogged up Twitter with my sad story, someone said something kind and I felt a little less stupid for being so worked up about just a dog. But really, he's only just a dog the same way you're just a person. Life is precious in all forms and sizes. (Until this week I'm not sure I knew how strongly I felt about a statement like that, but it turns out that I do.)

A personality you've spent 14 years with is not a just anything. He's a beloved member of this family. (That sounds trite, I know, but things get to be trite because of their universal truth, so there you go. TRITE.)

On that note, I am not sure what in the hell is going on with Jake. STILL. He is on steroids, a painkiller and an antibiotic. That must be a serious cocktail, because it seems to be working. The past 36 hours have been nothing short of miraculous. The dog that would not get up on his own? He walks freely around the house begging for scraps of food. He goes outside to pee. He can't use his doggy door because his back leg is still tender (I mean, I think?) and we have to actually open the door but guys, THE DOG IS WALKING AGAIN. (I can't believe it.)

Then we were like, "Um, okaaay? Do we...wait and see? Or was this just supposed to give us time to say goodbye? What are we supposed to do here? He can't take steroids forever."

My vet friend Julie called and she clued me in on the fact that steroids are amazing. Actually though, the way she said it was more like, "Steroids are AMAZING." Like, superhero-power amazing. In her opinion it made sense that he was walking around - he feels better because that's what they're supposed to do. They are a short term solution though; we only have a ten-day supply and we're halfway through it and I'm pretty sure he can't take steroids for weeks and weeks. I suppose the rationale is try to give Jake's body enough time to heal and rest and perhaps he'll figure out a way to beat the tumor and the blood flow problems.

But...I think everyone's expectation is that this will absolutely not happen, given what we know about his condition.

Last night, Chris and I talked quietly in the dark about "taking him back to the vet" on Friday morning. For, you know, the procedure. We were going to see how he is today and then make a decision on tonight about Friday morning. Delay the Big Decision as long as we could and not make any assumptions because we are both in a little bit of denial. Then this morning? He's walking! And eating! And...he seems to be mostly okay but still a bit gimpy so that means we should...not take him in on Friday? We think not. We think we'll wait the weekend and see how he is on Monday.

This whole Today? Tomorrow? When? line of thinking makes me sick because I feel like some kind of weird God-like figure in the matter. I am very, very, very uncomfortable making a decision to end his life if he's not in over-the-top obvious pain, but at the same time I don't want him to be in over-the-top, obvious pain. Every day is precious, you know? You've all told me that we'll know when the time is right and I suppose that means now is not the time, but I am doubting my ability to recognize it when it comes.

That's the catch-up, even though I feel like there's no news of any substance in here. Jake walks, eats, pees, bothers Claire, all with a limp and all under the influence of heavy medication and we think he has less than a week in him, which is more than I thought he had two days ago.

It feels like a really ugly waiting game that isn't fair to anyone and doesn't have a right answer.