The Price of Underpants

Somehow it doesn't seem right that our all-new closet cost the same as the eight pairs of underpants I bought at JC Penneys on the "Buy 2, Get 1 Free" rack. I'm turning into a walking advertisement for ClosetMaid.

The whole point of the project is to turn Sam's room from a 9x9 large closet to a 9x12 normal kid's room. To do this, I need to tear out the add-on closet in our room, build a new wall where the closet door used to be, and convert the strange small room that leads to our bedroom into a closet. Plus a lot of little details, like shoe molding and wall painting, along the way.

So far, so good. I've removed the carpet and carpet tack from Sam's room, removed the closet hardware from the old closet, and installed new closet hardware in the new closet room. The wrinkles:

(1) the linoleum glue (possibly containing asbestos) that is all over Sam's floor, underneath the wall-to-wall carpet;

(2) the giant holes in the plaster I created when I tried to use molly bolts in lathe (wish I had pictures)

See my entry from August 5 of last year to make your judgment as to the wisdom of this project.

Email from Rich, Sent During My Weekend in Boulder

Subject: This Morning

I didn't set my alarm today, so I awoke about 6:50 to bustling about the house. When I went downstairs, Emma Jane had already made her and Sammy's lunch, fed Chester, and was standing by the toaster waiting for her breakfast to pop up. I told her last night to pretend that she was Wendy, and that me, Sammy, and Chester were 'The Lost Boys.' I think she is taking that role to heart.

She did absolutely everything without being asked or reminded, and was out the door at 7:45! She asked if she could go to synchro today for some extra practice before the meet tomorrow. I said yes, and we are going to pick up a new black bathing suit after practice, come home, eat pizza, and watch Spiderman 3. Sammy got up at 7:45, cuddled with me, asked, "What are Nazis?", ate breakfast, got ready, danced to Talking Heads' Mr. Jones, and left at 8:30. They really seem to be growing up!

How was the Denver Bot Garden? Having a good time?

Love you,
Rr

Dog People

My father's new dog, Buddy, peed on Abby's shoe at family dinner.

The world, and my family, is divided into "dog people" and "not dog people." My sister-in-law Abby, along with my husband and my mother, fit into the "not" category.

Why was Buddy hanging around Rich and Abby at the dinnertable? Was he trying to win them over? Was he trying to annoy them? Does he, like many dogs, live in a world of sublime oblivion, where everyone is lovable and everyone loves him? Or - most likely - was it that Abby and Rich were still eating, possibly dropping table scraps?

Buddy actually was standing about five feet away from Abby when the urge to pee struck. He rushed over to her, lifted his leg, and let go, right on the rubber toe of her Chuck Taylor's.

At least they're washable.

Anxiety Dreams

I am in the parking structure when I realize that it is 6 pm. I was supposed to be at University Commons at 5:00 to give my presentation, but I was also supposed to pick up Emma Jane at synchro at 5:30. I stir, realize I am in my own bed, and decide I don't need to solve these problems at this time.

Moments later, it is 6 pm. I was supposed to be at University Commons to give the presentation at 5, but I can't find my car. I am walking down the ramps in the structure, pressing the "panic" button on my key chain, but the horn isn't honking. I still can't find my car. I'd like to call Margaret to tell her to have everyone eat dinner first. I'll be there in time to give the presentation with dessert. But my cell phone isn't working. I still can't find my car.

When I got to work this morning, I spent over an hour preparing for the presentation. I've never given a single presentation for an entire hour, unless it was about a project for which I had full ownership. This will be more like a lecture.

How can I possibly keep these people interested for a full hour?

I hope I don't get lost on the way there.

The Haircut - Part 2

Setting: We are in an elevator at the eye doctor's. The elevator stops and a man gets in.

Sam: What floor?

Man: Four, thanks. (Sam pushes button.)

Man (to me): She's very polite. (pause) Is she going to get drops in her eyes?

Me (looking at Sam): Yes.

Man (to Sam): You'll do fine, young lady. The drops will wear off soon. (Elevator stops. Man gets out.)

Me: Are you ready for that haircut?

Sam (grinning): No.

Louise & Other Thoughts

My brother's babysitter, Louise, died last week. She was 20 years old. She had leukemia.


I know only a little about Louise. She made a sparkly purple cape for Kaeli with Kaeli's name sewn on the back. She took a great picture of Evie holding an orange. She had a serious boyfriend, and was going to art school in New York City.


Kaeli was crying and missing Louise at family dinner the week before last. She said that no one cried at Louise's funeral. I remember that from Grampa Jay's funeral, not seeing anyone cry.


At Bill's funeral in July, everyone was crying, even Rich. Even me. We cried at Mamaw's funeral last year, too. I guess it's a southern thing.

Me and Martha

My mom lent me her copy of Martha Stewart Living. I noticed a few differences between my baseline household maintenance and Martha's. Some examples:

Martha:

She celebrates the change of seasons by switching out lampshades and area rugs to create a warmer, more intimate feeling for the winter.

Me:

Once a year I consider cleaning the dead bugs out of the halogen lamp in the living room. I've never actually done it.

Martha:
She layers her picking baskets with dishtowels to prevent the tomatoes from bruising.
Me:
I use the front of my shirt as a bowl and hope: (1) my bra doesn't show and (2) the stains will come out, since I don't have time to separate the whites from the colors.

Martha:
She rotates her cookies in the oven so they brown evenly.
Me:
We like burned cookies at my house. We're used to them.