Metal Meredith

Phil and I have had the same queen sized bed for about 7 years now. Shortly before Henry was born, we were in bed one Sunday morning when Vivienne climbed in and proceeded to take up 50% of the space. We then realized that we would need to upgrade in order to fit 4 of us on those lazy Sunday mornings.

Before:

Our old bed became like a giant, crooked canoe. Phil, who snoring sometimes can sound like road repair, sleeps on the side and I sleep right next to him so he doesn’t roll over. Our poor bed paid the price for that. We found a super new bed frame and mattress on Craigslist for cheap cheap cheap!!

It only took us 30 minutes to set up the bed. However, it took us about an hour to get the mattress up the stairs. When it landed on the bed frame, we both collapsed and ‘ooohed’ and ‘ahhhhed’ at the comfort. I brought out my super, new, fancy sheets and my fluffier than fluffy new duvet and we slept like logs.

New Bed:

Last night, about 4am, nature called. When I was coming back into the room, I slammed my little toe into the corner of the bed frame at full force. I cussed, hopped a few times and collapsed into bed. I groaned, rolled back and forth and tried my best to ignore the throbbing. Except I noticed that my foot was wet. Super.

I hobbled into the bathroom where I bled all over the rug and floor. I grabbed a wash cloth and hopped back into the bedroom where I had to wake a dead-to-the-world Phil and ask him to dress my wounds. My husband is wonderful in the fact that there was not one moan, heavy sigh or bitchy comment to me waking him up at 4am. It felt like I had hit my toe with a hammer. But in reality, I only split my toenail about 3/4 of the way down.

Seriously, I love the bed to death. Why does it have to try and kill me? Phil suggested those lights found on airplane isles to help us see where the bed is. I think I need to wear steel toed shoes back and forth to the bathroom from now on.

As many of you know, we moved in to a 1977 ugly house almost 2 years ago. Since then, we have been taking on some minor and major projects to get the house more contemporary and less, well, colonial.

One of the things I have complained about was the ancient over the stove microwave. It was black and bulky and too low. The vent was super noisy and didn’t do that great of a job. The light kept going out more than any light should. Finally, we stopped putting in new bulbs and just took our chances cooking under the dark hood.

When we went to Europe last March, my mom accidentally pulled the handle off. It was a previous wound, gone undetected, that had been fixed more than once. After that, I did it about 5 more times.

My mom gave us a gift certificate to Best Buy for Christmas in order to replace the relic. And replace it we did!

It has been a long time since I bought a microwave. In fact, I have never bought one for more than around $40. You can imagine what one can get for $200 these days. Phil helped me pick out a sleek stainless steel model with more room than our refrigerator. He liked it because the vent door slowly opens and closes when you turn it on.

The first night I used it, it yelled at me. I was defrosting some meat when it stopped, beeped a few times and displayed the words “TURN THE MEAT OVER”. Um, ok ok, calm down. Then, we wanted to have some broccoli the other night and it asked me if it was frozen or fresh. When I responded, it told me to put it in a dish, add some water and just press start. The microwave KNEW when the broccoli was done and just stopped. Same with frozen vegetables.

Want some Nachos? It can not only heat them up, but will tell you how to make them: “Layer tortilla chips on a plate. Add shredded cheese. Press start”.

I know it is a silly thing, but this appliance has now become my best friend in the house. If only it could make me some money, I think Phil might have a new rival. 

Almost Not the Same Anymore

I wanted to point out that Phil and I have almost been in this house a year now. It is scary to think that it feels so completely not done, yet we have done a lot. What can that really mean? When we bought this house we saw it as a ‘for right now’ house that would grow with us, as we needed it to. Having no idea what the future held, we took the leap of faith and just went for it. Neither one of us were in love with the house, but I could see it for what it was, a giant project. Little did we know that we would have less money to take on those projects within a few months of moving in.

What we had hoped would take a few months is now coming up on the one year anniversary. I created a house blog to keep track of the progress as well as stop the incessant questions that seem to come when projects start. My mother and I have the same need for information and we both want to ‘see’ what is going on. I hope there are more than three of four people that check this site, but I suppose it is more for me than anyone else.

Since moving in, we have done a lot by most people’s standards. After watching many of those house hunting shows where a couple will walk into a house and critique it for their needs and hearing “Well, we will have to paint this room” in disgust, I have realized that not everyone sees a house as a project, like I do. We moved in here and I can’t think of one thing we really wanted to keep. I was excited about having a hug-antic bedroom and a real sized kitchen and those two things stopped me from caring about the original 1977 vinyl flooring in three rooms, the orange shag carpet in the upstairs and the overall “yellowness” of the entire house.

Now, I am in this house. I still don’t feel totally moved in. We have 2 rooms that have yet to be used as anything other than storage. I have to paint another 3 rooms before I have the whole house coated. We still have 2 floors to replace. However, we have removed a wall, re-carpeted and redone an entire bathroom. Things are starting to look less yellow, less colonial and thank god, even less 1977.

Bah Lovebug

Since my site has been lacking in updates as of late, I thought I would do a quick recap of the past few weeks:

Week of January 29th, our wall is finished and now I am stressing about doing the floor. We now have a bar at which to enjoy our meals (no more coffee table dinners, hooray), both kitchen and living room benefit from the sunlight they once hogged all to themselves, and I have cleaned the last layer of drywall dust off every piece of furniture. Now there is more painting to do, Phil has to put down baseboards and we must order the light fixture for over the bar. Luckily, we still haven’t received the bill for all this yet.

Week of February 6th, I catch Vivienne�s cold on Tuesday and feel like poo as Phil diligently works to get the office ready for the Open House on Thursday. Vivienne rolls off of her bed for the first time on Wednesday morning at 530am. I sleep through the screeching until 630am, when I get up and relieve Phil from Her Holy-Awakeness. Phil gets sick on Wednesday and we all cough and hack and feel gross until the weekend. Thursday is Suite C�s Open House. Lots of great food, more people than I thought possible to cram into the space and a few people who refer to Phil as �the Graphic guy�, which made me laugh and scowl all at once. I take Vivienne home way too late that night and she is a royal pain. Little did I know she would make me pay for this lack of sleep for the next 4 days.

Weekend starting Feb 10th, Vivienne starts to scream at school and does not stop until I come pick her up at 1045am instead of noon. There is no real reason for this outburst besides she is tired and giving a good bid for the Oscar. On Saturday and Sunday, Phil and I stay close to home because Vivienne is not only screaming, but refuses to poop, my child with the sphincter of steel. It has been 3 days and she is miserable, allowing us to share in every ridiculously grumpy mood.

Monday she stays home from school and is told she won�t be returning until she can see fit to rid herself of her backed-up-ness. She stays on the sofa all day watching Dora and not eating. At 6pm, Phil comes home and helps me administer (and I am sure you can guess where) the evil medicine that will force her to feel better. This lasts for a good 3 hours until she passes out. Phil misses his drawing class. My rank of favorite parent has been usurped by someone only known as �I want Daddy, I want Daddy, Where is Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, My Daddy?�

This is where you all say a small and quiet prayer that you weren�t me these past few weeks. I am not quite done feeling sorry for myself for not getting the proper amount of time to recover from my cold, for losing 2 days of childcare, therefore missing out on a few precious hours of freedom. It amazes me how much I can get accomplished in just 8 hours each week without my child. I have missed two trips to the post office and had to fight to keep a hair appointment. It is the little things that make weeks like these livable.

Now that the Open House has passed, Phil and I are concentrating on getting ready for our trip. We got the tickets today and looked up our hotels online. The Amsterdam hotel is a 4 star beauty on the canals (Phil tells me everything is on the canals, so it isn�t all that special) and looks lovely. The website boasts a multilingual staff, which is a good thing since words with more than 7 vowels make me a little nervous.

All in all we are excited and a little anxious about going. Although I am not a fan of Valentine�s Day, the trip is making me a little more tolerable. Of course, Saturday Night Live hit the nail on the head this past weekend with the skit about the teddy bear, �Not only is the little bear holding a heart available just about anywhere in the world, but, when used as a gift, it also shows that a man has put a lot of thought into his woman’s Valentine’s Day gift.�

I hope you get all the teddy bears holding hearts that you can handle.