Metal Meredith

Out with the old, In with the......less old.

My love of all things bungalow is being tested in a new way. I have found a 1900 sq ft Tri-Level built in 1973 that has all the comforts of home on the inside, but is wretched on the outside. I am starting to wonder if this is my true test “Never judge a book by the eyes of its beholder”…blah blah blah.

I have always been a fan of the cottage house. Phil and I often talk about how our perfect house would have a comfy wing with bright colors and comfortable surroundings and another that was mostly glass, chrome and grey. (He also wanted robots on his side…but that’s another story.) Never in my scenario did I see the house I grew up in.

Our house in Greenfield was a Tri-Level. I was 4 when we moved in and 11 when we moved out. I remember it had no central air, the wood paneled den, the cold unfinished basement room where the washer and dryer lived. I also recall the screened in porch where my mother broke my last pacifier, my sister made out with various boyfriends after school and where I tortured my poor dogs to do tricks in baby clothes. I remember my room from one incarnation to another, child to pre-teen. I can vividly recall our first microwave, cable TV, and VCR. I can still smell the pine tree I climbed, feel the sidewalk I skated down and relive the day I got my first puppy. I can still conjure up the emotions felt when I was too young to understand that hostages in Iran weren’t taken from their houses in the US, the nervousness of not knowing why Mom was so upset that she drank a bottle of wine (I am pretty sure that was the Savings and Loan debacle from the first Mr. Bush) and seeing my Dad cry for the first time after losing his job. Could they have been the age I am now? Younger even?

Maybe that house wasn’t so bad after all?

Recently, my Mom told me that she never liked that house. They bought it for more room, to have more space for the family, to buy some time for the “dream house” that was sure to be in their future. I have to admit that this made me feel much better. I soon realized that this didn’t have to be my dream house. Although I want to like it, it doesn’t have to define who I am. I have to live there, be happy, grow as a family and as a married couple, and maybe get a dog. Who knows?

In my head I have always known that we would end up in a split level of some sort for our second home. They are roomy and seem to have all the amenities a new family needs (*ahem* DISHWASHER ahem). Although this one is ugly on the outside, Phil and I will be making the appointment to take a look at the inside. We are both cautiously optimistic. I think I am surrendering to the possibility, while Phil is still holding out for something fabulous but cheap…with robots. 

I am just not cut out for beige.

Since we have now decided to sell our house and find something bigger and a little more user friendly, I have begun the transformation from �house I love� to �house someone else will want�. And, it�s killing me.

I spent this weekend painting over my beautiful Mediterranean Blue dining room and covering it with this light beige color. It�s sad, boring and flat. This was the last room painted in this house. I spent many weeks with paint chips taped to the walls. Each time I would walk through the room, I would look at them and try to imagine a room entirely one color or another.

Soon, I began to pull a few off here and there until only one was left, my lovely blue. Then, I filled the room with prints with red as the prominent color. I got red cushions for the chairs, put up lime green curtains on a rod made from galvanized steel pipe. We changed the ugly dangling chandelier into brushed silver track lighting. Ahhh, our little modern art gallery. I was so proud.

For 5 years this room was used every way possible, a sitting room, an extra living room, a pantry, and an office for both Phil and I (each at separate times). When Vivienne was born, it became a multipurpose computer/ dining room. Phil and I used Christmas money to get a proper table and chairs. We moved everything else out and set up the highchair.

This weekend, I spent my evening using primer to cover old carrot baby food stains and high chair scuff marks. I scrubbed tiny hand prints off of window sills near the place where Vivienne has eaten for over a year now. I did my best not to sob the entire time.

I know that it must be done. In fact, I get almost giddy when I start thinking about having a dishwasher, a garbage disposal, and possibly a real laundry room. These are luxuries I haven�t had in 15 years. I want them so badly. But what I give up is my first home. The house Phil and I bought, got engaged and married in. I was proposed to on the sofa, Easter Morning in 2000. We had our baby here. She probably won�t even remember it and that hurts. So many things have happened in these rooms.

Will the next people appreciate it? Will they realize how cool the giant long-needled pine tree is in the back yard, with its own personal pedigree papers? Will they realize that it took 5 coats of primer to cover up the stupid ladybug ink stamps the guy here before me put on every windowsill? Will they know the happiness that Phil and I have known?

I suppose that when we do find our �more� perfect house, we will be just as excited to move into it as we were to move into here. Perhaps we will not look back with sadness but with fondness and thank this house for all it has given us. Meanwhile�..I have to paint my cave of bedroom beige next. This one might just kill me.

Until next week,
Meredith

Sweeter words have not yet been spoken in this house….

I suppose I should explain myself. We have been giving some preliminary encouragement in the potty training department. This started with the delivery of the hot pink potty that now proudly sits in the bathroom. It then moved on to using the “terminology” that would be easiest for a 2 year old to grasp (poo poo, pee pee, potty). Then, repeating it over and over and over and over and over and over, at every diaper change, each hint of a not-so-lovely fragrance wafting from the bottom, and every trip into the bathroom. Let us not forget the accompaniment to the toilet waving and saying “good-bye pee pee” after every one of my own trips into the bathroom.

Today, around 10am, I walk into my living room to find a diapered Vivienne squatting on the floor. She looks up at me, grabs her diaper and says “poo poo”. In this instant, you are either a mom or not, because I gasped, giggled, hugged her and immediately called Phil. We both giggled some more and then I changed her diaper. I mean, she can certainly wait a few minutes for me to brag on her, right?

On a “more exciting to everyone else” note, we had a realtor stop by and take a look at our humble cottage. If all goes well, and Phil can hack it, we might be moving sooner than anticipated. We are constantly on the lookout for new houses and will be starting the process to get ours ready. If, or maybe when, it’s all done, Phil will decide if we have to wait a year or go ahead and take the plunge now. If he ever questioned my faith in his business, he has an answer now.

It’s been a long week with Vivienne having a little cold and lovingly sharing it now with me. She has been a bear all week. I am sure that most of you don’t believe me, but she is lucky she is so cute. There were a few times she almost became our “outdoor child”. If you can do it to a cat, then it might work with a kid. At least, it’s what I tell myself to stay sane. All you relatives who complain that you don’t see her enough, it appears that we are quickly approaching the 2 year old “time to stay at the Grandparent’s” period. We shall see. The consensus of the new moms and dads appears to be that the terrible 2’s start with 2 year molars and end with college.

Now, someone tell me why I would consider another?

Have a great week and “beware the Ides of March”.

Meredith and “da Gang”

Oops. 2 weeks late.

I missed last week, please accept my apology. Phil went to Chicago and left me for 4 days alone with my child. I wasn’t sure I would make it through, but I survived.

On Friday, Phil went to Chicago with friend Carter to visit friend Dave. He had a blast going to some boring museums and the Chicago Auto show. I am sure there were many beers and stupid jokes involved.

While he was gone, Vivienne and I had one on one time, Mom came into town and we went to my church (IKEA) and visited with the Grandparents. Always a good time in Ikea. Thanks to my imaginary internet friends, I brought home a boatload of stuff and managed to have $100 of gift certificates left over.

Saturday night I got to eat dinner and spend a long night with my friend, Ronni. It was about 4 hours, we needed at least that long to catch up. Now that things are rolling again, I am sure I will get many more night away to visit with her.

Sunday, Vivienne and I stayed home and enjoyed each other’s company. We almost spent all day in pajamas, but I felt guilty towards noon. That night, the heat went out. We brought out the space heaters and made it through the night without suffering. I figured calling for repair at 10:30PM on a Sunday wasn’t the best idea while trying to save some money.

By Monday afternoon, my world was back to normal. Phil came home. We got to experience that scene in the airport when Vivienne yells “Daddy!” and runs through the terminal to him. Magic, I tell you!!! Our heat was fixed by 5pm, Michelle spent 2 hours with Mom and I on her way back out of town. Then my house was quiet, my child was asleep and my husband and I cuddled up and fell asleep.

Now, I ask you, when did a website update fall into that schedule? These upcoming weeks will prove to be much more normal.

Take a look at some new photos from just this weekend. We took Vivienne to Crump Park and had a great time on the swings and with the animals.

Love,
Meredith