Bathroom Pics

Finally, here are some pictures of the remodeled bathrooms. Although the second floor bathroom ended up being tighter than planned (No matter what they say, 6 -8 inches is a big deal!) this family of five is pretty happy to be back to more than one bathroom. The one with John in the bathtub is the second floor bathroom, the other is the attic master bedroom/bathroom. My favorite features are the heated tile floors in both bathrooms and the block window in the second floor one.


Dave and I have been loving our attic bedroom - it's great to wake up and get showered right away in the morning versus squeezing a shower in when there's time. As we've yet to figure out how to get a bed up there, we're still sleeping on the futon. Once we get the bed situation figured out, it'll be time to paint the staircase and the red dressers. For now, I'm taking a break from painting!

My Dogs are Killing Me

Dogs are what my friend Anna calls her feet; she’s about the only person I know who calls them that, but over the past few years, I’ve grown fond of the saying. So, I’ll repeat it, my dogs are killing me. We went to church this morning, attended a brunch hosted by a neighbor, and then spent the rest of the afternoon at a “Welcome Theo” (a three month old little cutie) party. Although there was some sporadic sitting, most of the day involved standing around talking with friends and catching up with my former university crowd. It was a wonderful way to spend a Sunday, but my feet just can’t take it anymore. I’ve given up running, I’ve given up walking, I’ve given up pilates, I’ve given up yoga, and now apparently, I should give up standing and gabbing.

After visits with two podiatrists, it seems I’ve got three big issues with my feet, particularly my right foot – neuoromas, hammer toes, and a bunion at the top of my foot. (I didn’t know there was such a thing.) About a year ago I had my first cortisone shot and I was thrilled with the results – for about three months until the pain came back, worse than ever. I went back to the podiatrist in December and we talked about surgery for January, but after x-rays decided to wait a bit and try out another cortisone shot since the last one worked so well. Not so much with this round – in fact there was hardly any relief at all. What to do, what to do? All I know is my feet hurt and at this particular moment, I think I would be willing to try anything to get some relief. Any ideas?

Uncouth Behavior

Don’t tell my mom this, but this morning I went to the YMCA in my pajamas. I have all kinds of excuses for this unbelievable behavior and none of them actually fit into the “lazy” category. BUT, if you were one of the few people who saw me at 7:15 this morning walking through the Y doors and into the women’s locker room, I do apologize. If you then saw me as I left the locker room and walked to my car an hour or so later, I also apologize to you. But to the six sleeping kids on the second and third floors of our house, I accept your thanks for letting you sleep in.

Trapeze Girls

Two summers ago my friend Carmyn and I were pulling down overgrown vines on the side of the house. She hates this kind of stuff but I always seem to “rope” her into helping me with household tasks. The vines were so stuck, so steadfast, that we thought it best to go ahead and do some swinging on them just to see if they’d hold our weight. Imagine the sight, two thirty-somethings swinging from vines yelling Tarzanisms.




Later, we pulled out a Barbie and hid her amongst the vines. Let’s just say she was a bit more successful at vine swinging than we were.

Then, last summer, we headed to Cass Lake to be with our friend Lori, her daughter Rachel, and Rachel's grandparents. They took us out to an island and an old rope up on a sand hill. I was thrilled, yet somewhat dismayed, to see the ease at which five, six, seven and eight year olds could manage the whole swinging thing. They looked as graceful as Barbie, but much more joyful and strong – as little girls should be. They’re the true trapeze girls.

Craft for Kids: Ziploc Bag Dryer

Here's our special version of the Ziploc Bag Dryer. As you can see, even a four year old can help put it together and it works beautifully. The idea came about when I saw one at Theresa's house. She knew I wanted one so she dug out her catalogue and handed it over. I was gung ho to order it until I saw the price tag - about $25 with shipping and handling. So my creative side went to work and came up with this concoction. The materials included a small clay pot, a styrofoam ball cut in half, wood dowels and acrylic paint. Put it all together and you have a Ziploc Bag Dryer. I had visions of putting together an assembly line and selling them at the local co-op, but really, the best part was watching John make it himself. Have a go!

I’ve Never Swallowed So Much Water…

I’ve never really been much into water aerobics – back in the day when I was really into cardio workouts I either ran 3 miles or did step aerobics. With my feet hurting so much for the past few years, I’ve tried lap swimming. There’s something so very soothing about sliding into the cool water and hearing muffled music, breathing, and small splashing. It may not sound like much to any big swimmers out there, but since January 1st I’ve worked myself up from 10 laps in thirty minutes to 20 laps in the same amount of time. My next goal is 25, then 30, and ultimately swimming for at least a full hour without stopping.

Today though, I tried the extreme opposite of lap swimming – water aerobics. The last time I did water aerobics was when I was about eight months pregnant with Sophie. At that time there was a lot of soothing water movement that felt awesome for a woman with a swollen belly. Even though it’d been ten years since the last experience, I was expecting the same type of class. When I first got into the pool Roxy, the instructor, asked me if I was a good swimmer. I confidently said, “Yes,” and thought I was in for a relaxing piece-of-cake hour of exercise. Not so - there was a whole lot of loud music, lots of leg kicking and splashing, and wave upon wave in the pool. I found myself panting for breath as I did the “crawl like a baby” for a length of the pool. As others barked during the doggy paddle, I choked on a wave of water that went right up my nose. While others smiled when Roxy yelled, “One more backstroke, then front. Five, four, three, two, one…” I grimaced and had flashbacks of childhood swimming lessons and the fear of drowning. The good news is I survived… and I do plan to go back on Thursday.

House of a Different Kind

I know the Christmas season is past, but I still wanted to show off these gingerbread houses the kids made with the Shorma cousins on Thanksgiving. Kylie was awesome at putting together the frames (Roxy and I, after trying one or two ourselves, quickly delegated that chore to her.) and guiding the process. I’m not sure what they thought was more fun – the decorating or the eating of the candy. Even last week, when the rooftops and red hot paths were covered in a fine layer of construction dust, the kids were asking when they could eat the houses. I told them for the umpteenth time they were not for eating, just for decorating and then, in a total act of cowardice, placed them in the trash while all the kids were at school. What would you have done?

Happy Birthday Lucy!

At 5 pm this afternoon Lucy called out, “I’m exactly 7 – hey everyone, I’m exactly 7 now!” Her enthusiasm, and that shown by her sister and brother, have been so uplifting today. It started at 6:30 with Sophie waking up John and then both of them headed downstairs to whip up some chocolate chip muffins for Lu. They picked the two biggest muffins of all and placed them on her special birthday plate (made in AZ over Christmas) and popped in two candles. Orange juice was poured and then Sophie came back upstairs to get me and see if she could wake up Lucy. As we playfully argued back and forth over who should get to wake her up, me or Sophie, we heard giggles at the bottom of the stairs – there was Lucy lapping it up. After the appropriate hugging and kissing and birthday wishes we all headed back downstairs to eat some muffins. The party continued afterschool with homemade pizza and birthday cake. One party down, one to go as she’ll celebrate with her friends and a sledding party on Saturday – hope for some snow and moderate temps for us!

7 Things to Know About Lucy

1. Her dimple on her right cheek is always there to see.
2. Uncle Mark gave her the name “Pinball” after a trip to San Diego in December, 2005. Apparently she totally resembled a pinball caught in a machine.
3. Her first name for Sophie was “Opie.”
4. When she was two, we made up stories in the car as we drove home from daycare. They usually started with “Once there was a girl named _____. She lived in _______. and then Sophie and Lucy filled in all the blanks. Lucy has been a storyteller ever since; we used to lay in the bottom bunk of the bunk bed and she’d tell me story after story.
5. The first book Lucy “published” was called “My School.”
6. Most Saturday mornings you can find Lucy and John playing with the Playmobil pirates and knights. They then get into character by dressing up as pirates.
7. Her legs are so long that when she runs she looks like a gazelle.

Bedhead

I’ve always been known to have bedhead – it doesn’t matter if I have long hair, medium length hair or super short spiky hair, bedhead has always been a part of who I am. Usually it doesn’t matter because it’s only family members who see my head for what it really is – a full smattering of cowlicks and white scalp beneath the black hair. Occasionally others gather a glimpse – the mail carrier, the flower delivery boy, another parent dropping her kids off at school, or a neighbor stopping by for coffee. Whenever this happens I immediately think of my mother. She was infamous for freaking out if the doorbell rang and she was dressed in garden gear or hadn’t combed her hair. She’d look at one of us four kids, all equally as disheveled as her, and yell at one of us to answer the door while she went upstairs to get cleaned up. It was then up to us to keep the doorbell ringer occupied for the next 5-10 minutes until Mom showed up in a perfectly pressed chambray shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up and hair and teeth freshly brushed. Whenever our bell rings before I’m properly attired, I panic, wondering who it is that might see me in this state or if there’s any way I can slink away to an upstairs window, unnoticed. About that time one of the kids throws open the door and welcomes the door ringer into our house. No escape for me, at least not this time.