There’ve been a few things in life that brought me sheer joy. The kinds of things that drop me to my knees in gratitude, kissing the ground because…well, because why not, it’s something people in the throes of joy do. Things that swept me off my feet in terms of my word, this is life changing and I will never forget this moment even if I live to be 105.
Finishing our bathroom remodel was one of those moments.
I know, I know…it’s not curing cancer or finding a solution to hunger, but it rocked my world. There. I said it.
I fully own that these are first world problems because hey, any indoor plumbing at all, can I get a hell yeah? But finding that moldy and rotting subfloor beneath our shower’s tile was beyond distressing. There was the psychological factor of omg, how long has it been like this, and how long is it going to take to fix, and how am I gonna live anything resembling my real life while they do. Then there was the physical trauma – how long had I been breathing crap into my lungs, the illnesses I lived with while they tore out and removed the bathroom materials, how my body reacted when I passed through that space to get something from my closet during demo and construction.
Compared to all that, sharing a bathroom with my 13-year-old son was relatively painless. Although I don’t know if he’d say the same.
At any rate, after a number of blips and blunders (all of which were fixed by our second contractor, a group I shall forever refer to as The Saviors of Our Master Bath) the remodel was finally complete at the end of November. Yep, you read that right. September, October, November, plus those two weeks in August – three and a half months of insanity in our house. It’s kind of a miracle we all made it to the other side.
But when we did…my word. I stand in this room now and am blissfully, ridiculously, unbelievably happy. It is my peaceful space, and I am ever so grateful for it.
Complete this sentence: I’m looking forward to….
Going to dinner with our really good friends at the end of the month. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do – holiday stories and whatnot – and evenings with sista-friend and Big D are always a blast.
What is your favorite comfort snack food?
Everything’s all topsy turvy these days. For years this was a no brainer question: chips, salsa, and queso were my go to comfort food, but I’ve just realized I haven’t eaten these since sometime in November. This sort of hiatus would have been unthinkable just a few months ago. Now I guess I’d have to say roasted and salted almonds. They’re oddly delicious and satisfying.
What was one of your first moneymaking jobs (other than babysitting or newspaper delivery)?
My first job with a W2 was at Baskin Robins. I worked there one summer when I was in middle school, and it pretty much started my love affair with ice cream. Not the eating part – that was a lifelong thing – but it was my first experience with serving ice cream. I’m pretty sure it’s physiologically impossible for someone to be ill tempered when you’re handing them a delicious cone.
What inspired you or what did you appreciate this past week? Feel free to use a quote, a photo, a story, or even a combination.
There’s nothing quite like hanging out in the family room, listening to your kids have a blast with their friends while playing pool. Music blasting, raucous laughter, jokes lobbed back and forth…it’s listening to pure, unedited joy, and that’s inspiring.
Cee’s Share Your World post rolls in on Mondays.
What’s happening in your world?
“You have a golden retriever? Those are really good dogs.”
You mean, like, good family dogs? Definitely. You mean “good” as in well behaved? Well…
There’s a mama or papa bear in all of us, and it comes roaring to the surface when our kids get targeted.
“This is why we fight for our children. We fight for a better world. My readers may remember the challenges that Carl was facing in middle school. There were children calling him a “taco.” They called him “brownie.” They threatened to send him “back over the wall” to Mexico.
Carl was bewildered. “But I’m Puerto Rican!” he kept saying. “I was born in Massachusetts!” “
The closest book at hand is Jen Hatmaker’s Of Mess and Moxie, a Christmas gift from my sis this year. We’ve got a pretty good literary streak going – I’ve given her some Glennon Doyle gems over the last couple of years, while she’s given me some treasures to enjoy. This year I was extra giggly because I’ve been talking myself out of buying Of Mess and Moxie repeatedly (I’m behind on my reading as it is), but it kept poking at me. So, of course, Bee picked up that vibe.
But I digress. I’m on page 7 (I told you I was behind on my reading) where the sixth, seventh, and eighth words are “in the same.” I can work with that.
We live in a red sea. Our county sits solidly and stubbornly red through every election, surrounded by counties that turn up blue. We’re near several cities with large universities that have other factors trending them toward democratic candidates, so each election night results roll back in: blue, blue, blue, red (yep, that’s us), blue, blue. We live in a sea of red.
Which means finding out whether acquaintances or even friends are of like mind is something of a dance. Most of us don’t want to run around with our hair on fire, burning bridges left and right, as we rant about our political beliefs. Yeah, sometimes a good rant is unavoidable, but mostly we’re testing the waters to see if the people around us are in the same place.
I can tell this is irritating my kids because they’re surrounded by quite a few others who aren’t in the same place. Kids who vehemently insist that Obama was The Worst President Ever, a leader who Did Everything Wrong and Ruined Our Country. Logic reigns supreme in our house so naturally T-man and Bear ask these kids what he did wrong. I believe the last kid shot back, “Well, what did he do right?”
It’s kind of an energy suck because in school you don’t choose your company, the students in the district are your classmates. As adults at least we have discretion about where and with whom we hang out. And still, the human instinct is to look for those who are in the same space as us.
Linda’s stream of consciousness prompt on Saturdays is always a good time. Today’s is unusual: “look to the publication (book, newspaper, permission slip from your kid’s teacher, whatever you find) closest to you, and base your post on the sixth, seventh, and eighth word from the beginning of the page.”
It’s been a hell of a week.
An iron IV that knocked me off my feet for the rest of the week. Apparently some folks get up from the chair and feel outstanding; others end up nauseated, exhausted, and with raging headaches. Guess which camp I landed in? Yeah.
On a side note, a head’s up for anyone out there who might need an iron boost someday: for most of the IV day your pee will be a rusty color. You know, just in case your nurse forgets to tell you. I could have done without that heart stopping moment in the restroom.
Four full days where I left the house by 8:00am and didn’t get back until around 2:00. Phoebe and Gracie did not appreciate the sudden increase in quality alone time, that’s for sure.
Twenty minutes before leaving town yesterday T-man took a major spill in the road. After grabbing Bear from practice plus 4½ hours of crazy involving an urgent care visit and late dinner we finally managed to pack up and leave. At 9:30pm. With T-man stretched out across my backseat icing his sprained knee.
Plus the commander in chief referred to places in Africa as “shithole countries.” So there’s that.