Awesome!

I’ve spent a lot of time cursing the blockhead who designed these cookie-cutter 1970′s homes.  Why would anyone purposely put a galley kitchen in a house?  Of course, until the kids were born we didn’t spend a whole lot of time in there.  So it didn’t seem much of an issue when we bough the place.  Now, however, I dream of an expansive kitchen… maybe an island… lots of counter space and storage… open to the rest of the house so I don’t feel like some kind of scullery maid… big enough to entertain guests (who always end up in the kitchen, no matter the size).  Ahhhh…

But, this week, as I smoothly moved around my nearly dark cave, I realized it isn’t all bad.   Such a small space has forced me to be rigorously organized.  I have only the tools, dishes, appliances and supplies I absolutely need.  Cleaning takes no time.  I can put away groceries, empty the dishwasher, cook meals and do the dishes without taking more than two steps in any direction.  These are things I will miss when I have my dream kitchen.

And also? When the polar ice caps melt and we’re all living on boats, I’ll be totally prepared.

There isn’t much we can do about our kitchen, but we did have some funds left over after the porch addition to tear down the “wall” between the dining and living rooms.  It was more of a partition than a wall, really.  And I must note that it served as a great obstacle-course for “chase”.  The kids ran around that thing so many times over the past five years they just about wore a path into the flooring.

But we put nostalgia aside to take up a sledgehammer and destroy some drywall and two-by-fours.  (Just kidding.  We paid someone to do that so we wouldn’t have to clean up the mess.)  In three days it was done.  It would’ve been two, but the tile guy disappeared at “Home Depot” for half a day.

All in all, we can’t believe we didn’t do this years ago.  Observe before:

And after:

Most importantly, there is now a shorter path from the cocktail-making-area (aka: the kitchen) to the cocktail-sipping area (aka: the porch).

See you at 5pm.

So we figured out how to make it financially feasible (thank you housing collapse!), and called a contractor to build us a screened-in gabled porch.  (Since it took me 2 months to build a chicken coop we figured it would be wise to bring in the professionals.)

Viola!  Before:

After!  (I still need to figure out where to hang the laundry now.)

Before:

After! (Apparently you can’t buy an outdoor ceiling fan in the fall, so we’re still waiting on that.)

Before:

After!

The view from our living room before:

After!

Granted, this was not a painless process.  It took twice as long as projected, since the foreman was imprisoned halfway through.  And we had a few issues with rogue bears in the rafters.

But still.  We’re very pleased.  Please join us for cocktail hour on the patio.  Every day.

I reported the incident and spent the better part of the day waiting for the detective to get in touch. A few years ago someone stole power tools from our garage. The detective found them in the pawn shop down the street. I guess I was hoping. I don’t know. When I finally heard from the police, the Sargent basically told me that this particular crime is very low on the priority list. I could call for someone to dust for prints, but we’d be using valuable resources that could be spent on more serious incidents. Also, stereos are usually sold in bulk from the back of someone’s car, so there is not much chance that we’d get it back. So. Forget it.

Violet wanted to know why someone stole our stereo. Good question. It was the cheapest one we could find. The truth is, I never thought anyone would bother ripping it off. I mean, who wouldn’t run screaming when they see the cracker-crumb covered, stinking sippy cup strewn car. And I never locked my doors. I know I know. Stupid. But keep in mind I don’t have power locks. So individually locking all four doors while holding a baby, two bags and gripping a 3 year old to keep her from stepping into traffic is a feat I’m usually unable to accomplish. Plus it’s hard to imagine someone creeping around our driveway, mere feet from where we’re sleeping.

I spent most of Thursday and Friday in a serious funk, generally creeped out and mad at myself. Rob traded cars with me so I could have some music instead of only kid screeching. Plus he figured it’s easier to lock power doors. (It’s just a matter of time before Violet accidentally locks herself in.) But now he has to deal with Austin traffic in silence. Who knows when we’ll be able to wrangle kids and cars and naps and installers long enough to get a new stereo.

Grrr… petty criminals suck.

Part of my reason for wanting to do this is to keep up Violet’s interest in all things outdoors. She already knows that the crape myrtles are the same age as her and the crossvines are the same age as Graham. She already loves bugs, worms, frogs, birds, squirrels and whatever stray wildlife wanders through our yard. Now she checks the garden with me every morning to see what’s new. I bought some tiny plants so she could see some results right away: spinach, swiss chard, strawberry, peppers, tomatoes and eggplant. And my friend Nancy gave me some seeds (and lots of advice). Those have sprouted: beans, cucumbers, zucchini and lettuce. In my herb garden I’ve got parsley, mint, basil, thyme, oregano, rosemary, cilantro and sage.

The other part of my reason for wanting to do this is to get Violet to eat more (or any) vegetables. I imagine her plucking beans and sitting right down on the lawn to eat them, or helping me gather squash to grill for dinner and proudly eating it all. Hmmm… maybe not. Every single other technnique (trick?) has failed. Let’s just see how this works.

What I’m really excited about, though, is the Sunflower House. I got the idea from this book and have been obsessed with it ever since. I cut a six inch deep 9 x 6′ trench in the lawn, leaving a 2′ space for the “door” and filled it with good dirt. We planted 10′ sunflower seeds next to climbing vine seeds. Between those we planted 2′ and 5′ sunflower varieties. Hopefully, the vines will climb the giant sunflower stalks. When they get about 6′ I’ll tie a string beneath the bloom and tie the other end to the sunflower directly across from it. The vines will creep across, creating a “roof”. The shorter sunflowers will fill in the “walls”. How cool will it be for us to spend the hot summer in a house made of flowers? And if it doesn’t work, it cost less than $10 to try.

Now if only I could work in my garden for more than 10 minutes at a time.

Aside from the increasingly uncomfortable Braxton-Hicks contractions, I feel fine. It’s just that… toddlers are very low to the ground. Who knew. And I can’t seem to bend at the waist anymore. So to do the 50 million things a day that 2-year-olds require I either have to bend sideways with one leg sticking up behind me, or completely sit on the ground. This would be okay, except that it takes me a ridiculous amount of time to get up again. So, yes, I’m tired.

Thankfully we’ve had one last weekend to rest and prep for the impending craziness. Granny and Uncle Joe took Violet for two whole days (THANK YOU!!!). We were able to get all of the aforementioned to-do list finished (actually, I mostly did the no-bending chores and directed Rob, who slaved away), plus go on a date (anyone living in Austin, you must see this). I even took a bubble bath and slept in. Ah heaven.

Of course Violet had way too much fun, didn’t ask about me and didn’t really want to come home. Ingrate.

My family and I have been excitedly awaiting our lottery-based chance to join the new neighborhood at the old airport. The Mueller redevelopment project has purported itself to be “…an attractive option for all kinds of people, with all kinds of lifestyles, in all price ranges.” It sounded perfect: a neighborhood specifically designed to reduce dependence on cars, encourage community and discourage sprawl.

We work hard and live frugally. My husband spends nearly two hours a day commuting. Our kids see him for about an hour. To even have a possibility to live in an affordable home near work, be able get rid of one car, spend less time on the road and more with family seemed too good to be true. It was.

On March 5^th the planners unveiled their builders and costs. To our dismay, we make just slightly more money than the cut-off for the affordable homes. To our horror, the next price bracket for homes in the new development jumps up $100, 000 (And even these are too small for a family of four). We have been priced out of yet another neighborhood; and we’re not the only ones. There is a huge segment of the population who will be completely ineligible to take part in a neighborhood “designed to be as diverse as possible.” It is far from diverse. In fact, it seems that they simply want to build high-end, high-profit properties and include affordable units as a PR gimmick.

As I understand it, this development will move forward in phases. I would like the city of Austin and the Catellus Development Group, who choose the builders, to be aware of the middle class that is once again being left behind. So far, their “laboratory for innovative approaches to community development” has failed. We don’t need the granite counter-tops, wood floors and chandeliers that the plans tout. Perhaps it is not too late for the planners to remember their original goals for the next phase in the project. Cut out the extras, bring a few of the home prices down and become truly “diverse”.”

Then our remote control died. It must seem supremely lazy of us to complain about, but consider that our air conditioner (which also hates us) is deafening. So not only do we have to get up to change the channel, but whenever the A/C comes on we have to heave ourselves off the sofa to turn up the volume. Accordingly, we have to get up when the A/C shuts off in order to turn the volume down again. Correction: we have to leap up and sprint to the TV before the cacphony wakes the sleeping baby. Not that we get much time to zone in front of the tube, but, come on, can’t a couple of exhausted parents simply relax during those golden hours between toddler/grown-up bedtimes?

Then, our old Ford Contour died. This was especially insulting because we’d just acquired more crushing financial debt… um, I mean, we’d just bought a “new” car. After 8 months of struggling to be a one-car family, we were giddily running separate errands and whatnot… for a week. As if in a jealous rage, the Contour coughed up the alternator and we were looking down the barrel of a $400+ repair. “What’s another week of car sharing?” we said, chuckling insanely. Happy ending, though. Our heroic friend, Emil saved the day (and $400) by helping us put in a “new” alternator. The subsequent thank you dinner was noodles, stuck to the bottom of the pan, jarred sauce, no parmesan and wilted salad. I rock.

While all of this is going on, our kitchen and garage lights have somehow mysteriously shorted out. So we’d been operating in a kitchen dimly lit by only the tiny stove and sink lights. (Yes, I know, electrical systems aren’t really “machines” per se, but they’re still lumped under the category of “things I can’t fix”.) Another happy ending, though. Our other heroic friend, Craig the Electrician saved the day by repairing both. Now our kitchen and garage are so glaringly bright that I am forced to clean the newly revealed layers of grime. The subsequent thank you dinner was burned chicken sausages, which he is (thankfully) allergic to, and grilled carrots, which he is allergic to. I, once again, rock.

So since everything we touch seems to fall apart, we’re collecting handy friends. There are currently openings for Remote Control Repairmen, Garage Door Opener Repairmen and Drywall Repairmen. Benefits include sub-par meals and beer.

May 2004: It rains 5 inches in 30 minutes. Water backs up from the outside air conditioner, floods the foyer and part of the living room. The insurance people are great and we have no problems paying for the floor repair.

August 2005: Our washing machine decides to fill continuously until our laundry room, kitchen, hall, bathroom, and dining room are under several inches of water.

Two days later: Still drying out. We’ve had our washing machine repaired and are attempting to wash our clothes, every stitch of which had been used to mop up the flood. As if mocking us, the washing machine (previously fine on test runs) overfills. Rob comes home to find water pouring out of the foundation. It floods the above mentioned, plus all the bedrooms, the other bathroom, the foyer and part of the living room. This time we have nothing with which to mop. We live in a hotel for a week (no fun with a 7 month old) and live off of concrete for several weeks thereafter.

The insurance people give us far less than what is necessary for repairs. We think about complaining, but then Hurricane Katrina hits. Our adjuster is in Louisiana rescuing his family.

And now, the sad most recent flood:

Diaper-free time turns disastrous. In an effort to clean the enormous mess before the cat starts, um, eating it, I swipe with a paper towel and toss it in the toilet. Not the smartest thing to do. But, you know… heat of battle. You may try to guess what comes next, but it’s worse. Everything seemed fine. Yet because the flapper had been slowly leaking for weeks… the unnoticed clog caused a quiet, constant overflow. Of course it was so quiet we didn’t notice for an hour and a half. It was only until the carpet felt squishy underfoot that I realized. Since I am now an expert in these matters, I had the water extraction people, the carpet repair men, and the plumber in the house within the hour.

So, we spent all weekend with industrial fans blowing, sharp tacks sticking out everywhere and a giant dehumidifier pushing the heat in the house up to 83 degrees. (This was not good when Violet and I woke up with fevers on Sunday.) But after shelling out a bizillion dollars, things are back to normal. Just don’t tell our insurance company. They’re not very happy with us.