Pharmacy

I don't usually take anything when I'm sick.  So right now I feel like a walking pharmacy.  Well, at least a walking drug store.  In the last hour I have taken Sudafed, ibuprofen, amoxicillin, and a dash of Afrin.  Now I'm just waiting to feel better.

I went to the Minute Clinic today because I suspected I had a sinus infection.  I was right.  My head feels like a balloon.  A big, painful, snot-filled balloon.  I'm supposed to be doing laundry right now, but instead I decided to sit on my couch.  And write.

This is when the guilt sets in. Wade has been sick and I wasn't the most, um, sympathetic wife. But, of course, as soon as I told him that I had a fever and a sinus infection he has been sending me texts that say "I'm sorry" and sad faces.  :(  The equivalent of bringing me chicken noodle soup in our technological world, I suppose.  And I know that when he gets home he'll take the kids out so that I can have a break and maybe even take a little nap.

So, I've been thinking about why I'm unable (because I try, I really try!) to show that same sympathy when he's sick.  Obviously, having three kids takes up most of my patience and energy on any given day.  After making meals, cleaning up, changing diapers, chasing Lily constantly (she never stops moving!!), being yelled at, being told "I wish you weren't my mom", doing laundry...you get the idea, I don't have much left over to wait on my husband.  And yes, I know that makes me a terrible wife.  So when he's sick, all I see is one more person depending on me to take care of him. 

That's only part of it, though.  And the other part doesn't make me out to be much better than the first.  I get jealous.  When Wade was home sick last week he got to lie up in bed.  He read.  He listened to his sports radio.  He slept.  I told the kids to leave him alone so he could rest (I may not have been overly sympathetic, but I'm not completely heartless).  But I've been sick, too.  I've had a cold for weeks.  But so have my husband and daughters, so no one seemed to notice. 

Then, today, my head started imploding to the point where putting my contacts in made me want to cry.  But I didn't get  to lie in bed.  I had to make breakfast and get the kids ready for school.  I had to entertain two kids while waiting at the Minute Clinic.  I said earlier that I was sitting on my couch, but that's not entirely true.  I got up because Lily only slept for a half hour (instead of her usual 3 hours).  And then I got up because she got a hold of and then dumped an entire box of spaghetti noodles on the floor.  And then I got up because Mia arrived (a little girl I watch a few days a week).  Snacks were requested (more like demanded).  Then I heard Lily splashing in the toilet.  Then I found out that Max and his friend stole Mia's sucker and threw it in the woods.  And that pretty much brings us to now.

I'm not complaining.  Well, yes I am.  Obviously.  I don't get a sick day when I'm sick. I just get a regular day, only I fee like crud the whole time. 

I think all those meds are finally starting work.  But don't tell Wade.  I'm still hoping he takes the kids out of the house for a while. 

Hunka Hunka Burning Love

Wade and I are in the process of deciding where we are going to celebrate our anniversary this month.  For our first two anniversaries, before children, we got away for a weekend.  Since having Sophie, we're lucky if we get out to a movie.  But this year my parents have offered to watch all three kids for an entire weekend so that we can get away once again.  I knew I would be excited about a break from the kids (it's okay to want a break from my kids, right?) but it caught me by surprise how much I'm looking forward to two whole days alone with my husband. 

Wade brought the kids out to the 3Day for a Cure to cheer me on this past August.  This was the first time that two of my team members had ever met him.  We stopped and chatted with him and the kids for a few minutes, but as we were walking away one of these team members, said, "I bet you have a lot of fun with that hunk of a man."  My immediate visual was of Wade in his chair watching tv, mostly sleeping, mouth open, occasionally making a snorting noise, all while holding the remote and accidentally deleting my shows instead of fast-forwarding through the commercials.  Yea, fun.

But the thing is, my hubby is very handsome.  I just forget sometimes.  Every once in a while when we're out, say, at the grocery store, I'll momentarily see him through the eyes of someone else.  I'll come around a corner and see him deciding which soup he wants (usually split pea or something southwestern) and I'll think, Look at that good looking guy .  And then I remember that that good looking guy is mine.  And that I get to walk up to him and put my arm through his as we walk down the isle (the grocery isle, that is).

Wade and I met at the beginning of our freshman year at St. Olaf college and got to be good friends throughout our senior year.  We started dating about a year after graduation, but I do remember thinking, early on, that I loved his broad shoulders and his brown eyes.  Friends often said, even before we were actually dating, that we looked good together.  We did.  And we still do.  Only now it's harder for us to see it.

Not because we're older.  As a matter of fact, I think we both look better, healthier, now than we did before we were married.  It's harder to see my husband's handsome-ness because there are three little people standing in the way.  I love those three little people.  Very much.  But the chance to spend some time with Wade, alone, for more than a dinner at a restaurant on a Friday night, but for days, is much needed.  To sleep in and wake up without someone standing next to the bed saying "Is it morning yet?"  To have a conversation without someone interrupting to show us his newest lego creation.  To have a meal without the littlest of these people throwing her food on the floor.  Much much needed.

Because, my hope at least, is that once it's just the two of us we will remember (not to imply that we've forgotten) why we wanted to get married and have a family in the first place.  We used to have fun, be silly, hold hands.  That still happens.  Sometimes.  But now we have an audience. Funny how nine years ago having a family with this guy was all I could think about.  And now, all I want is a weekend alone with him.  And I plan to have fun with that hunk of a man.

Simply Sophisticated

You know, I'm a pretty sophisticated person. I went to an art gallery last night. Sure, most days I wear sweatpants and sometimes completely forget to put makeup on before leaving my house, but when need be, I can step it up and look the part. At least according to that woman in the ladies' room at that hole-in-the-wall bar last night in Hudson.

I don't get dressed up very often. So when I have occasion to do so, I'm never sure if I look like I have it all together, or if I look like I'm trying to look like I have it all together. I don't buy myself clothes very often. And when I do, I have a hard time rationalizing spending money on something I won't wear too often (ie. dress pants or skirts) versus something that I know I will (ie. more sweatpants). I watch What Not To Wear and lately, as I've been getting in my car to drive to Target (quite possibly to buy more sweats) I think about Stacy and Clinton forcing me to sit and watch a video of me shopping with no makeup, baggy pants and flip flops. And then the 360° mirror. It would be torturous!

Last night I went to an art gallery with two friends. We had kidded that we're obviously pretty darn sophisticated if we're the kind of people who go to art showings at art galleries. While we were joking around, I kept thinking about what I would wear, really. I have a pair of jeans that I finally fit into and with little heels they look pretty good. But my tops are all still a bit snug. I decided to wear a big-necked sweater and a little jacket. Oh, and I remembered to put on makeup.

They picked me up and my friends looked hip and truly sophisticated. I hoped that I didn't look like I was trying too hard, especially next to the two of them, who make it look effortless. We got to the gallery and fit right in. That's because there were people there dressed in everything from fancy dresses with leggings (that's for you, Shawnessy!) to jeans and flannel shirts. I think, even if I'd worn my sweatpants I wouldn't have felt out of place.

Someone once said to me, "Sara, you portray confidence, no matter what you're wearing." What's that supposed to mean? I thought. First off, what does that say about what I'm wearing? And second, I do tend to forget what I look like. For instance, Lily will be crying before I've had a chance to take a shower, and before I know it we're heading out the door to get to the bus stop and then I'm usually off to run errands. I'll catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and cringe. But by the time I get to Target (I spend a lot of time at Target) I have usually forgotten to be embarrassed about my hair or lack or mascara or the stain on my shirt. Is that confidence?

After the art gallery (and hob-nobbing with one of the artists, I might add), we went to a nearby dive bar. We had a couple of drinks and on our way out we stopped in the ladies room (which is putting it nicely). My friends struck up a conversation with a couple of other women waiting and as I came out of the stall one of them asked me, "Are you with them?" Before I could answer she said, "You look like you're with them." I know how junior high this sounds, and it really really shouldn't matter at all, but that one little drunken comment, just outside of a nasty bathroom stall, totally made my night. "Yea, I'm with them."

Video Killed the Violin Star

I watched The View today and heard about Tyler Clementi, the Rutgers student who committed suicide after his roommate and the roommate's girlfriend posted videos of him on the internet. The videos were of Tyler having sex with another male student, but that's really beside the point as far as I'm concerned. It would be, in my mind, just as wrong if they had recorded him going to the bathroom or picking his nose. Or studying. Whatever he was doing in the privacy of his dorm room (and to my understanding he had asked his roommate for just that, privacy) was his business. Not his roommate's. Not yours. Not mine. My heart is broken for Tyler's family.

But my heart is sickened by people who do this kind of thing. Tyler's case is pretty extreme, but in my humble opinion, it's completely uncalled for to video someone without their knowing. No matter what they are doing. And I think it goes without saying that posting that video online is unacceptable. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but this kind of thing terrifies me. I don't want to have to worry about my kids being videoed while in the locker room someday. I don't want to find out there's a video of me singing Mr. Big songs in the shower (I'm the one who waaants to beee with youuuuu). Trust me, no one wants to see that.

I saw this commercial and was appalled. I can guarantee that I will never purchase this camera, and probably anything by Panasonic in my own little boycott. Their marketing campaign is based on this camera's ability to upload videos of people who don't know they are being recorded. How is this okay?

I know several people who check out and laugh at that Walmart site. The one where people post pictures of other people they saw while shopping there. I've been to Walmart once or twice and there are definitely some interesting people in that store. Out of curiosity I checked out the site. It made me sad. As I looked at the first couple of pictures, that's all I made it through, my only thought was that these people, albeit interesting, for sure, are just out shopping. Just because someone has purple hair and a ring threw her nose, sporting pippy-longstocking socks and a muffin top doesn't make it okay to post her picture without her permission. Call me a party-pooper.

I think what made me so mad at that particular commercial and the Walmart site, is what it says about our society. It seems to prove that it's become acceptable to post whatever you want, regardless of permission or even simple respect. But it's not okay! It's not!

Elizabeth Hasselbeck, in response to this story on The View, made a good point. She said ethics has not caught up with technology. Kids (that makes me sound so old!) don't always understand the repercussions of their actions online. And because we (those of us older than kids) didn't have these same issues growing up, it's more difficult for us to teach our children how to handle it. This is not an excuse. I'm viewing it as a wake up call. My kids are still young. We haven't entered the world wide web yet. But I'm determined, starting now and as they get older, to talk with them about the consequences their actions may have, especially when it comes to the internet. I don't understand technology. I can write for my blog and check my email and Facebook. That's about it. But what I do understand is that someone taking a video of me without my saying it's okay is an invasion of my privacy. And that one video posted online can destroy someone's life.

I think what happened to Tyler is deplorable. I don't know what else was going on in his life that may have contributed to his suicide, but I wish he had had the faith to see that, while it sucks right now, it will get better. But, at the very least, his death got my attention. I hope it got your, too.

Imperfect

I wish I could tell you that after all the work, all the time and energy, we put into doing this tile floor ourselves, I can now stand back and admire it. I wish I could tell you that it was all worth it. I wish I could tell you that I have a sense of accomplishment. I wish I could tell you those things. But I can't.

The good news is that the floor is done. The better news is that I actually lost weight during this whole process (most of which, I can only assume, was in tears). The bad news is that when I look at my new floor, my should-be-beautiful new floor, all I can see are the mistakes we made. The mistakes I made.

Grouting the floor, being down at floor-level and seeing up close any little bit of unevenness, was awful. Not to mention that I did the grout wrong. But I will produce an anxiety attack if I get into that. I admire people that can do things. That have the confidence to tackle a task and when they are done stand back and feel good about it. I, on the other hand, am not wired that way. With each oops, I focus on what people will think when they walk into my home. Are they going to notice that it's uneven right there, right at the end of the hall? Are they going to see that the grout line is thicker here? Along the step?

Wade keeps reminding me that this is the first time we have done this. Tiled. And we took on a monstrous project. But it's not quite that simple. Yes, it's probably too much to expect perfection on our first (or second, as the case may be) try, but this is the center of our house. Where everyone enters. Where we entertain. I can't stand the thought that it looks like we did the tile ourselves, first time or not. In order to help me, Wade told me about a coworker who had an area half the square footage as us professionally tiled. All told, doing it ourselves, we saved over $2,000. I know my response was supposed to something like, "Wow, that alone makes all of this worth it," but instead I thought, "I'd have paid twice that." I comfort myself by thinking that someday we can re-tile. And by "we" I mean "we can pay someone who knows what they are doing."

I think (I hope) that when other people, people who aren't as obsessed with my floor as I am, will walk in, instead of seeing all of the imperfections, they will see the whole picture. Because, the tile is really pretty. And it has completely changed the way my entire house feels, brought it out of 1975 and into the 2000's. It looks perfect with the paint and once we get new carpet, the whole main floor is going to feel like a new house.

I've realized something about myself throughout all of this. I guess I've known it all along, but this experience really brought it out. I think I'm some kind of perfectionist. I'm not the kind who needs things perfect for me. You should see my bedroom...not perfect. But when it comes to other people, what other people are going to think of me, that's were the perfectionist comes out. I guess I want other people to think I'm perfect. And that goes for my kitchen floor as well.

I learned something else, as well. I learned that paying someone else to do stuff, so that I can come home to find it done right, is worth every penny.

Forgotten

I have been quite productive today. By productive, I mean that I have spent hours looking for my cell phone, my keys, and now my credit card. I've found two of the three, so, at this point, I'm counting that as a win.

I'm mentally and physically exhausted. I hate to make it sound like this tile floor is the worst thing that has ever happened to me, but right now that's how it feels. My house is a disaster. I'm the first to admit that I'm not always neat and organized, but right now the chest from my entry way and the entire contents of my hall closet are dumped in my living room. Tools are scattered about my kitchen counters. And my refrigerator is in my dining room.

Because so many things seem to be randomly scattered about, I think I've subconsciously started doing that with everything else. It's not uncommon for me to misplace my phone for a little bit. Maybe I leave it in the car instead of throw it in my purse before getting out. Today I spent over an hour looking for it. I could hear it buzzing (it was on vibrate) but I couldn't, for the life of me, find it. I finally found it in the bathroom off of my bedroom (it's hardly a "masterbath" as there is only one sink and no whirlpool tub, only a shower stall). I'm, quite simply, not the kind of person who is going to chat away on my phone while sitting on the toilet, so how or why I found it in my bathroom is beyond me.

At this point I continued thin-setting the tiles until I ran out of thin set. I hadn't been to Home Depot since yesterday, so it was about time for me to swing in anyway. I should have been able to grab my keys and head out. They're always hanging on the hook. Except that they weren't. The tiles in front of the door to the garage, the one we usually use, were still wet, so when I had come home from picking Max up from school we had come in through the front door. The last time I got out of my car and entered through the front door was, well, never. Since my normal routine was off, my keys hadn't ended up in their normal place. Again, I searched my house, which in the state that's currently in is easier said then done. I checked the bathroom first this time. They weren't there. I scoured the kitchen counter and looked under the furniture in the family room. I remembered that I had made lunch after coming home, so I checked the fridge. I checked the laundry room. I checked and re-checked every place I could think of. And then Lily pooped her pants and while I was changing her, I remembered that when I had come home before I had changed her on the couch. Bingo.

An hour after I had intended to leave we were off to Home Depot. Grabbed more thin-set and checked out carpet (which is my next project...not doing that one myself, though). At the check out I reach in my purse for my credit card. You guessed it. I had them hold my stuff while the kids and I went back out to the car to look. Not there. Humiliated I went back in (thought about just leaving) and explained that I couldn't find my card, but asked that they keep my stuff so my husband could come in later to buy it.

I'd run out of steam by this point. I checked my purse again and looked around the house. For the third time today. Still didn't find it, though. We canceled it and a new one is on its way. I'm sure it will turn up. Probably in a strange place, like a shoe or the backyard.

I no longer really care much what my kitchen floor looks like (I'm not going to lie, it's going to be so pretty when it's finally done!), I just want my life back to normal. I want my brain back. I want my memory to work again. There was something else, but I forgot what I was going to say.

Starting Over

I've been wearing the same clothes for the past six days. And if I'm honest with myself, I'm going to be wearing them for at least a couple more. It's not because I haven't done laundry (although, I haven't) or because they are just so comfortable (I suppose they're pretty comfy, however). It's because I can only afford to destroy one outfit.

The last week of my life has been taken over by tiling my kitchen. It's more than my kitchen, actually. We're tiling my entry way, hall, bathroom and kitchen. None of us (us = Wade, my dad and me) have never done anything like this before. We'd gotten lots of advice from people who have. And like with anything, most of it was conflicting. But we thought we knew what we were doing, and we got to work.

Ripping out the old, ugly orange tile was hard work, but kind of fun. I'd been wanting to do that for five years now, and smashing it to bits was wonderful therapy. As expected (I watch those house flipping shows, I know tearing out walls or floors is like opening a can of worms), there were a few surprises awaiting us under that tile, but nothing we couldn't handle. Even the plywood and the backerboard looked better than the old tile. I was ready, so so so ready, to get that new tile down.

We started laying the tile this past Tuesday. From the start it didn't seem right. The tiles weren't level; the grout lines weren't even. I kept going, but with each tile that I put in place I had this nagging feeling. I also felt constantly on the verge of tears. I couldn't sleep at night, thinking about all the work we were doing and I didn't like the result. I didn't want to be embarrassed of my new floor. I didn't want to spend every day looking at the mistakes we were making. As anxious as I'd been to get started, I now just wanted to be done. I started thinking that it would be easier to move than to finish this project. I would feel this panic just below the surface.

Finally, I came to my senses and had my neighbor come over to give his "unprofessional" opinion. He confirmed what I'd known all along. We needed to tear out the tile and start over. We smiled. We thanked him. We walked him out. We closed the door. I cried.

Actually, before I cried, before I could change my mind, my dad and I started carefully popping up each of the tiles. My pretty floor was disappearing before my eyes.

The tears came when my kids came up from the basement, where they'd been playing, out of the way. I realized that I'd missed hearing about Sophie's first week of school because I'd been so busy shooing her out of the way. I had hardly said anything to Max beyond "Don't step there!" And poor Lily had been living strapped in her high chair. Even though they hadn't gone anywhere, I missed them. And I couldn't (can't) stand living in this mess. I just wanted my house back. Starting over, while I knew it was the right decision, seemed to turn this into an endless project. I sat on the couch and cried while Sophie comforted me and Max held my hand. Sophie proceeded to use that as an excuse to stay up late, repeatedly coming back downstairs to "check on mom." Wade and I pulled up the rest of the tile and got ready to start fresh the next day.

I woke up the next morning with new energy. Overnight I seemed to settle into the idea that starting over, doing it right, wasn't such a hassle. I wanted to feel good about the work we were doing. I wanted to look forward to having people visit, to see the changes we're making to our home. Making it into our home. Doing it right was the only way to go.

Our neighbor came back over that morning to help us get started (again). This time, with his advice, we used plenty of thin-set. We used bigger spacers (which not only made it easier, but looks much, much better). We started in the right spot. That day we got more done than we had in the four days prior.

Yesterday and today progress seemed slow. But we finally finished all the cuts, and that was the worst part (not for me, that saw scared the crap out of me!). So, we're getting close. Tomorrow I finish with the thin-set and then we grout. I have a feeling that's going to be a pain, but once that's done we're all set! I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tiling tunnel. My anxiety has lessened significantly. I didn't cry at all today, as a matter of fact! Even without the grout, it looks exponentially better than it did one orange-tiled week ago. But, more than anything, I'm excited to get my refrigerator out of my formal dining room and back into my kitchen.