Red Pencil Diaries

After 5 years of work, Dave and I are finally putting together our final unfinished room in our house—the BIG room in the basement. We finished the bar, storage room, and bathroom down there earlier this year. The big room is the rest of the basement—a large “L” shaped room that actually has a shufflboard court built into the terrazzo tile floor. The ceiling had to be ripped out when we moved in so that duct work could be put into the house for the central heat/air we put in. So Dave had his dad and friend Adam come over last Saturday and they managed to hang one row of the ceiling drywall.

On Sunday, Dave and I rented a drywall lift and by Monday evening, we had finished the rest of the room. And this room is huge. Even with the lift, it was quite a job. Tons of measuring and still lots of lifting to get the sheets of drywall up onto the lift. But at least I didn’t have to try to hold the thing in place while Dave manned the drill.

Today he’s checking all the screws and later we will try to get some tape and mud up there. We hope to hire someone to actually do the finishing work. And soon we will get to paint and put down new flooring—yes, I hate to have to cover terrazzo tile, but it’s in bad shape and would cost way too much to finish it. We’re putting down a floating floor of faux wood type flooring, so it won’t be ruined. Just covered up.

Once the room is finished, we will have a family room with a play room off to the side. It will be so nice to reclaim my living room upstairs. Right now it’s the family room/play room and is always full of toys! Some days you can’t even walk in there.

Once this room is finished, we hope to start working on the outside of the house. It’s in bad shape since we’ve spent 5 years neglecting it to finish the inside. I hope this place looks as nice as we’d hoped it would someday. We have really been working so hard.

I just thought I’d share since it seems everyone has their own “windy day” story. On Sunday morning, I actually drove out to Hurstbourne Ln. to have lunch with some old high school friends. It was kinda windy, but we had a nice lunch and a lot of gossip and girl talk. Then Dave called to tell me the power was out and he was heading to the basement. About the same time, the waitress comes in to ask if anyone of us is parked on the side of the restaurant because a tree has fallen on a mini-van. Luckily, it wasn’t any of us, but the poor man who got the news seemed stunned. Once the power started to flicker and flash, we decided to go. The drive home was surreal—debris was flying across i-64 and limbs were everywhere. The billboards were like curtains flapping in the breeze. And by the time I got to Indiana and Utica Pike, I was dodging trees in the road and hoping I’d make it to my driveway without a crash.

We sat in the basement for an hour using our cell phones. We finally decided it had died down enough and took the kids upstairs for a nap. We lost one whole Bradford Pear tree in our front yard and half of another one. Our power was only out for just over 24 hours. It was kind of interesting sitting around in candle light with the kids. Zack was kind of confused, but he seemed to enjoy it all. He was most worried about our food sitting in coolers and when the fridge would come back on.

A lot of Jeffersonville still doesn’t have power—the same goes for Louisville, I’m told. Our trees and limbs are still all over the yard and I’ve had 7 guys come to the door offering to cut it up and move it to the road for me for various prices. Dave is going to do it, but with him working full-time and going to school in the evenings, he just hasn’t had a chance yet. So I’ve just stopped answering the door.

I’ve been feeling a bit off for the past week or so. Like I’m stuck in a low gear and can’t manage to free myself. I have things I want to do, but I feel (and this will sound so bad, but hear me out) tied down. No, I’m not resenting my family. I love them dearly. It’s just that sometimes I get stuck in such a rut and I need something to shake up my life and get me on a new track.

I want a vacation, but A) the kids are too young and B) we can’t afford it. I am in this house so much, though. There is no work that takes me away. This house is my work. This aqua colored kitchen with the grungy floor that I can’t keep clean no matter what. The gold living room that I want to be able to live with, but sometimes just can’t stand the site of. The truly old and worn out recliner that I want to replace, but again, can’t afford to.

I have a nice camera that I am dying to take out and play with. But all my patience and time are spent with the kids. There is no way to take out a completely manual digital camera and hope to get some decent shots while you’re reading how-to in a book and trying to control your two kids. Today I went to Oxmoor with them both and by the time I got home I was pulling my hair out. I tried to use the rest of my birthday gift card on myself, but couldn’t get three seconds to go through the racks. I ended up buying Zack some new sneakers and a few new shirts for preschool.

We spent a good hour playing on the big boat, though. They had fun with the other kids there. I tried to talk to some of the other moms, but no conversations lasted more than “How old is she?” before they wandered off. I suppose I don’t look like someone those east-end moms want to befriend.Was it my denim shorts or my converse sneakers with the gray cats on them? Who knows.

I have a design for a new tattoo—I am dying to get it done. I have saved up $200 from my Personal Opinion research panel gig so far. But I don’t have any free time to get over to the tattoo parlor to talk to someone about drawing it up and when I could schedule time for it. It’s not like I can have any decent conversations with the kids running around my legs and pulling my shirt off.

Dave thinks it’s my new birth control pills that have made me “moody.” I think I just need a break. Something more than the three hours I got to spend out last Friday evening with friends. I’d love to take a class. Spend an afternoon doing nothing. Have a couple of hours alone by myself at home. I must sound like the worst mom on the planet, but I’m feeling a bit burned out. I’ve now been a “homemaker” for 5 years. A mom for almost 4. I’m really trying my hardest to be good at both. And somehow I feel a failure.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s hormonal. Maybe it’s my mid-life crisis.

Zack spilled an entire cup of sprite all over the kitchen—from the table to the island—and then he and Lola tracked it all over the kitchen while they “tried to clean it up.” I just finished mopping it up.

Some old man rang the doorbell this morning. I ran and put on Dave’s shorts and answered the door. He handed me a bill for fixing our washer.

I told him that we had a brand new washer and dryer and hadn’t had one fixed. He said, “Well, not you, I’m sure it was your mom who had it fixed.” And I replied, “I live here, I am the home owner, I am the Mom.

My mom lives in Shepherdsville, KY.” And then he started grilling me about some old washer and finally he said “this is 1920 Utica Pike!” And I said, “No, it’s 1928 Utica Pike.” And he said “Well, where is 1920?”

And I said (gesturing toward our neighbor’s house) “somewhere down that way.” He finally apologized and left.

Zack and Lola have bumped heads at least 10 times today. I’m worn out.

It’s not even noon. sigh And to top it off, when I go to my blog to post, it won’t let me log in. I type in the name and password and it just goes back to the log in screen.

Time to figure out lunch now.

My mind perhaps? No. It’s still there. I was reading a blog written by another mom—one with children ages 2 and 1. She was questioning whether to scratch an itch on her abdomen while walking with her kids in a stroller in a non-familiar neighborhood. And it dawned on me, “Why wouldn’t you?” I started thinking about all the actions I perform on a daily basis. I have no qualms about scratching an itch anywhere on my body pretty much anymore. I reach into my pants in the back and pull up my underwear when it slides down—some of my panties are getting a bit big now that I’ve lost some weight. I just always forget and wear the wrong ones for the wrong activities. sigh

So somewhere in between going through the probing and examinations for infertility years ago and having three traumatic pregnancies with surgeries, I did lose my modesty. My fear of what people might think of me has flown the coop. Half the time, I walk around covered in goo and sticky mess that my children have left on me after using me as a personal napkin. My daughter (and my son before her) love to just use my shirt (and its neckline) as a grabbing and holding device while being held or while trying to walk or just to see what’s down there. My bra is almost always showing. My clothing sits askew and I don’t even care anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, I start out clean and put together. And when I occasionally get a few minutes out without the kids, I try to make myself look decent. But during the day, I’m all theirs. And I don’t care what you think of me or how I look or what I do. I’m surviving, trying to keep my sanity. Just trying to be the best mom I can be. And that’s all I can do.

The voice of the “In A World…” movie trailer intros has died. So sad. His deep, riveting voice has intrigued us all to go see a new movie. How will we ever survive the inundation of movie trailers before our chosen flick without his soothing voice?

I’m soooo gonna make a few of these. Just need to decide which old shirts I can cut up! Or maybe I can make a trip to the Goodwill and buy some cheap ones to experiment on. How cool is this for recycling?