RenovationGirl

This Is Why...

Remember when you had your first drinking episode and you woke up the next morning and thought you could die?  Remember how you said, "I will never do that again," yet you did do that again and again and again and again? 

Yeah.  I remember.  All too well, I remember. 

Remodel Man's 20th high school reunion was this weekend.  It was a weekend extravaganza ending with a party at the Hard Rock Cafe in the town where he went to school.  It was a great time and I was surprised by how nice everyone was.  I kind of thought it would be like high school all over again with all the little groups and such, but it wasn't.  Everyone seemed truly interested in how their classmates were doing. 

Being a spouse and knowing no one was a bit awkard, but the open bar helped.  A lot.  Maybe a little too much.  And I am paying for it.  I am remembering why I don't drink much.  And how much more difficult it is to get over a night of drinking when you have a kid.  (Thank God for the television.) 

And just so you know, I am never doing that again...

How Do You Do It?

Okay, I need to know...how do each of you keep a clean house?  I struggle so much with this-sometimes because I am working too much, sometimes because I'm the only one doing anything around here, and sometimes because of sheer laziness. 

Our house is larger, with lots of rooms and with front stairs and back stairs.  I know the old advice "put away what you take out," and "clean as you go," and the whole "throw out any junk mail right when you get your mail."  But really, HOW do you do it?  I'm making headway with Builder Boy being at preschool 9 hours a week.  Yet, the kitchen, no matter how many hours I spend in there, is still crazy messy.  The office is a dumping ground.  Where most people have junk drawers, we have junk rooms...and an entire junk floor.  We are pack rats, I know that.  I am trying to be better at this and Remodel Man will occasionally get rid of some things. 

I go to friends' houses and leave feeling completely incompetent.  Even when I drop in, besides a pile or two, their houses are clean and orderly.  Our house is neither.  If someone drops by, I die a slow death of mortification that someone is witnessing how we live.  I make people swear on their own lives to never speak of such destruction to another soul. 

And I've read the studies that say a clean, neat, organized home is better for children.  I want that for Builder Boy, but it's not happening.  So, how do you do it? 

Coming Out of the Conservative Closet

Hi.  My name is Renovation Girl and I'm a conservative.  I didn't start this blog to discuss either politics or religion, but I am feeling compelled to come clean to my readers.  Why?  It's simple, really.  Most of the blogs I read are writers whose views are much more liberal than mine.  This is fine.  I like their blogs.  I like these writers.  Some of my best friends in real life are liberals.  And naturally (at least for me), I will continue to read even though I don't agree with their politics.  (As I hope you will continue to read my blog even if you don't agree with my politics.)  But in light of the fact that most bloggers I read are liberals, I felt as if I was lying to you if I avoided politics all together.  I felt my conservative side needed to have a voice, too.

I'm not sure why it feels like so many more bloggers are liberal than conservative.  Maybe I just haven't found those conservative bloggers. Maybe writing, like acting and other creative pursuits, comes more often to those with more liberal views.  Regardless, here I am in all my conservative glory. 

I wasn't always a conservative...until a few elections ago, I was a registered democrat.  I did what any good Pittsburgher with ties to the steel mills would do-I registered Democrat.  My grandfather worked the mills.  My father worked corporately for the mills.  My grandparents had a lighted shrine to JFK above their bar.  But then I started to pay attention to  politics and began to educate myself.  I realized that I was not, in fact, a Democrat.  For the most part, I was a Republican.

I'm certainly not an extreme conservative. There are things about the Republican party which I do not agree.  I personally feel there are very few people who subscribe to every single thing a party stands for...I think many of us fall somewhere in the middle of the two parties.  Centrists.  But we all have our specific issues that cause us to vote one way or another. 

So, yes, I am supporting the McCain/Palin ticket and proudly doing so.  I respect whichever ticket you support, so long as you are voting something this election.  Please don't get all nasty in the comments section attempting to sway me to your side if you believe something different...it won't work and I certainly won't post anything here thinking I will change your mind.  It's all about playing nice here.  If you don't like a certain post, do what I do: take a deep breath and move onto the next blog you read.  Trust me, I've been doing this for years now of blog reading and it works out just fine.

Oh, and since I am making confessions here, you should also know that I am Roman Catholic because I want to be, not because I was born into it...but that's a post for another day when I am feeling brave again. 

Poop and Get ON the Potty

My dad, in all his eloquence, has an express I am sure  many of you have heard.  When someone was waffling on a decision, we often heard this expression.  Whether we were choosing our dinner at a restaurant or choosing a college, he would, in exasperation, tell us this.

At our house now, though, we've had to change the expression a bit.  Builder Boy is four years old.   He was never ready to potty train.  He would still be in diapers if I had not, three weeks before preschool started, taken off the diapers and said, "Enough is enough.  No more diapers!"  He did well with it and during the day he is potty trained...with only one problem.  The child refuses to poop.  He will not sit on the potty at all.  If we try to get him on there, he freaks out.  Sometimes, when he really has to go, he will hold his cheeks together and pace.  It's maddening to watch and stressful as his parent.  For some reason, he just can't do it.  It will be days in between going and the only way his ends up going is at night, in his pull-up while he is sleeping and relaxed.  I am tired of cleaning up poopy diapers.  He is, after all, four years old!

A few days ago, he was miserable.  His tummy hurt, he was crabby, he said mean things, and he was big time pacing.  Yet, he refused to sit and try.  He ended up watching TV most of the day because it was the only thing that calmed him.  Finally, after he freaked out and said, "I think I'm going to poop my pants" (and still he refused to sit on the potty!!) Remodel Man bribed him with a new toy.  It worked.  He was a changed boy.  Delightful.  Engaging.  Funny.  Kind. 

But now it is two days later...no more poop.  And the crabbiness has returned.  And the pacing.  And the desire to lay around and watch TV all day.  We cannot continue to bribe him to do it or else he'll be headed to college and refusing to poop until he gets a brand new car.  I am at wit's end. 

Anyone have any ideas? Is this normal?  I cannot believe that I am actually blogging about my child's bathroom habits...

Body Language

As a parent, I try to be careful what kind of language I use.  While I have slipped up and used profanity in front of Builder Boy, this is not a common occurrence.  And while I do try not to use that kind of language, he inevitably picks it up and uses it at a later day, and always in the correct way.  But even some words that we use daily in a non-harmful way can come back to haunt us.

This weekend, we packed up the car and shuffled off to Buffalo to visit my sister-in-law and brother-in-law.  They have a beautiful, brand-new  perfectly decorated home, big and colorful.  (Another post to follow on home insecurities...) We had a great time visiting Niagara Falls and spending some quality time with them.

My SIL and BIL have been dealing with infertility for 11 years.  They can get pregnant, but they can't get it to stick.  It was my SIL who told me the mantra that kept me going with fertility treatments when my strength would fail me...we had been visiting them while they were undergoing treatments at their last location.  I remember so vividly being in the bathroom of my BIL's workplace, washing my hands and saying to my SIL, "I just don't think I could do it.  I'm not as strong as you."  And she told me that she, too, had felt that way when her sister had gone through treatments.  She told me that you do what you have to do and that as you go through treatment, you find the strength because of the result you are working towards.  I thought about that as we moved forward in our own treatments, each new step at one time seeming so elusive and difficult, yet always finding the strength I needed. 

My in-laws struggle with their weight...my SIL, in her teen years, was super thin, with a body to die for.  Many years later, many treatment cycles later, my SIL is struggling with her weight. She is a beautiful woman, so I don't really notice it.  Apparently, Builder Boy did.  He called her fat. To her face.  He actually used the word, "fat."  Remodel Man and I thought we would die.  We were mortified!  Their had been some joking around that since Builder Boy loves Uncle BIL so much, that Aunt SIL would go to work for Uncle BIL.  Builder Boy, ever so practical, says that Aunt SIL couldn't fit into Uncle BIL's uniform because "she is fat."  I saw Builder Boy struggling to find the words to say.  That she couldn't fit into his uniform.  It was very simple to him and he was not being mean.  We reprimanded him and have since had subsequent conversations about it.

But we had to reflect on ourselves and why he would say that...we don't use that word to talk about people.  It's offensive to comment on others' bodies, no matter what the size, so we rarely do this.  We asked ourselves why he would use this word.  Then it hit us...we constantly refer to Deconstructor Cat 1 as "big fat kitty."  This cat is huge...18 lbs.  And big-boned to boot.  We call him "big fat kitty" lovingly, but we never realized what we were really saying.  Of course, we have stopped calling DC1 by his "big fat kitty" name and continued talks about not using the word "fat" to describe a person. 

Sweet, little, innocent boy that he is, he also finished our weekend with my SIL and BIL by asking me, in front of them, why "God didn't give them a son."  To hear him say those words, to know their pain, well, it just about dropped me to the ground.  Out of the mouths of babes...and wow, what a weekend!

I'd Like to Thank the Academy...

Mondays are tough...they are especially tough when you get very little sleep.  They are even tougher as you drive to work at 6 am after only 3 or so hours of sleep only to get a call when you are almost at work, telling you that there is a two hour delay.  Sigh...

Ike came our way Sunday into Monday causing lots of wind damage.  I can't help think how lucky we are that the wind was the only issue we faced.  More than 24 hours later and there are still thousands of people without power.  We never lost ours.  Our 250+ year old tree is still standing and didn't crash into the back of the house.  Our 125+ year old windows weathered the storm and our brand new roof held its own.  So, yeah, I could've gotten two more hours of sleep, but who cares when we are all well and so is our house?

And as silly as this makes me sound, I won't lie that when I turned on the television before leaving for work and I saw that many schools had posted delays and closings already (my school is always one of the last to post since our students come from 20 different districts), I looked out the window expecting to see snow...now I know there had been a storm, I know there was wind damage, but after only a few hours of sleep and it being September and all, I was just plain confused. 

But Monday turned around for me when I received this award from Black Belt Mama:

 

Thanks, Black Belt Mama, for this award and for cheering me up on a sleepy Monday!  Here are the rules:

• The winner can put the logo on his/her blog.
• Link the person who awarded you.
• Nominate at least seven other blogs.
• Put links to those blogs on your own blog.
• Leave a message on the blogs you've nominated.

Below are my choices of a smattering of very different blogs that I read:

Bellyaching and Benedictions

Are We There Yet?

Topsy-Techie

A Day in the Life

Sweet City Woman

What Moves You?

I'm so intrigued by the blog world even after years of reading and now more than half a  year writing.  The way people express themselves so openly is so refreshing.  It's wonderful to see people of all job descriptions writing-just writing.  This warms an English teacher's heart.

But something that has always confused me is commenting.  I will write a post that I think will prompt comments and...nothing.  Other times, I'll put something up just to keep the blog active and tons of people will comment.  (0kay, okay, not tons, but in my little blog world, it feels like tons!) 

So, what makes you comment?  What impacts whether or not you do comment? 

Extinction Theory According to Builder Boy

"Mama," says Builder Boy, "Do you know how all the dinosaurs got etinked?  A big plane crashed into the earth and then all the dinosaurs got dead."

And this, my friends, is how scientific theories are born...

Three Hours

Three hours isn't a lot of time, but when you have a child, three hours can be an eternity.  Waiting three hours for a fever to break...waiting three hours until Dada comes home...waiting three hours for the bee sting to feel better.  Three hours can feel long.

For me, three hours of uninterrupted time is priceless, and while it goes by very fast, it still rejuvenates me.  Builder Boy is now in a three day, three hour preschool program.  It's in the afternoon, so we have lots of time in the morning to wake up, play, and get ready for school without being rushed.  I feel like I put in some good Mommy time and then sending him to school doesn't feel so bad.  (Not that it's bad, but I love my little guy and miss him!!)  When gets home from school, he takes a rest (read: watches the "cleaning product which is neither triangular nor purple:) and then we get to play some more.  It all works out.

Today, three hours is feeling like a long time and a successful time.  I never get more than 15 minutes to do housework, paid work, or have some personal time.  To have these three hours all in a row feels so darn good!  It reminds me why I felt so much better as a mother when Builder Boy napped.  I knew in the morning that there would be a break which made me more energetic and creative.  Knowing that break is coming allows you to not have to conserve energy.  Then, during the nap, I would get needed time to usually do my paid workand occasionally get some housework done.  When Builder Boy would get up, I would be refreshed from having a bit of my own identity back and feeling like I accomplished something.  It was just better.

Today, I did some paid work, got three loads of laundry done, ran the dishwasher, cleaned the litter boxes, cleaned the downstairs bathroom, and wrote this post.  Yeehaw! 

So, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Friday, it will be like the good old days...three hours to energize myself.  It makes me a better mother and I know his break from me helps to grow as an individual, too.  Three hours!

What a Difference a Year Makes!

Today, Builder Boy started his second year of preschool.  He was excited momentarily to start school again and I was so relieved.  He put up a good fight on the outfit we put him in (dude, you can in fact play in things other than tees and shorts!!!  Who knew boys were like this, too?!), but he did end up wearing it.  He told me on the way to school that he would not be playing with his BFF today.  When I asked why, he gave me the look (Duh, mom!) and told me, "Because I'm wearing these clothes."  Sigh...

We headed off to school and he seemed excited.  He has a new teacher this year, an issue that I was not pleased about-not because I think this is a bad thing, but because we were lied to by the preschool director and we all spent the summer preparing our children for the same teacher, classroom, etc.-and a new, much smaller, classroom, with 5 more kids.  Builder Boy is not one for chaos and noise, so this is tough for him.  We talked as we walked about what they might do today.  He had lots of suggestions and it made me want to go back to preschool, too!

We arrived to the chaos and went into the classroom.  He was fine.  He found his cubby.  He hung up his bag.  Got out his name tag.  And then I asked him for a hug and kiss.  Woooweee!  He went from fine to totally ticked off.  He "allowed" me to hug him, but refused to kiss me or do the "kissing hand."  He walked over to the carpet where they sit at the beginning and looked miserable.  In fact, all the kids looked kind of miserable. 

Still, I reflected on last year at this time...I barely made it out of the room before I broke down.  He had the greatest preschool teacher ever last year-truly a guardian angel-and yet I still felt like I was abandoning him.  He was withdrawn and sad the whole time.  The second and third weeks of school, he sobbed every day, most of the class.  He had begun to realize that this wasn't a temporary arrangement.  And it was heartbreaking.  I know they have to learn these things eventually, but it doesn't make it easier to go through.  My chest physically ached and I walked around our house like a zombie...Of course, he became used to it and started looking forward to going to school.  It was a good year and he learned so much from his wonderful teachers.

When I picked him up today, he was miserable.  And very dirty.  Oh so dirty, which was to me a good sign.  He is very crabby now and a bit aggressive, but I know this is him working through the overwhelming feeling of starting school again with a new teacher, a new classroom, new students, and having to be away from me for a few hours again.  We will both get used to it again.  I'm just so glad it wasn't like last year.  And if just sending them to preschool hurts like this, I don't want to think about sending him off to college.