Category: general

O how the coming of our new son Cohen has brought about much:  The name of my father and his father will now survive another generation (presumably); our house has completed its metamorphosis from post-college pad to full family domicile; we get another break on taxes; things of this nature.  One Cohen-induced change that makes a good writing topic: the great vehicle exchange.  Mmm-hmmm, I’ve been handed-down Sharaun’s Saturn while she’s upgraded to the new Acadia.

I knew this was coming; I mean it’s the reason we bought a vehicle as big as the Acadia to begin with (all good American consumers know the rule of doubling, which dictates that a family of four needs a car which can comfortably seat eight and that if you want three pancakes you should order six, among other things).  I’ve written bits here and bits there about my sadness at being bumped from the Acadia, with all its modern conveniences, and the tiny things about the Saturn that turned me off.  But I’m here to say that I’ve embraced my new primary vehicle, and am, in fact, quite happy with our new arrangements (remember that post where I picked on just what it means to have something “grow on you?,” it was in the context of music & beer… but still).  OK so I did a little work to the car to get it more firmly into my good graces…

• I had the cracked windshield replaced.
• I ordered and installed a new stereo.  One with built-in Bluetooth for both wireless stereo music and phone, and USB and AUX-in on the front, and all sorts of other bells and whistles.
• I fixed the busted running light and left blinker.
• I replaced the missing interior panel down by the gas pedal; it’d been in the trunk for years.
• I cleaned the thing of all Sharaun’s detritus and took the car in for a white-glove interior detailing.
• I dropped her off for an overall 90k service and tuneup, just to be sure.

Oh boy guys… not only did all this get the vehicle in tip-top shape and make it a lot more appealing to me (OK so all I really cared about was getting my music on the speakers over Bluetooth), it also saw Sharaun (not entirely surprisingly) asking “why?”  Why did I soup up the car and get all the broken stuff fixed only when it became my car?  Yeah… good question.  Sure she’s been asking me to replace that burned-out blinker for about three years now (I’m not exaggerating) and sure that interior panel took all of ten seconds to re-attach… I won’t deny those things…

Uh-oh blog, I don’t really see a way out of this one…

At least I’m still the bigger man for diving into my newly downsized wheels with relish?  No?  Still the heel who only fixed his wife’s car when it became his car?  OK then.

Goodnight.

Tuesday and no Cohen yet.  Only two more days before the “official” due-date, but who’s counting?

I spent the better part of each day of the three-day weekend working on fabricating a closet (where there was no closet) in what will be Cohen’s nursery.  It was a long project, and at the outset it fought me every step of the way, descending into the familiar comedy of errors that belies most all my attempts at carpentry or home-improvement.  But with only minor cussing and swearing I worked through the kinks and managed to get the thing “done.”  “Done” in this sense means the hard part is done, but that the project as a whole is still incomplete – I’m just going through the do-something-then-wait phases of mudding the new wall, sanding, priming, texturing, and painting and each step has some “OK now let it dry” period before you can move to the next step.

Looking at the results, I do feel a sense of pride in my work and I’m happy I save the $400-$600 someone would’ve charged to do it (based on Craigslist estimates), but honestly in the end I’d have rather paid that $400-$600 than burned ~30 hours of my holiday weekend with my arms over my head.  Looking at it in that light $400-$600 seems a pittance for the time it would’ve saved me.  Time I could have used to clean the house for Cohen’s pending arrival as opposed to the messing it up more I actually did.  Heck, even if I value an hour of my time with family at a measly $25, $400-$600 for 30+ hours of work is a steal.  In fact, $25/hour might be a good “measuring stick” figure to use in the future when considering these “DIY or pay” kind of tasks.  If I can answer “yes” to the question “Would I pay $25/hr to not be doing task-x?,” then I hire someone.

Yup; this project has simply helped me rationalize my laziness as a lot less lazy a a lot more prudent use of time and energy.

Until later.

Oh boy y’all.  Feels like an age has passed since my Sunday night entry.

Soon after we’d gotten Keaton down after her bout with a sour stomach, my tummy started signalling distress.  After a couple hours it was in absolute knots, and midway through the night I joined Keaton in bowing before the toilet.  The sickness came quick and strong and that Sunday night seemed to stretch on forever and ever between consoling Keaton through her vomiting and coping with my own.  I felt like I got zero sleep and that the sun would never rise.  Luckily, Sharaun seemed OK throughout the night.  Unluckily, that only lasted until mid-morning Monday.  With Keaton already acting a fair bit better, I was completely out of it due to lack of sleep and dehydration.  And before noon Sharaun started complaining about “knots” in her stomach.  Later in the day she’d round out the bug’s trifecta.  With Cohen only seven days away, I was especially concerned about keeping her comfortable and hydrated.  But, by Tuesday evening as I write, we’re all steadily on the mend.

When we bought this house the room that is now slowly being converted to Cohen’s nursery was a “den option.”  This means it’s a room, but instead of a wall has a set of French doors leading into the living room and the niche where a closet would be is just a niche.   We swooped in after another buyer’s deal had fallen through all those years ago, and they’d already made that interior choice – the room had been framed that way and there was no changing it.  We didn’t mind; in fact we liked the openness that the French doors allowed.  We’re even keeping those doors as we transition the space into Cohen’s room – figuring he won’t mind much.  We do, however, need that “niche” turned into a proper closet.  And after two months of calling Craigslist flakes to try and get someone to come do it for me, setting up missed appointment after missed appointment with prison-tatted “contractors,” I’ve decided I’m just going to do the dang thing myself.  Can’t be that hard: build a box out of 2x4s, hang that box, put drywall on the box, tape, texture, paint and hang a door.  Done.  Right?

So anyway I’m going to build a closet this weekend.  Unless, that is, I have a son instead.

Goodnight.

Today I worked late.

When I got home Sharaun and Keaton weren’t there, having gone to a birthday party for one of Keaton’s friends.  I was alone.  I knew I would be, she’d called me earlier in the day to let me know.  In fact, I’d had it all planned.

First, I’d work a little late since there was nothing to go home to.  Next I’d sit down and watch the rest of The Haunting in Connecticut, a movie we’d recorded earlier in the week and only got halfway through.  While watching the movie I’d eat cold leftovers from the local Mexican joint, right out of the styrofoam boxes.  After that I’d eat the last few spoonfuls of cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream, right out of the container.  It was actually a nice hour or so of downtime.

And, right after the movie ended I was sitting on the couch reaching for my laptop.  In the background the credits from …Haunting rolled, scored by some super-creepy atmospheric music.  The house being quiet otherwise, I will admit I was a little on-edge.  Suddenly the doorbell rang out loudly, ring-ring-ringring!!  I didn’t quite jump, but I was startled.  Even more so when I went to the peephole and saw no one there.  I opened the door and stepped outside, expecting maybe to find a package or advertisement hung on the handle – but there was nothing.  I ranged a bit farther down the walk, still nothing.  I poked ahead a little more, to where I could see the driveway.  Finally I see Sharaun chatting with our neighbors, Keaton and her friend running around playing.

Whew.  Not ghosts.

Goodnight.

Yesterday was Keaton’s dress rehearsal for the ballet recital.  Full costume, dress and makeup, on-stage in the big auditorium.

Dad cried.

Saturday, while Sharaun was at a baby shower thrown in her honor (or is it Cohen’s honor?) by her girlfriends at church, I was at a funeral.  The contrast of our morning calendars was not lost on me.

Sharaun’s sister and her husband are in town this week, so writing has been slim.  Today was Doug, my brother-in-law’s, birthday.  I took the day off work (after a few unavoidable morning meetings).  We tried to make for the mountains, had designs on a picnic by the river at a little washout swimming spot we know.  Got up, got ready, packed up the car, packed in the people, and made the 40min trek up the hill.  After paying our $8 “day use” fee we drove down to the river.

Once there we found it completely swollen and rushing with fresh snowmelt; the little beach where we’d planned to sun and play and stage our afternoon was swallowed up by the water.  Dejected, we made the call to turn right back around and make the 40min drive in reverse (after getting our $8 back, however).  We ended up at a local lake, which worked just fine to scratch our hot dog grilling, swimming and sunning itch.  Stayed there for a few hours and packed it in.

Once we got home we all crashed for naps, drained of energy by the sunshine.  While napping, the cat was curled up near my feet.  This got me thinking: Some people take their cats to the vet.  We’ve had this cat now for thirteen years and we’ve never once taken her to the vet.  I figure, as long as she’s eating, drinking, doesn’t have fleas, and hitting the littler box – she’s fine.  A couple years ago her fur started thinning around her haunches, and I guess maybe a normal person or an animal nut would’ve seen this as cause for a trip to the animal doctor.  But she didn’t seem to miss the hair, and she is thirteen years old, after all.  Anyway I like my cats self-sufficient.  As it is I’m planning to be done with pets after this one’s gone to cat-afterlife; so the longer she takes care of herself the better.

Goodnight.