Actually

“Actually, I want to sleep in my bed,” says the 3 year old, after I’ve set up the “foldo” on the floor of her bedroom with pillow and blanket to exacting specifications regarding angle and location. 

“Actually, I don’t want my blanket on me,” she says, after re-settling her onto her bed, with pillow and blanket, and following specific instructions on blanket flatness and distance below chin.

“Actually, I do want my blanket on me,” she declares, after several minutes of fussing with said blanket to try to make herself into a taco. 

“Actually, I want to sleep on the foldo.”

Trying not to yell, I inform her that as long as she stays in her room and has a nap, I do not particularly care where or how she chooses to place her body, but that I am done participating and will be leaving now before I feel the urge to break something. 

"Actually, I no longer feel thirsty, thanks."

***

“Actually, I’m not sure we made the right choices. I think we should go back and cancel the whole thing,” he says. 

We are currently driving home after spending 4 hours in IKEA spanning the 2 year’s old nap time ordering a kitchen that took weeks of planning, while living in and cooking out of a trailer in the yard. 

I am grateful to be driving. I keep the pedal pressed to the floor. 

***

“Actually, I don’t want oatmeal. I want rice crispies,” she says, as I present her with the bowl of oatmeal I just prepared at her request.

“Actually, I wanted the milk on the side,” she says, three milliseconds after I pour the milk into the bowl to commence the snap-crackling. 

How convenient, I think. Now I won’t forget to make myself breakfast, I just get to eat two small bowls of rejected food and I’ll be good to go. 

Day 1: Hey mom, this is awesome! You can just lick salt directly off the ground!
Day 2: Actually....[intestinal mutiny]

***

“Actually, I think the electricity bill must be so high because you are always washing clothes, and doing the dishes. We should try washing the dishes by hand for a month and seeing how that changes the bill,” he says. “And also, just don’t do so much laundry.” 

I try, and fail, not to have an aneurism.

***

I break down and spend $100 on a replacement electronic control board for the dishwasher. 

Dishwasher, on 1st run: "Sweet! I'm all set now, thanks!"

Dishwasher, on 2nd run: "Actually, no. I'm going to give you the same problem as before, but thanks for trying!"

Should you renovate a house?

We've now been renovating our house for more than a year. At least it is now functional, and we are living inside of it instead of in a trailer in the yard. We have two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a bathroom that all work. The living room and dining room are also more or less functional, though they are also used to store construction materials so aren't all that welcoming. We have no heat, and there are so many holes in the walls and subfloor that cold wind and spiders rush in when they like. But, we have new windows and the outside of the house has just recently been finished so we can make it through the rainy season without the inside being destroyed. 

Before we bought the "house" (maybe a better term would be "roof" or "skeleton of a shelter"), lots of people warned us that we didn't know what we were getting in to. But we thought: we can finally afford to buy a place in a nice neighborhood, and by putting in sweat equity, we'll be sitting pretty in no time. How hard can it be?

All surfaces will become coated in to-do lists and receipts

Are you also considering buying a fixer upper? Do you envision yourself renovating the house with your own two hands? Before you go ahead, consider these questions:

1. Are you a contractor, or do you desire to become one? Do you even know what a contractor is?

2. Do you have a burning desire to spend most of your time and money at Home Depot? 

3. Are you afraid of power tools?

4. How do you feel about going shopping for supplies wearing your pajamas, tattered rags completely covered in paint, and/or with a healthy sprinkling of drywall dust in your hair?

5. Do you have a small child? Is that child technically trained in power tool use yet?

6. Do you prefer to spend your weekends relaxing at the beach, or shoveling raccoon nests out from the crawl space before tiling the shower?

7. Are you good at making decisions? For example, do you confidently order food at a restaurant, shop for clothing, and book your vacation flights without constantly changing your mind and second-guessing your decision? Or do you waver until the last moment, at which point you ask someone else to decide for you, and then immediately veto whatever option they chose? 

8. Do you have enough savings to spend 1.5 times what you predict on your renovations? 

9. Do you have enough funds to throw in the towel and hire a contractor?

10. Are you afraid of heights?

I credit my time at Circus WOW in Wollongong for (thankfully!) alleviating my fear of heights

11. Do you have a day job?

12. After a typical day working at said day job, do you typically feel like drywalling a ceiling, or watching football and drinking beer?

13. Are you considering entering into this fixer-upper purchase with another human being who is not your clone? Do they sometimes have opinions that differ from your own?

14. Do you have lots of handy family members who are willing to spend their hard-earned time and money helping you fix your house?

No matter what you answer to any of these questions, let me sum it up for you: run away now. As fun and romantic as it sounds to buy a house and renovate it just to your liking, it's too much! There are too many inane and also difficult choices (square or rounded corners on the electrical plates? what color for the stucco, which will last 30 freaking years?), it is too expensive, and it takes too long. And, life is just too short.

Though, it's pretty satisfying when things go from (left) to (above)

Responsible construction practices

I’ve taken an extended break here lately to focus all spare moments (when I’m not engrossed in childcare) on work and house renovations. But now summer is here, classes are over and I can perhaps breathe and blog a little before starting a new full-time job in the fall.

Today’s post is comprised of imagined conversations between the former owners of our house. It was (apparently, based on dates from newspapers we’ve found – there are no official records we can find) built in the late 1940s, then added onto and remodeled sometime in the 1980s and again in the 1990s, we think. We’re going through and updating and repairing again.  

In the 1940s Encinitas was mostly rural, and our house was probably a small 1-bedroom bungalow on several acres of farmland. Now the land has been subdivided into housing and some remnant greenhouses from the farming era are in the process of being converted to housing as well – darned good schools and lovely Pacific Ocean!

Why yes, apparently rain made the news in the 1940s, too. And people also used kid leashes (or a "walking harness," here)

Cast of characters

1940s – 1950s

Merl – 1^st homeowner

Ethel – 1^st homeowner

Hank – Merl’s buddy

1960s – mid 1980s

Bob – 2^nd homeowner

May – 2^nd homeowner

Sally – daughter

late 1980s - 2013

Doug – 3^rd homeowner

various cats

Scene 1: The original bungalow

Hank: [helping lay hardwood flooring] “Well, Merl, looks like we’re outta building paper.”

Merl: “Dang. Ethel already went to town in the car. Lemme go see what I can wrangle up from the kitchen.” [comes back with stacks of newspapers]

Hank: “Oh sure, those should work for the underlayment. Farmer’s almanac? You got the latest edition? Some pretty good feed deals advertised in there.”

Merl: “Hey Ethel, I had a few leftover slats of wood from tearing down the outhouse that I couldn’t fit in the dump load. So I just threw ‘em out in the front yard. Perhaps you could plant some nice succulents over the top?”

Ethel: “Sure, Merl. How thrifty of you!”

Merl: “Just be wary of the nails, I didn’t bother taking them out.”

Ethel: “Oh, you scoundrel! Well, I’m sure they’ll just rot into the ground after a nice light rain.”

Scene 2: The first remodel

Bob: “Hey look, May – a pile of construction debris is hiding under these succulents! That’s convenient. I’ll just add our leftover concrete from the demolition.”

May: “Great idea, Bob! That would be pricey to take to the dump. I’m sure it’ll just break up and become part of the soil in no time!”

Sally: [having her infant hand and foot smooshed into wet concrete] “huh? wahhhh!”

May: “My gracious, Bob, that is just the cutest remembrance. Don’t forget to scratch in the date. And let’s write our last name over there.”

Bob: “That really completes the walkway. I love how you thought of cementing the beach cobbles into the sides of the entry pad, too.”

May: “And so convenient how the walkway and pad just run straight down the front yard hill and into the door!”

Sally: [thinking] Gee, I wish I could talk and alert them that rain water will also run straight down the hill and into the front door like that. Alas!

In the 1940s, people hosted dinner parties and kids blew out birthday candles! Woah!

Scene 3: The third remodel

Doug: “You know, Scruffy? Cat doors are for sissies. I’m just going to cut a hole in the wall here between this exterior storage closet and the rest of the house, and then take off some of the screening on the outside, and you can go in and out as you please!”

Racoons/possums/etc.: [some time later] It was so nice of Doug to provide direct access to the crawl space under the house, storage area, and even the kitchen when everyone is sleeping! And just look at all this comfy insulation material beneath the floors we can use for bedding. Let’s all move in, kids!

Doug: “Watch out, Rascal! I’m just going to throw this mirror down from the second floor into that dirt pile, better move!”

Rascal: “Meow.”

Doug: “Ya know, it’ll be easier to just throw all of the construction debris off the roof into the dirt in hindsight. Bagging it up and lugging down the stairs is so exhausting. Look out! Here come some broken tiles and nails!”

Doug: “I’ve been thinking, Rascal. What if I feel like welding upstairs as well as downstairs? I might as well run some more 100-amp wiring up to the utility room while I’m at it, just in case!”

Rascal: You’re building an airplane in the living room; what on earth will you build upstairs?! Well, at least it will probably be fun to climb on.

Doug: “Hey  Pumpkin, could you use another broken surfboard for your scratching post? This one seems a bit shot. I’ll just grab one from under the house.”

Pumpkin: “Meow.”

Doug: “Here you go, little guy. I just stuck the old one back under there, too, in case it comes in handy. I did also happen to catch a glimpse of what I think may have been poor Rascal’s remains, too. I always wondered what happened to him. Oh well!”

Doug: “It sure would be terrible to get the house fumigated for termites. They have taken quite a liking to the wood siding, but I just can’t bear to think about those horrible chemicals killing all of our arthropod friends, and what about all of the mice and rats that have taken up residence in the walls? We don’t want to put them out, right Pumpkin?”

Pumpkin: “Meow.”

Doug: “I sure hope one day you learn to chase after them, though – that would seem fair. In the meantime I’ll just let them continue to eat the electrical system and nest in the insulation.”

So, what is the advice I can offer from these made-up reflections? Don't consider the future owners of your house when you do strange things like install a partially-finished low-voltage wiring system that no one else can work with. It's more fun to just let them redo everything again! Yeehaw!

Early version of Skymall?

Rethinking feminism (in particular situations)

Please excuse the long period of silence on the blog. We’ve been in a mild period of upheaval over here. The husband had an unexpected stay at the hospital a few weeks back, we bought our first house, and I started a new job teaching part-time at the University of San Diego. I might have a few moments to breathe here and there, had we bought a normal home, with things like a kitchen, or a functional shower. Instead, we’ve been mostly living in a camper trailer kindly donated and hand-delivered by my dad to our new backyard (a swath of dirt and construction debris), while we spend essentially every spare moment tackling the most pressing house-functionality issues.

This photo is a good representation of the house - Ok, there is a mailbox, but it is about to tip over. And yes, there's a bit of a fence, though it is only about 6 feet long and could probably be pushed over by a gust of wind.

Some of these tasks have caused me to seriously question why I ever voiced out loud my feeling that women and men should be able to do essentially the same things. For example, here is a sampling of the not-hugely-pleasant items I have done recently, that may once have belonged solely in the realm of strapping, lumberjack-style men:

1. After emptying and pulling out clogs in the Shopvac six times, I realized it was time to clean the bucketfuls of matted fiberglass insulation + raccoon poop out of the outdoor storage room with a shovel. Apparently the raccoon previously living in there had discovered the insulation made a fine nest.

2. Removed several desiccated carcasses (possum, and probably raccoon) from underneath the house with the help of a crowbar.

3. Sprayed with bleach solution and then wiped up by (gloved) hand an entire bucketful of rodent poop throughout the house.

My recent attire of choice.

4. Dug up a cubic yard of contaminated soil from the backyard where someone had tried (illegally and disgustingly) to dispose of motor oil by pouring it into the ground and kicking dirt over it.

5. Fought with our sewer line for 2 days:

(a) Removed the toilet and tried to clear the stopped sewer drain using a hand-driven auger (snake) for two hours. I learned to stand far back from the open, sloshing sewer line when removing and cleaning the end of the snake after the first time it sproinged out and splattered everything in the vicinity.

(b) Obtained sulfuric acid and tried, unsuccessfully again, to clear the drain by dissolving the clog with noxious chemicals.

(c) Called our neighbor the plumber, whose motorized equipment solved the problem in 20 minutes.

(d) Replaced the toilet, crooked.

(e) Removed the toilet again, bought a new wax ring, and replaced it once more.

(f) Decided that next time I will skip all of those steps except (c).

6. Spent 2 hours unsuccessfully installing a laundry sink in our kitchen and swearing like a sailor before the husband pointed out I had the p-trap on backwards.

So, what have I learned aside from the fact that mice running past my feet will indeed cause me to squeal loudly and leap into the air like a cartoon character?

1. Gloves are under-rated.

2. People who clean things for a living are saints.

3. Renovating is a great workout.

4. Cleaning and construction work will destroy your clothing.

5. Walking around a construction site in bare feet is idiotic.

Maybe I should have insisted that my sex bars me from participating in any of the above activities, and instead should be supervising while eating chocolate bon-bons? I guess that would probably get boring after a while. And, I wouldn't get to take all the credit for this kind of amazing transformation:

"Shower" before

"Shower" after (other wall). Still no faucet, etc. but at least we have tile!

How to construct stuff like a champ

--> 1. Never use the right tools. This will lend a much larger sense of accomplishment when the task is completed. For instance, use the file bit on your nail clippers to shape a penny into a slot-head screwdriver, rather than going out and buying an actual screwdriver. Sure, you won’t get as much leverage and it will take much longer, but then you can stick your penny-screwdriver in your wallet and be ready for anything.

2. Never measure anything. This will allow your creations to have their own unique character. Who wants a perfectly square bookcase? That’s boring!

3. Use whatever you have around the house, along with the cheapest accoutrement you can find, to accomplish your task. For instance, I could have purchased a plastic mobile hanger that clamps onto my baby’s crib for $10 online. Instead, I spent $4.90 at the hardware store to buy plastic clamps and metal 90-degree angle thingies. Then I took apart the broken clothes-drying rack sitting in my laundry room and built something way more home-made!

4. Use ribbons or other embellishments to hide bits that look ugly, or that are not structurally sound. Please see disclaimer below.

5. After you have put together your masterpiece, leave the room quickly. If you don’t hear any crashing noises for some time, you may indeed be able to use your item! Be sure to give it at least a day, if not longer, before actual use. My mobile example was up a month ahead of my due date. Since it didn’t collapse before then, I assume it won’t fall on the baby.

Disclaimer: following these tips might lead you to create items that may collapse. Please don’t build anything requiring actual stability (like a shelf to hold your grandmother’s ashes in a breakable urn), and don’t place these items in a place where they may hurt someone if they fall apart (like above your couch).