Born on a Saturday: It's Baby Time!

One thing about our life is that it's a huge rollercoaster ride, and during the summer of 2011 we flew through the peaks, turns, and valleys of trying to adopt through the Dept. of Human Services (DHS).

The outcome of that wild ride left us injured and wounded with a distrust toward DHS and the entire process.

After everything we'd gone through, we elected to allow our certification to expire and our hearts to heal a bit. We held suppressed hope for a little one in the future, but we didn't know how it would come about. Until one day...

I was asked if we'd consider working with DHS with the foster care placement (hopefully adopt) of a brand new baby girl. A bit stunned, I said "most likely, yes" but I still hadn't asked Cheryl. As any married guy knows, you don't commit to small decisions, let alone life changing decisions, without the wife fully engaged.

When Cheryl finished teaching her Zumba classes, I presented the question to her by phone. The resulting silence apparently was her jaw falling to the floor. After Cheryl picked her jaw off the floor from the shock, we agreed to patiently pursue the possibility of parenting through the DHS system again.

The baby's sister is being adopted by longtime friends of the family, who contacted us (through my sister) about the newest little bundle of happiness and poo. Of course, the hope and prayer is that we will be positioned to adopt her when the time is right.

We met the baby for the first time when she was just three days old. We held her, fed her, and adored her... then she pooped, just for Cheryl. Ahhh, the wonderful sound of instant diaper loading! Cheryl didn't miss the opportunity to take care of the little mess, beginning years and years of dookie duty (hopefully).

Before little baby cakes can stay with us, our certification through DHS needed to be renewed. After all the work we did to get ready for the holiday party's, we were pretty comfortable that any death traps have been successfully resolved. As far as I know, all of the guests from the party's survived... As far as I know.

More to come... A lifetime, really!

Six Week Face Lift

We ran the race. We fought the good fight. We came, we saw, we kicked some butt! The goal: Host Thanksgiving... with painted walls, and an actual floor to walk on without stepping on nails!

The first six weeks in our new home we pushed ourselves hard. Working past 10:00pm almost every night, with only a few exceptions. Thanksgiving came and went with turkey, stuffing, pie, and drink, all presented in their beautiful glory. The drink, "Apple Pie" proved to be a big hit for all, and if our friend will divulge the mystery of the marvelous homemade libation, I will post it in a future blog. 21 and older only, please.

A brief summary of the first six weeks:

In the beginning, when the popcorn ceilings came down, we said "it is good" (and sloppy wet).

When the wallpaper came down in layers and layers, Cheryl said "What the heck!? Wallpaper is EVIL!"

When the ceilings and walls were slap textured, displaying their glorious chaotic patterns, I finally lowered my stick and brush saying, "Wow, that was a lot of work! I could really use a massage..."

My wife's hidden talents emerged with razor precision painting along extensive lengths of delicate edging. No tape to guide her surgical precision hands. Bold colors quickly transformed the place from simply a house to a warm and inviting home.

At the entry, she created an accent wall of the highest gloss paint I've seen yet! The gorgeous black appears wet even weeks later. If a wall could be deemed 'sexy', this would be it. I have this odd desire to bump some unsuspecting soul against it (exclaiming the fresh wetness), just for the fun of it. Some may disapprove of my mischief, but that's a risk I'm willing to take...

The floor installation consumed my non-working hours for nearly a week straight. The cutting, the nailing, the kneeling, and more, brought on aches and pains and bruises and cuts, but in the end all my fingers were intact, and my joints and muscles recovered rather quickly. Maybe I'm not terribly out of shape after all!

The next event at the house is our annual tree trimming party, where most participants (who don't know each other), gather to eat, drink, and decorate our tree. Chaos is cool...

The race to the tree trimming party begins another stretch of late night projects, along with preparing the house for the bitter cold weather on the horizon.

Unfortunately, our schedule has already been delayed due to brake issues with my Jeep. Stay tuned...

Slapping the Ceilings

My last entry ended with the kitchen remodel phase one, with the promise of the popcorn ceiling coming to an end.

Following the guidance of many advisers such as Google, the DIY Network, YouTube, and an assortment of local friends willing to give quality insight, the popcorn ceiling did not stand a chance against my assault. The moistened ceiling came down like cooked oatmeal that sat out just a little too long.

One long day brought the ceiling down in a sloppy mess, dancing the furniture from room to room as I scraped the sheet rock clean. Over the next few days I rolled on the texture and then proceeded to slap the ceiling.

Yes, I slapped the ceiling alright! I slapped it good, too. The texture pattern we chose included a fanned out horse brush, which when slapped hard against the fresh texture, left a nice imprint of the bristles. Of course, one slap isn't good enough, so the brush is rotated in the air and slapped again... and again... and again. It's an entertaining exercise for about 23 seconds, then it becomes work and the thrill is gone.

The ceiling texture, primer, and paint is finally complete and I must say my shoulders and neck are feeling the pain. I'm sure I added another half inch to my collar size, making me buff from the shoulders up, which looks fine as long as I'm wearing a shirt.

Earlier this week, my wife found an older gentleman standing on the sidewalk looking at our house. Bold and courageous, she marched outside with phone in hand and questioned the attention he gave to our house.

Turns out, he built the place in 1977, and currently lives in the house down the hill directly behind us! His fondness for this house showed by his immediate recollection of the use of oak throughout the house, the large stone fireplace, and the popcorn ceilings (which he apologized for).

As only my wife could do, she turned a 'stranger-danger' situation into a friendly encounter AND an invitation to a local fly fishing club for me.

I would like to think we are getting close to end of the late night painting parties, and DIY adventures, but realistically it's nowhere on the horizon. Next step: engineered hardwood floors. My back hurts just thinking about it!

Crash'n to Smash'n (kitchen, phase 1)

After hours and hours of designing and redesigning and re-redesigning the kitchen, I FINALLY pulled out my sledge hammer and violently removed the counters and cabinets! I felt such amazing buzz of energy blended together in a swarm of testosterone driven power and emotional relief to finally close the door on all the considerations and plans, landing on a single vision shared with my wife. Of course, everything is open for reconsideration until the hammer starts swinging and the wood starts flying.

Ah, the lovely art of demolition... Anarchy feeding my cerebral core in a focused frenzy with one thought to guide me: JOHN SMASH!!!!

The delicious dismantling sadly lasted only a few minutes, but the satisfaction lasted for hours. Mmmm....

In my quest to remove unwanted, undesirable artifacts from the mid 70's, I eagerly approached the chandelier hanging in all it's flowery glory. Killing the power, cutting the wires, and releasing the ceiling mounts all fit into the standard dismantling procedure to pull the thing down... But as I eased the vintage piece down, it gave a loud ZIP! sound and dropped violently to my feet, erupting into hundreds of glass and porcelain shards later to be found in some very obscure places around the kitchen.

One bit of fortune came when a majority of the lamp collected itself upon descent into a kitchen cabinet drawer that happened to be directly beneath the fixture in the crash zone. My wife felt no remorse at the loss, but rather praised the fact it died a horribly violent death.

Great effort went into cutting cabinets apart to reassemble them to match. I call them FrankenCabinets, and they look great for a guy who passed wood shop with a D-, and a basic box project that leaned heavily to the left. I also need to point out that my wife has a natural skill in the area, which saved the day several times.

When it came time to rebuild the kitchen, we purchased counters online through Lowes.com, and I happily made my way to retrieve them from the local store. Pretty impressive use of technology with a 20 minute promise to have the order ready.

Typically, I feel the human element is something that shouldn't be lost in this digital-heavy world, but in this scenario I feel the human element would've been best left out. The sales associate lady told me that my approach would make my kitchen "look like it was done by a grade schooler... "

Ack! Really??? Unbelievable...

The associate went on to treat me like a severe inconvenience... and worse. Did she have a bad morning? Did she simply hate the online order demanding to be filled in 20 minutes? Did she hate men? I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt...

Until she brought her attitude into full display when talking with several other associates at the front checkout.

"I basically had to do his project for him." She scoffed. "Thought he could order online as if he knew what he was doing."

I returned the following day to have a discussion with the manager... outside. The fact I asked the guy to step outside made him turn white, wearing body language that betrayed his expectation of the worst. I suppose I could've used a tone other than my Darth Vader voice, but I had a point to make. I calmly asserted my disapproval of the other sales associate, and after my brief monologue he relaxed and openly agreed with my statement: "The store has a virus that needs to be addressed sooner than later." I trust my Jedi mind tricks worked... The kitchen looks great... For now. The new range will be accompanied by a matching built-in microwave and new floors, but before that comes to pass, the popcorn ceiling must GO AWAY!

Furlough and Floors

Sunny skies of the last couple days brought forth finalized plans for the kitchen with the help of the amazing lady mentioned in my Kick Start blog posting. This monumental occasion marks the last cry of my heart: “Can’t we just do SOMETHING!?”

The Neanderthal inside demanded to start cutting cabinets, beating countertops apart, ripping carpet up, and in the words of The Hulk “Smash!” something.

Now that the designs are complete, and they are balanced between cost, quality, and the amount of anguish needed to accomplish the tasks has been found, I find the inner beast ready to take over… carefully, of course!

The first big purchase came last night with the selection of beautiful engineered hardwood flooring through LumberLiquidators.com. The sale, plus my wife’s amazing gift of finding a way to get 2% cash back (without applying for a credit card) made the purchase very tasty indeed!
 
Mayflower Bund Birch emerged as the chosen floor after touring hundreds of styles, colors, and textures. Exhausting, really.

One question she asked: “Have you installed engineered hardwood before?”

“Uh… nope!” I cheerfully replied. “But… I know Google, YouTube, and the DIY network to help along the way!” (I know how to speak her love language!)
 
So, this fantastic furlough Friday is spent preparing for the first step in transforming this 1977 vintage house into a gorgeous home we’ll love for years to come.

Kick start

Today I kick start my blog with ongoing updates of our new home, and other things stretching the loose strings of sanity that keep me grounded to reality...
After just over a week in our new home, we finally decided on the initial efforts to begin the remodeling of the vintage 1977 style home. We toiled to near exhaustion through the options, and even enlisted the guidance and advice from an amazing lady who has been down this road before. Our focus of frustration is centered on the kitchen, with the shallow, golden brown cabinets, brown counters, and yellow bulbous light that appears to be an unnatural growth than anything ornamental.
The adjoining breakfast area has a vintage chandelier that needs to be replaced before my wife takes it down with a single swing of our Louisville Slugger.
I've given myself seven days to replace the counter tops, cut and move a cabinet, replace the faucet, and yes... change the chandelier while it remains whole.
All that in addition to the other repairs not listed, but certainly need to be done. Like this weekend's gutter cleaning exercise that turned into an emergency repair to a storm drain that was damaged by underground TV cable installed years ago, apparently while no one watched. Next in line are the power outlets that intermittently function. I'm a bit concerned about opening that can of electric worms...
Standby for more details and historical accounts I will unravel as the days go by...

Two days with a Leaf

I had the opportunity to use a Nissan Leaf, Electric Vehicle (EV) for the last two days, and it turned into a comedy of errors that had nothing to do with the vehicle's performance but rather the fact that the range is extremely limited and terribly troubling for a new user who admittedly didn't plan ahead very well.

Day one started with great expectations of using a zero-emissions vehicle with the intent to charge it when I reached the city 45 miles north. As I searched for the charger, I realized I've never cared to acknowledge the presence of EV charging stations before, and didn't exactly know what to look for.

11 miles until empty...
As the rain dumped in raging buckets, I connected to a charging station only to find out it wouldn't accept my payment card. I found a station matching the card, but when I tried to use it, the machine refused to send the precious electricity into the nearly exhausted Leaf. Suddenly, a lady appeared beside me, accusing me of pulling the charger off her vehicle to charge mine. I explained my situation, and that I was innocent of her charges against me. She relaxed, and as she left she told me that the charger doesn't work sometimes. I gasped! Already late for a meeting, I decided to recharge afterward. This unfortunate encounter with a malfunctioning machine postponed my dilemma for a couple hours, only to find charging station #2 locked inside an underground parking garage!

5 miles until empty... My contact directed me across the city to a quick charge station, which dropped me into a set of one-ways and blocked accesses while alerts sounded through the computer system causing some minor flashes of anxiety and images of pushing the car down the dark rainy streets.

3 miles until empty... Found the charging station! After a 30 minute wait and a warm bowl of cheesy potato soup, I hit the road again. 80% charge = 84 miles until empty...

5 miles later - 64 miles until empty!
7 miles later - 48 miles until empty!
10 miles later - 23 miles to empty!

I lost 61 miles of travel and I suddenly needed to find a charging station along the I-5 corridor, which I hadn't planned for at all. With 3 miles of power remaining (if the number means anything at all) I rolled to a quick charger and charged to 40%, which BARELY got me to my original station to leave the Leaf overnight.

The psychological state I found myself in was interesting to reflect upon. Amidst the lights and alarms, and constant pleading of the onboard computer to find a charging station, I fell into the "I really don't care if you die" mode as I pushed the car to it's very last electron to make it back.

Interesting... Some additional self reflection may be required.

The roar of my V8 sounded so nice to me at 11:00pm as I left the Nissan Leaf to charge overnight... and not on the side of the interstate.

So, do I give up on the EV? Absolutely not! I made my way south to a university 35 miles away, only to barely make it back again. Even though I charged at the university, the station was a slower charging unit and didn't do much for me. Again, I returned blissfully numb to the constant alerts blinking, beeping, and requesting to be recharged.

I will use the Nissan Leaf EV tomorrow with these bits of well earned bits of wisdom:
1) find all the charging stations along the route and use the PowerShare app.
2) take all the time in the world to do what normally would only take a couple hours.
3) pack a couple energy bars.
4) practice being numb to the alerts before you develop ulcers.
5) have fun, because it really is an excellent commuter vehicle!