Troy went in to check on the kids last night after they had been in bed awhile. Garrett was having a tough time settling down due to a dream he had about evil pumpkins the night before (he loves Nightmare Before Christmas). Garrett was apparently asleep, with his pillow over his head. When Troy moved it, the following exchange occurred:
G (very groggy): I was under that to hide from the scary ghosts.
T: There are no ghosts here now.
G: What about scary pumpkins?
T: No, no scary pumpkins either.
G: Oh, then what's the problem?!?!
And back to sleep.
This might not translate that well in text, but we thought it was freakin' hilarious.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
The return of running water.
Hooray hooray, I say, for the return of running (or rather, draining) water! Seriously folks, we have not been able to use our main bathroom sink for TWO MONTHS. Two months. Ridiculous, right? Two months of hand-washing in the tub spigot, of tromping upstairs to brush our teeth (and holy god, finding my disgusting husband's toothbrush in front of the computer). Would you like to hear the tale of how it could possibly take two months to fix a sink? Of course you would.
Way-a-way back in July, in preparation for my sister's family's visit, I decided to finally tackle the slow-drain issue we had occurring in our main bathroom (we have three, but one is in the basement and the other is impossibly tiny and upstairs by the guest room). I am reasonably competent with plumbing matters, it isn't my favorite household task, but I do what needs to be done. So I set about disassembling the drain to clean out what I was sure was a nasty ole' hair clog. While what I encountered was indeed nasty, and hairy, it was not the cause of our blockage. And by the time I realized this, it was too late to delve any further prior to company coming, so we simply marked it out of order.
Now if you've been diligently reading this blog (and who hasn't?) then you know we've had a very busy summer and our poor sink just didn't rate high enough on the list of priorities to get much attention. We did eventually buy a manual auger (a long metal coiled cable with a screwy-lookin' thing on the end that you run down your pipe and then turn the crank to THEORETICALLY grab the clog and pull it out). Once again we met nasty emissions of sludge and slime and gunk, but still no drain. I can't even tell you how many times we dis-and re-assembled the drain-my fingers twinge thinking about it. And the auger-oh how I hate the auger! It twists and yanks, it's heavy, it fights with you and tries to climb back out, it sprays whatever it's collected ALL OVER if you wind it too tightly (I got it in the face last night), it leaves rust marks in coil patterns in the bottom of your tub, it is evil. And it didn't work. Couldn't move the clog.
This weekend was our last attempt. Last ditch effort. Final hoorang. Troy wanted to turn it over to a plumber weeks ago, but I persisted--why give some stranger hundreds of dollars to do a job we could do? We just needed time, and patience, and pants that sit too low. If this didn't work, we'd call in the big guns. It was a close call. In short, after cutting (yes CUTTING!) the pipe OFF with a reciprocating saw, running many manner of objects into and through the whole drainage system, being splattered with MORE yummy disgusting-ness, and finally ramming an extendable broom handle up the d$&% thing to break through the still immovable clog, then reassembling the whole system with the help of some really handle flexible couplings (nifty doo-dads that hold to ends of pipe together with a thick rubber tube and hose-clamps), WE HAVE DRAINAGE!!! WE HAVE REJOINED THE MODERN ERA OF INDOOR PLUMBING! HOORAY!
And let me say how cool I felt walking into McClendon's Hardware, by myself (which usually elicits odd questioning looks from old men and LOTS of "can I help you find something?" from employees), in my ratty best project clothes, covered in stains, smelling of decades old plumbing rot, and heading straight for the pipe department to get another coupling. Not one person asked if I needed assistance. Not one old man questioned my presence. Today, I was one of them.
Still not sure how I feel about that. But if it means I can use my bathroom sink, it must be good. Very, very good.
Way-a-way back in July, in preparation for my sister's family's visit, I decided to finally tackle the slow-drain issue we had occurring in our main bathroom (we have three, but one is in the basement and the other is impossibly tiny and upstairs by the guest room). I am reasonably competent with plumbing matters, it isn't my favorite household task, but I do what needs to be done. So I set about disassembling the drain to clean out what I was sure was a nasty ole' hair clog. While what I encountered was indeed nasty, and hairy, it was not the cause of our blockage. And by the time I realized this, it was too late to delve any further prior to company coming, so we simply marked it out of order.
Now if you've been diligently reading this blog (and who hasn't?) then you know we've had a very busy summer and our poor sink just didn't rate high enough on the list of priorities to get much attention. We did eventually buy a manual auger (a long metal coiled cable with a screwy-lookin' thing on the end that you run down your pipe and then turn the crank to THEORETICALLY grab the clog and pull it out). Once again we met nasty emissions of sludge and slime and gunk, but still no drain. I can't even tell you how many times we dis-and re-assembled the drain-my fingers twinge thinking about it. And the auger-oh how I hate the auger! It twists and yanks, it's heavy, it fights with you and tries to climb back out, it sprays whatever it's collected ALL OVER if you wind it too tightly (I got it in the face last night), it leaves rust marks in coil patterns in the bottom of your tub, it is evil. And it didn't work. Couldn't move the clog.
This weekend was our last attempt. Last ditch effort. Final hoorang. Troy wanted to turn it over to a plumber weeks ago, but I persisted--why give some stranger hundreds of dollars to do a job we could do? We just needed time, and patience, and pants that sit too low. If this didn't work, we'd call in the big guns. It was a close call. In short, after cutting (yes CUTTING!) the pipe OFF with a reciprocating saw, running many manner of objects into and through the whole drainage system, being splattered with MORE yummy disgusting-ness, and finally ramming an extendable broom handle up the d$&% thing to break through the still immovable clog, then reassembling the whole system with the help of some really handle flexible couplings (nifty doo-dads that hold to ends of pipe together with a thick rubber tube and hose-clamps), WE HAVE DRAINAGE!!! WE HAVE REJOINED THE MODERN ERA OF INDOOR PLUMBING! HOORAY!
And let me say how cool I felt walking into McClendon's Hardware, by myself (which usually elicits odd questioning looks from old men and LOTS of "can I help you find something?" from employees), in my ratty best project clothes, covered in stains, smelling of decades old plumbing rot, and heading straight for the pipe department to get another coupling. Not one person asked if I needed assistance. Not one old man questioned my presence. Today, I was one of them.
Still not sure how I feel about that. But if it means I can use my bathroom sink, it must be good. Very, very good.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Babies are stealing my summer.
Our weather has finally decided to warm up and be sunny--for the whole two weeks we have left before fall falls upon us. We have been frantically attempting to take advantage of it, as we still have mountains of things to finish and not much time left for finishing. It has not helped our scheduling that my last client decided to labor for 41 hours (no, I am not exaggerating, though I wasn't there the whole time, only the last 37 hours of it) or that exactly one week later I was called in to help out my partner who had two clients break their water the same day. So it the course of eight nights I spent 3 of them not sleeping. And hello, I should really get some sort of prize for heading home after last weekend's birth long enough to shower and change then head back out for an advanced doula training (I was over an hour late, but none of the other doulas held it against me ;) ). I then insisted Troy and the kids meet me that afternoon at our birth center's annual alumni picnic, at which I spent most of the time laying on a blanket on the ground. Again, it's a pretty understanding crowd--my midwife had also been up all night at a birth. She apologized to Troy for my being, "hooked on birth" and suggested he get together with her husband to complain about us.
The unfortunate side of this whole doula biz is that while, in general, birth is wonderful and fantastic and I arrive home exhausted but buzzing from the energy and joy of it, sometimes it doesn't go right and it leaves a deep emotional dent in me. This last birth went that way--due to a medical "oops" (read: neglect and ignorance) the client had to be delivered by c-sect. This is a young, single girl who had wanted beyond anything to have a gentle, interference free out-of-hospital birth and was only in the hospital because her midwife felt she needed a little help getting into labor (I won't get all technical, it's a standard protocal sort of situation). This girl had prepared herself fantastically well despite the fact that she had no one helping her, and all control was taken from her. And there wasn't anything I could do to help her out of that situation, I could merely try to help her through it. So I've been pretty frustrated and sad this week, which is really too bad as it eventually affects the kids-but they are troopers and love being able cheer me up. And Troy is at his best when I am at my worst, so I know I always have a pillar to hold me up. It amazes me how intuitively supportive he is, and how much he has picked up about pregnancy and birth from listening when I don't think he is. I start to lauch into an explanation of a certain procedure or term, and he'll jump in and finish it often surprising the pants off me. And I'm pretty sure by now he'd make a great lactation consultant (I actually overheard him discussing breastfeeding with a friend of his).
I am glad for the exposure to birth the kids are getting-they are growing up knowing that it is a healthy, normal process, difficult but gratifying. They love watching the videos of their own births (G calls them the "being born" movies) and marveling over how they once were such tiny, squirmy creatures. G asks lots of question when I get home from a birth, wanting to know how big the baby is and what I did that helped the mommy. I have to pat myself in the back for assuming that someday he's going to be a great support for whomever he becomes a parent with.
The unfortunate side of this whole doula biz is that while, in general, birth is wonderful and fantastic and I arrive home exhausted but buzzing from the energy and joy of it, sometimes it doesn't go right and it leaves a deep emotional dent in me. This last birth went that way--due to a medical "oops" (read: neglect and ignorance) the client had to be delivered by c-sect. This is a young, single girl who had wanted beyond anything to have a gentle, interference free out-of-hospital birth and was only in the hospital because her midwife felt she needed a little help getting into labor (I won't get all technical, it's a standard protocal sort of situation). This girl had prepared herself fantastically well despite the fact that she had no one helping her, and all control was taken from her. And there wasn't anything I could do to help her out of that situation, I could merely try to help her through it. So I've been pretty frustrated and sad this week, which is really too bad as it eventually affects the kids-but they are troopers and love being able cheer me up. And Troy is at his best when I am at my worst, so I know I always have a pillar to hold me up. It amazes me how intuitively supportive he is, and how much he has picked up about pregnancy and birth from listening when I don't think he is. I start to lauch into an explanation of a certain procedure or term, and he'll jump in and finish it often surprising the pants off me. And I'm pretty sure by now he'd make a great lactation consultant (I actually overheard him discussing breastfeeding with a friend of his).
I am glad for the exposure to birth the kids are getting-they are growing up knowing that it is a healthy, normal process, difficult but gratifying. They love watching the videos of their own births (G calls them the "being born" movies) and marveling over how they once were such tiny, squirmy creatures. G asks lots of question when I get home from a birth, wanting to know how big the baby is and what I did that helped the mommy. I have to pat myself in the back for assuming that someday he's going to be a great support for whomever he becomes a parent with.
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