Dear Toilet, I still miss you.

It's been 11 1/2 weeks since our bathroom was intact, though I suppose "intact" may be a bit of stretch in describing its condition.

However, since then, it's been much less intact.

The room has been stripped down to just walls and subfloor, with a hole in the floor where the toilet will be. Meanwhile, the foyer has become the storage area for all the new fixtures. If you were to come visit our home, you'd be greeted by boxes and boxes (and boxes). A sink, a toilet, four boxes of tile, sconces, faucet, toilet paper holder, towel ring, etc. Lots of boxes.

I really thought this project would take about a week. I was trying to be cheerful about the lack of first-floor-bathroom. In week two, I started getting grumpy. At about week eight, it ceased being that big a deal. It's irritating when someone has to wait while someone else is in the bathroom, but we're getting by.

That said, it will be lovely when this bathroom is DONE.

At the beginning, I ordered a light fixture for the ceiling and learned that it was on back-order. They estimated 4-8 weeks. I was disappointed that the bathroom would be done long before the light came in, but I decided not to worry about it. Now, it's unclear which will be ready first, the light or the bathroom.


The tile guys came this morning to prep for the tile. Our house is 100 years old, so the floors aren't totally level. This morning, they pour self-leveling compound so that the tile will have a totally flat surface to mount to.

Tomorrow, they'll lay the tile. And then we can get to the fun stuff of installing all the things in that are in the foyer. This is the first time I've ever designed a room, top to bottom, and I'm excited to see how it comes together.

I'll do a photo tour of the room (which Bob is calling the Fritz Carlton, thanks to all the work that our friend Fritz has done for us) as soon as it's done.

I miss having a toilet.

Downstairs, that is.

Anyway, we're in the midst of a bathroom remodel, by necessity.

The sink didn't drain (we've had that fixed now), and the toilet was about as bad as it could be.

It sucked, but only figuratively.
It rocked, but only literally.

The toilet had to go. And since the floor around it was soft, we ended up in the "while we're at it..." mindset.

Now, everything will be new except the medicine cabinet. I can't wait.

I don't get it.

We had a wonderful weekend visiting friends in Ohio. We stayed with some dear friends who have a dairy farm. Before we left, we stopped by the calf barn so the kids could see (and smell, and hear, and touch) some calves. They were beautiful, and we had a lot of fun.

However, as we got back on the road, I just kept stewing about what we'd seen. I grew up on a (small) farm, and we raised beef cattle and chickens, and had two big gardens. I know where my food comes from ... or so I thought.

I watched Food, Inc. over a year ago, and it was depressing, eye-opening, etc. And that prompted me to begin my first vegetable garden. We now love eating our own produce. I buy organic milk for the kids, and I figured that was the way to go.

Now, organic isn't enough for me. I keep getting crunchier by the year, and I suppose that it only makes sense. As I learn more, I adjust to it.

Anyway, when we pulled up to the calf barn on Saturday, I said to Bob, "Where's their pasture??" And he said, "There is no pasture." I was stunned. Bob, of course, thought I knew. But no, these calves (and all the dairy cattle) never go outside. They're in their little pens in the barn all their lives. From the minute they're born.

My question to Bob was this:

What kind of world do we live in, that we take newborn calves away from their mommas and give them 'milk replacer' so we can drink the cows' milk, while we feed our own children formula?*

This is messed up.

[Raw milk, here we come. And it is almost enough to make me move to a farm.]

*This is in no way meant as a criticism of women who must feed their children formula. I know there are good reasons for it. But I believe whole-heartedly that the best food for a child is its mother's milk, whenever possible.

Nine Years Ago

...

I married Bob.

July 7, 2002.

I blogged a little about the wedding weekend last year. And followed it up with a (not comprehensive) list of why I married him.

This year, I'll show you something Bob's doing for me.

I've learned that one of my love languages is home improvement. Bob's speaking my language:


In case that's unrecognizable in the picture, Bob's working on our downstairs half bath. Our friend Fritz has been gutting it, and now Bob's working on eliminating the texture from the walls. (We really love smooth old plaster walls.) And he's working with a toddler in his lap, who desperately wants to be involved.

I love this man.

Happy anniversary, Bob. Nine years, and I pray for many, many more.

The wisdom of Caroline.

"I don't know if we're going to have any more babies, but God knows, because He's the One who gives us things. And babies is one of His presents, right, Momma? I don't know what His other presents are, though."

That poor chair.

I suppose it has a better life, looking forlorn and unfinished in my foyer, than if it were in a landfill. Still, I'd like to be done with it.

It's been 276 days. I've soooo missed my deadline, it isn't even funny. Bob's been gracious. For a time, the chair was relegated to the guest room/Caroline's room. Then I decided that I needed to start working on it again, so I brought it back downstairs. (Out of sight, out of mind -- when it was up there, I just didn't think about it!) Now it's the first thing you see when you walk in our front door ... and it's not exactly saying, "Welcome to our put-together home!" It's saying more like, "You will notice that we have a lot of unfinished projects here" -- which is a pretty accurate statement, come to think of it.

Anyway, would you like to see what it looks like now?

Okay. Here we go.

Before:


After:


So it's obviously not done. I'm working on the cushion right now, which is stressing me out a little bit: sewing is not one of my strengths, but if the thing were just straight lines, I'd feel a lot more confident. But the cushion cover involves curves, corners, piping, and a zipper. Lord, have mercy.

Still, I'm making progress, and it feels good to actually be working on it again.

Somehow, having a baby really slows things down. Especially when you keep seeing new milestones like this:


I don't want to miss anything with little Owen ... though I confess: he rolled over for the first time this afternoon, and I only noticed because he thonked his head on the radiator and wailed. That's when I realized that he was suddenly on his back, not his tummy. Sweet guy. He willingly obliged by doing it a couple more times for me so I could record this big moment in history.

There are a lot of times that I wish that my life were different, that I had a "real job", or that I had more freedom, or whatever, but the bottom line is that I'm grateful for what I have.

I have it pretty good. The chair may be unfinished. I may have holes in the plaster ceiling in the dining room, really slow plumbing in the bathroom upstairs, and some odd shoulder pain that comes and goes. But I have it pretty good.

Slow.

I've never run this slowly in my life.

It's a blow to my pride, even though I'm running down in the basement on my treadmill and no one can see me or judge me. I'm torn between wanting to be faster ... and not caring. The rational part of me knows that I have to run-- however slowly-- now, if I want to be faster later. So it's just part of the process.

But it's just so inefficient!

Still, I'm grateful to be healthy and able to run. And grateful to be able to run at 10:30 at night, safely, with my baby parked next to the treadmill.

I ran four miles last night -- ever so slowly-- and it was a psychological triumph. I wasn't sure I could do it. I'm still not in shape, and my left knee's been hurting a bit. So I just kept the pace easy and kept on going. I haven't run this far in three years.

It wasn't fun last night, but I'm feeling proud today.