Uncommon Julia

Cock-a-doodle-damn

I've just come back from the cabin where I let the pest control guy in to kill anything that moves and spray the trees for ticks.  While there, I learned something fun and new!

Our neighbors, whose driveway we share, are caretakers for the rich folk who own that land and a big 'ol house next door.  They seem like nice people, and I hope they're going to make good neighbors.  We've only just met them because as of last summer, they weren't there.

The new neighbors have set up a trailer house just off the driveway where it splits to go to our cabin.  We can't tell if anyone's actually living in it (the family lives in a regular house further down the drive), but it's up on cinder blocks so it doesn't look like it'll be going anywhere soon.  And that's fine.  It's their land, so... well, whatever.

But today, in addition to the trailer, I found some even newer neighbors: a whole flock of chickens.  About a dozen, including a few roosters, to be specific.  At least one of whom crowed the whole time I was there.  The chickens are in a coop about 100 feet from our cabin.  That is to say, our bedrooms are about 100 feet away from some 4:30 a.m. cock-a-doodle-doing.

My mom, being who she is, tried to put a positive spin on it.  "Maybe the girls can learn more about chickens and egg-gathering, if the neighbors are willing to show them."

Mm hm.  Great.

Don't get me wrong, chickens are lovely.  I enjoy them as food on a regular basis.  And, again, it's their land, their choice.

But I'd be lying if I said I though this was good news.  I'm really, really, hoping we'll be able to clear out a new drive that comes through our property only and bypasses the country-show we've got goin' on over there.  Can you tell I'm not yet through with the anger phase of mourning?

Two Stories Converged in a Wood...

Can you tell I've had three glasses of wine and decided that warping poem titles was a good way to start this post?  Yes?  Good.

Last week, a friend of mine lost his mother to cancer.  She had been sick for a while, and her death was not unexpected (the double negative seems appropriate).  This friend was one of the rare few - well, actually, only - who attended both my high school and my church.  I believe I mentioned before that I went to school in a very small, rural town.  I think I also mentioned that from the fourth grade until about sophomore year were filled with all of the evil, gossip-inspired hatred that lead ordinary school girls to seek "help" of the professional variety.

When I was in the seventh grade, my Grandma came to stay with me while my parents were on a trip, and she took me to church - alas, a locale I had not frequented in some time.  While at Sunday school, I met a few kids who deigned to treat me like a human instead of the scourge of the earth.  So I stuck around.  And became fast friends with a handful.  I joined choir and youth group and generally accepted every opportunity proffered to hang out with them.

Church was my out.  It was my new social circle and the only thing that kept me sane over the next few years.  And, admittedly, it wasn't because I was praying a ton or studying scripture.  I was studying friendship and boys (okay, and a few more boys) and learning how the world operated outside the warped sphere of my school. 

So when I heard, through one of my few high school friends, that my friend C's mom had passed, I was very sad.  C had always been very kind to me.  He was a few years older, very cute, and sweet as pie.  He came from a wonderful family - just him and his folks, like me - and lived in the country on a farm.  Since he fit my two main requisites for dating (1. older, 2. cute), we sorta-kinda dated for a while in high school.  But he was way, way, way too nice.  And it definitely felt like kissing a brother.  If one had a brother - I can only imagine.

So that fell by the wayside, but the friendship never did.  His parents hosted church and school events at their farm, including an annual Halloween hay ride, watermelon picnics, and the like.  When his father died in a tractor accident when we were in high school, it was the first time I really experienced the death of someone from anything other than old age.

But C and his mother handled it with grace and courage and C went on to college, and work abroad, and all of the success and happiness he deserved.  His mother went on working with the school district and was there when I spent one year teaching right out of college.  Her never-fading smile and unending kind words never failed to make me smile.

So Friday, I attended her funeral in the same church where I was baptized, confirmed, and by the same pastor who married us.  What I had not thought of, prior to my arrival, was that these two worlds - my church world and my school world - would be converging.

Which, as per my history, meant that two distinct groups of boys (now grown up, but c'mon, who're we kidding?) would be converging.  A quick count in the parking lot revealed at least five former love interests who I knew would be there.  Another three seconds yielded three or four more potentials.  And I felt myself go shaky.

It was a bit like a "This is Your  Life" episode - if I were conceited enough to make this about me, and not my friends mother.   (Oh, wait... I've already done that, haven't I?)  At every turn, there was a new face, familiar in some cases as the day I'd last seen it, and completely unrecognizable in others.  There were not one, but two pastors' sons (not the plural pastors - that makes it okay, right?), a boy whose family was convinced I was from the wrong side of the tracks, one who hadn't hit puberty until after high school (when he grew no less than a foot in height and gained an entire new register in his voice) and so I'd only actually gone on one date with, and assorted others, including a few who'd declared their undying love without securing an actual date. 

By the end of the service - which was wholly beautiful and fitting - I was wondering if there wouldn't be some wine at the reception afterward to make this parade of ex-boyfriends slightly more tolerable.  There wasn't.

But the good news is that, sweaty, awkward, "Oh, God, did he see me?!" moments aside, it was a wonderful experience.  As my best friend put it, "I think you ended up doing pretty well."  And I have.  I did.  All of that awkwardness just confirmed that I ultimately got to the best there was.  No questions.

But just a note for the future, God: I don't need to see them all to know that.  'Kay.  Thanks.  Oh, and also, give C's mom a hug for me.

Book Review: Dirty Little Secrets

I know, I know.  Probably too many book reviews and not enough about me.  Wait.  That didn't sound right.  Well, you know what I mean.  This'll be the last for a while.  I'll resume our regularly scheduled bitching blogging tomorrow.

When the compact Dirty Little Secrets from Otherwise Perfect Moms by Trisha Ashworth and Amy Nobile was offered up for a review, the good folks at Mother Talk warned that reviewers should be able to handle sometimes disturbing confessions from well-meaning moms.  "Sure.  No problem," I thought, "I'd love to stumble across some gems that will perhaps make me feel better about my own occasionally shameful moments."

They also promised it would be a quick read - which the slim 112-pager (one quote per page, roughly) certainly is.  But instead of digging into some juicy tidbits, my initial thought was simply: "Eh."

Frankly, some of these so-called confessions are so bland I have no idea how they qualify.  Perhaps I'm too laid back myself?  Take this one:

"I locked my two-year-old daughter in my car and stood helplessly as I watched her take her hair clip out of her hair and put it in her mouth." [emphasis theirs]

Okay, now I get that locking your kid in the car is scary - especially since in my part of the country kids can easily die from heat exhaustion as a result.  So, yes, absolutely a "holy crap, that was scary!" story - but a confession?  And what, in God's name, does it matter that she put a hair clip in her mouth?  I doubt that part would have even registered with me during the ensuing freak-out.

Other confessions were so bland and cliche that I was almost angry at wasting the nanosecond it took to read it:

"My biggest fear as a mother is being judged by other moms."

Um, join the club.

And yet others were less shocking than simply sad:

"My husband would be really surprised if he knew that I thought about divorce more times than I can count."

The last person I heard say something similar actually did divorce a few months later.  Which is fine, if that's what has to happen.  But reading about it in what is supposed to be a light-hearted romp through the less-than-perfect world of mothering, well it's just disheartening.

But it wasn't all blah.  There are a few great, laughable quotes, and a handful more that had my moms' night out group scribbling notes, like the following gem:

"When I'm at Safeway I buy a Nordstrom gift card and charge it as groceries, I can justify it that way."

Or my personal favorite:

"My rule is beer at lunch, wine at 5. Wine at lunch feels like I have a 'problem' but beer just seems OK."

Unfortunately, this book's so-so factor outweighs the laughable moments.  I appreciate where they were trying to go, but the authors just didn't get me there.  You'd probably get just as lucky if you bring a few bottles of wine to the next mommy get-together.

Book Review: Mama Rock's Rules: Ten Lessons for Raising a Household of Successful Children

First, let me sheepishly proclaim, "The dog ate my homework."  I was supposed to post this review on Monday.  But, understandably, I let some good, 'ol fashioned griping and a few work items take priority.  My apologies.

In a world filled with lots and lots (and lots) of fuzzy, fluffy books on parenting, Rose Rock (mama to Chris Rock) has certainly found a gap.  Her new book, Mama Rock's Rules, is a refreshing, and dare I say "old school" approach to parenting that just plain makes good sense.  Instead of pointing to scientific studies about the merits of "sleep methods" or the effects of breastfeeding of grown men's ability to bond, blah blah blah - Rock bases her rules on real-life experience.  Experience gained by raising, as the title says, a whole household of successful people.  Ten kids plus 17 foster children, to be specific.  Add to that her lifelong work as a preschool and special needs educator, and by golly you've got a woman I'll listen to.

The book is well-formated and approachable, with the promised ten lessons laid out in ten chapters.  She pulls out special bits of wisdom and tools into "Mama's Mojo" blurbs, and she recaps each mini-lesson at chapter's end.  The advice doesn't hone in on early parenting, but rather rules that lend themselves to nearly any age - including high school, which is an age I have yet to see addressed in any of the parenting books I've read so far.

Before I get into what I particularly loved about this book, let me get one point of criticism out of the way:  I am not overly impressed with the readability of the writing.  I feel like Rose's actual voice is trapped somewhere in there, but doesn't come through too clearly.  Who knows who's to blame for that, given the lengthy list of people involved in the publishing of a book, but instead of simply going with a more casual true-to-life vernacular, you'll find stilted sayings that sound like they put her true phrases in straight-jackets, along with a healthy overuse of unnecessary "quotes".  Yeah.  Just like that.

To solve this for myself, I simply threw in a few more "'em"s instead of "them"s, and filled in some colloquialisms when needed.

Okay, onto the good stuff. Rock's mantra throughout the book is one that I think many of us have lost sight of in our efforts to be perfect parents.  It's simple: "I am the parent. You are the child.  It's my job to make the rules, and your job to follow them."  Paired with reminders that made me take a good look at myself, like when to let things slide and when not to, Rock's advice is where the rubber meets the road.  Some are highly-specific, others are broad concepts, but all of them are spelled out and applicable.

One of my absolute favorite chapters focuses on the power of the family meal.  I know that's a popular concept lately, but Rock goes into details and explains exactly why having a shared meal is so very important.  And then she shares her recipe for sweet potato pie.  What other parenting book have you read that includes that?!

"Once kids get a full stomach, things loosen up.  They not only eat the beans - they spill the beans.  Everything would come out at the table, especially secrets."

Her love of praise and self-esteem is evident throughout the book, as she reminds us that there is no such thing as too much praise.

"Each kid [in her son, Andre's class] was asked to share what their parents said about them; [the teacher] told us 95 percent of the kids in her class repeated something negative.  She quickly added that Andre was another story; he didn't hesitate to say, 'My mother thinks I'm the greatest thing there is!'"

And perhaps my favorite chapter title, "Don't Lie Down with Anything You Don't Want to Live with Forever" deals, obviously, with preparing kids to deal with sex (at whatever point that happens).

Since I'm obviously getting long-winded, I'll sum it us thusly: Take the time to get past the halting language and read this one.  It'll give you the long-term vantage point and straight-to-the-point tactics you've been missing.  And don't forget the sweet potato pie recipe.

At Least We Still Have Our Sense of Humor

It dawned on me while having an e-mail conversation with a relatively new friend (who has not ever seen the cabin) that some of you may have the wrong impression about what sort of place we're moving to.  I'll tell you now - dispel all your romantic notions that conjure up when you hear the word "cabin".  Because that ain't it.

Nothing says it better than pictures.  This, dear readers, is where I currently reside (actually, this was it about two years ago; now the trees are bigger and we have those limestone boulders):

And THIS is where we are going to live:

Mmmm, preeeety.

Last night, while watching the series finale of John Adams, I told Todd I thought we should name the land and house out there so we sounded more pedigreed.  Something lyrical and harmonious.  Without missing a beat he said, "Broke-ass Mountain."

I think I peed my pants I laughed so hard.

Ugh.

The weather is spectacular today.  We have a dinner party at a friend's house tonight - a child-friendly dinner party, no less, which means we can actually enjoy ourselves while the kids entertain one another.  I have two awesome, sweet, hilarious daughters.  A great husband - even if my hormones occasionally make me ponder the merits of death-by-evil-glances.

By all accounts I should be happy.  But today, sweet readers, I am not.  I've had a few flashes of smiles on and off, but on the whole  I'm feeling really, really, bitchy and grumpy.

It seems we will likely have to move out to the cabin after all.  I am so thankful for the bits of good news (including extremely kind referrals), but we are still in a week-to-week outlook financially, and I just can't hang with that anymore.  The stress is just too much.  And if it's too much for me, I know it's too much for Todd - me being of the glass-half-full, "Gee, is there a touch of lime in that water?! Delicious!" school and Todd being of the, "Glass?  Where's a glass?" school.

The to-do list for pulling this off is daunting.  The list of things we'll be giving up is as long as each of my legs. 

There's no dishwasher, people.  And no disposal in the sink.  No pantry, either.

And did I mention the scorpions, mice, ticks, and snakes?

Of course, it's not all bad.  There are lots of good things, too.  I think.  It's just hard to focus on those right now.  I need a nap.  Or three.  And some mood-stabilizers would be great.  Gah.

So, to keep this from deteriorating into an entry of pure bitch, I ask you this: What are your best tips for kids sharing a room?  I need everything - nap schedules, sleep schedules, keeping "mine" and "yours" separated, closet help, and anything I don't even realize will be an issue yet.

Now... who's got the wine?

Fret Not

Maybe there is something to the whole "build it and they will come" concept.  In the short time since my last post, both Todd and I have run headlong into some promising leads.  There was the generous reader who astutely divined the general area in which we live and offered up two listings for Todd (I tried to act cool in my e-mailed response, but may have missed the mark with all the virtual high-fives and whatnot); two random acquaintances who expressed a desire to use me for photography sessions; half of two local police departments who are currently drinkin' up some margaritas with Todd while the discuss real estate investment opportunities (this, after signing an offer with one of their rank today); the third maternity photo shoot I have tomorrow, which, granted, is free, but should add enough to my portfolio to make me feel a bit more legit; and some interesting re-connections through some networking softwares that may prove fruitful.

Not to cross completely over into the land o' cheese, but I think the incessant praying on both my and my mother's parts may have helps.  Even Todd says he feels oddly calm about things turning around.  If you knew him, you'd know this is not par for the course.  Todd's a glass quarter full kinda guy.

Thank you all for lending an ear to my blathering.  I hope things turn around for each and every one of us.  It helps me immensely to know that no matter what, I can always come here to mouth off.  Heck, I haven't run you off yet - and that's saying something.
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Funny post up on my photo blog.  Add me to your readers over there, won't you?  The stats'll make me feel better.  (I just crossed a line, didn't I.)

Woes, of the Financial Sort

Once again, the Uncommon Household is feeling the pain of a financial squeeze.  And it sucks.

The never-ending "sky is falling" national news about the housing market, as well as general concern about the economy, has put a damper on Todd's real estate career.  Which is to say he's had one closing in seven months.  And that's in one of the best markets in the U.S.

To spell it out differently, for all intents and purposes I have been the sole bread winner for that whole time.  Did I mention I'm a freelance writer? 

My career has been going gang-busters.  I've never had so much work.  I love my clients, my projects are interesting, and we are so thankful that we've had my income to rely upon in the absence of Todd's.  But as you might know, or at least guess, a freelance writer's income - even in great times - is not enough for a family of four with existing debt to live on.

We cut all the fat out of our budget years ago.  And we've attempted several different things to heal our financial woes, only to find ourselves back at ground zero.  Or ground below-zero, if you will.

We have a big house but small mortgage payments, so selling doesn't necessarily make sense because a) it would be equally expensive to rent a house or apartment, b) we would be able to pay off our non-familial creditors, but not my parents, who bought out our equity in a loan agreement a while back.  In fact, our house is probably the biggest thing we have going for us right now because of the low mortgage payments and the increasing values in our neighborhood.

We have no car payments.  We no longer take vacations or spend money on clothes (hand-me-downs for the girls and nothing new for me, unless I can talk my mom into buying me something).  We've trimmed everywhere we can think to trim, including cutting back on Todd's only form of advertising, which really sucks since it has the potential to generate income.

Where am I going with this?  Um, nowhere really.  Except to get it off my chest. 

We've given ourselves six to eight weeks to evaluate Todd's work situation.  If things haven't improved significantly by then, we're going to have to make a change.

Here are our options as we see them:

1. Todd goes back to work full time (it would be great if it was something flexible) in a "regular" job; and supplements with real estate.  You know - in his "free" time.  Challenges: Todd has no college degree.  But he is very "hire-able" and has a ton of sales experience.  If he goes back to work full-time, we'll have to find at least part-time care for Caroline because we cannot justify giving up my income - which may average out to more than Todd's regular gig.  Also, I may lose my mind from the stress of trying to keep up the same level of work without anyone to help with the kids during the day.

2. We rent out our house and move out to the cabin at the lake for at least a year, maybe more.  We would make about $700 more than the mortgage each month.  I know, I know, you're thinking, "Poor little girl, has to move out to her 'summer house' -  wah!".  But let me be clear: this would be hard. 

The "cabin" was formerly a storage shed.  It's one long building with a  living room/dining room/kitchen in one room; a middle bedroom that would server as our master/office; another bedroom that would be the girls bedroom/playroom.  The girls' room has exposed, uninsulated plywood ceiling with four bare bulbs and a metal support beam in the middle.  Our bedroom would be right in the middle of the traffic flow.  There are critters of various sorts living in the ceiling that would need to be eradicated.  Bugs.  Snakes (including the coral snake variety - "red and yellow kill a fellow").  Ticks.

We would need to build a fenced area for the dogs.  Rent a ginormous storage space for most of our furniture.  Move everything ourselves.  Do something with the existing cabin furniture.  There's no dishwasher or pantry.  The list goes on and on.

BUT.  It would be do-able, if we had to.

Good Lord, I really hope we don't, though.  It would be great if Todd got a ton of business.  Or wins the World Series of Poker (he's one nine-man tournament away from winning a free spot and plane ticket).  Or finds a fantastic flexible job that gets us more stability without having to give up real estate.  Or if a book deal falls out of the clear blue sky for me.

I know everybody - okay, not everybody, but most everybody - deals with this at some point.  But man, am I ever tired.  I feel like we've been treading water for a very, very long time.  We just want to come up for air.

Thanks for letting me bitch.  If anyone has any wonderful ideas, I'm all ears.

A Pause for Self-Agrandizement

Please keep commenting on the diaper question.  I'm taking it all in and pondering.  Perhaps I'll even make a decision at some point.

In the meantime, I posted pictures from my second photo shoot.  It was a great day for pictures - it had rained that morning, so everything was bright and shiny.  I felt guilty, though, for taking about a hundred pictures of a peacock showing off before the family arrived.  I ended up running out of pictures just as their kiddo decided kissing and hugging mom's belly was a grand idea.  I did some furious searching and deleting to free up some space, but still missed some truly precious ones.

Oh well.  Learning all the time.  Next shoot is Wednesday.

What's the Solution?

This morning I saw a spot on Good Morning America about what's being dubbed "The Human Footprint" - a look at the impact each of us as individuals (U.S. individuals, I might add) has on the environment.  This particular piece focused on diapers.

They had visual displays of how many diapers one baby uses on average, and then visual displays of how many plastics, chemicals, and the like, go into making those diapers.  They spoke of the landfill ramifications and all of the other evils that come with the undeniable convenience of disposable diapers.

Now, I haven't made any secret of the fact that I use disposables.  And I daresay that even the most ardent cloth diaperer would have been hard pressed to convince me they were suitable for Caroline during her GI problems - or, as we like to call it, "The Great Poo-Fest of '07"

But just as this news piece had me reconsidering and wondering about the merits of attempting cloth diapers for Caroline now that she's a more regular (pun very intended) creature, they hit me with all the facts about cloth diapering: The enormous quantity of water it takes to launder them; the detergent it requires and its effect; not to mention the energy drain and cost.

Gah.

So... what's your take?  Surely we can talk about the merits of diapering methods here calmly.  Is there a lesser of two evils here?  What's a parent to do?