On occasion I get the distinct feeling that I am trapped in that old sit-com, Home Improvement. My husband is a persistent ‘Do It Yourselfer’ and even when the task at hand obviously requires help he often professes to have things “under control”. I have attempted to swoop in and rescue him several times, note I said attempted as I am often woefully under qualified in the muscle department.

Two nights ago, rather then waiting for Sunday when the auxiliary troops will come a’marching in, The Hubster decided to hang some drywall…. on the ceiling… 12 foot long sheets of drywall… Did anybody detect a change in the sound track? We went from happy go lucky Opie music to Jaws attacks.

I retreat to the back of the house, knowing that this will not be pretty and that it would fully enrage him if he caught me taking photographic evidence. On and off for a few hours I hear grunts, groans, and swears. The drill sounds busy so I ignore them. Then, oh but then, I hear the distinct sound of shattering glass. “CRASH!!!!” Followed by a string of expletives so thick I’m sure exclamation points were hanging in the air.

The good news? This was a window we had to eventually remove anyways. It’s smack between the old house and part of the addition. The bad news? The Hubster liked taking it out so much he’s also removed the old front door and now I am living with plastic sheeting to keep out the construction dust. I feel sort of like I’m living the end E.T. when everything is covered in plastic.

How do you rally the troops, when the troops are scared (and by troops I mean just me)?

My husband has been talking about a career change. 2 years ago he was forced into a career change that was scary but in the end bettered our family’s precarious financial situation. For over a year he languished at a job that was heading down hill, refusing to discuss a change. One day someone offered him an opportunity and inside of a month he had not only switched jobs, but industries.. BAM… after an entire year of refusing to even discuss it.

With that kind of background, hearing my husband talking about jumping ship into a new line of work has my stomach trembling. I know it is not possible for him to make this change in a months time due to the training he would need… but he could decide to start school in a months time and start heading towards this job.

Several things have me scared.

1) It’s a VERY dangerous job.

2) it’s a $15,000 to $20,000 a year paycut (yes you read that correctly).

This is a line of work that I have known him to be interested in for the past 5 years. It is a job I know he would get lots of satisfaction out of and enjoy a sense of pride. I know his current job is way too hard on him. The constant chemical exposure is no good, the company is caring less about the well being of their employees every day, and he recently had to take what amounted to a $6 an hour pay cut (when you are working a 12 hour day this cuts REALLY deeply).

Our life is in such chaos and transition right now that the mere mention of this whole situation sends me running for the bathroom. I can feel a panic attack creeping up and I start spewing venom. I don’t know how to control it.

I want my husband to be happy. I want him to have a job that he can feel proud of and enjoy. I’m not ready to close my eyes and jump. He says that nothing will get rolling till after the baby is born… things rolling would mean him gone from home more taking night classes… he’s already gone from 630 to 6 nearly every day. How can I survive with 3 kids 5 and under on my own for that many hours a day? How can I suck it up and support him? I really need advice on this one folks. I want to support him but I can not see how because I am so frightened of change, especially one as profound as this.

Why yes, my PANTS.

I got as far as the driveway when I noticed a bit of a breeze caressing my butt cheeks.

um, yea.

I’m so sorry kids.

***for those of you who are wondering. I walked out wearing my red tanktop maternity shirt, my baggy saggy maternity bikini undies and my Birkenstocks - oops. ***

Friends often wonder why I spend my time making collages when I have the ability to draw such close replications of life. I find drawing like that to be a nice challenge and exercise but it does not kindle my passion.

I love finding elements from different places and blending them together to form a new reality. One of the most inviting aspects is to take vintage photographs and breath new life into long forgotten people.

I will, on occasion, ask on Freecycle for vintage images. Many people have hoard of pictures of people they don’t know. They feel guilty throwing them away so they stay crammed in closets and under beds - anonymous and lost souls who were once so important in this world. Sometimes I will stumble upon a picture in a thrift store and I can not help but bring these babies and married couples home.

Who were they?

This one lone picture came to me bundled with 20 or so pictures of landmarks. Amidst the golden gate bridge, the statue of liberty and some tee pees was this duo.

I have about 10 photos of these ladies frolicking. Climbing citrus picking ladders, peeking over fences like some starched version of the Hole In The Fence gang, dancing in tall grasses, and picnicking these ladies just shine… well all except the one lonely lady in black. In many of the photos she appears dour, as though all this frolicking is not only tiresome but beneath her.

If you come across such unloved photos in your travels, let me know. I would be honored to give them a home and one day possibly a new life as art.

The dogs are nervously pacing the length of the house, letting out low whines. Foreheads are wrinkled and tails down, no wagging to speak of. I pass out puppy treats, hoping to break the tension a bit. I lay down in bed and wet noses prod me, soft doggie eyes bore holes through me. I let out a low growl, warning the dogs to back off. Dozer yipes a reply and rams the side of my bed, panic is clearly setting in.

Something is amiss in my household. Dozer is a very sensitive barometer for “normal.”
He barks if the furniture is moved, is suspicious of laundry baskets left on tables, and is known to growl at artwork if I hang something new. Today he’s struggling.

Tessa is gone.

I have to admit I am struggling a bit. I keep bolting out of my seat to check on her because she’s being too quiet. When I walked out the doors of her new school I felt weird, like I was playing hookie. The enormity of this moment hit me when I got home. I got out of the car, shut the door, locked the car and panicked. I ran back to the car, surprised that she was not there and had to take a few deep breaths. “She’s at school, she’s just at school.”

I should probably do something productive, work on one of those 943 things that are impossible to accomplish with a 2 1/2 yr old helper. Nah, I’m going to nap.

Today is a day our nation shall never forget. Mothers and fathers lost sons and daughters. For me, 9/11 is tangled up. A twining of the most horrible and most life affirming day. A little over a year ago I wrote about my September 11th, and I am reposting it today to remind myself that it is not just a day of loss but a day of hope too.

I stumbled across a blog on Blog Explosion Rocket called “Bumblebee Sweet Potato,” a fantastic read that is on my blogroll. Written there is a devastatingly beautiful and sorrowful account of pivotal moment in her life as a parent. 9/11 and pregnant in the wake she miscarried and while the nation mourned a great loss she had her own more private mourning to do. This particularly struck a chord with me as I have suffered multiple miscarriages and know the depths of sorrow. The feeling of losing a tangible dream. It was so close, growing inside you, changing your body. You start to plan and dream as soon as that second line shows up on that damn stick. You find yourself cradling your belly, even before it rounds. Whispering in quiet moments all your hopes and dreams, tiny I love yous and then you find blood… Spotty at first then gushing. You can’t stop it and you soon find out neither can the doctor. On the morning of 9/11 I sat in the office of the OB/GYN praying for a heartbeat. That morning I sat clutching my husbands hand and we trembled together. Then the radio suddenly snapped on in the waiting room, news of the first plane striking the towers… We were dumb founded. We sat listening to the blow by blow of what happened. Our mouths hung open and everyone was talking in the waiting room, trying to get the facts straight, trying to comprehend what had just happened, and then they called us back. There on the screen was a heartbeat. This child that no one could believe existed was strong and growing. This baby that came unexpectedly on the heels of a painful twin miscarriage, this baby that had no time to be conceived, looked perfectly formed. I wept with joy and walked out into the world and mourned with my fellow Americans.

These thoughtful moments are brought to you by “That 70’s Camera”
Seriously WTF is up with my camera?

Tessa got a smile out of me with her patented naked rollerskating maneuver

I think I need to go out and rent Muriel’s Wedding , it’s one of those movies that always cheers me up.

Everyone needs a good digging expedition every once in awhile. I understand this, heck I advocate this. If, for some reason, you as an adult are lacking the social graces to know when this is acceptable here’s a helpful list. Please, feel free to print this out and carry it with you as a gentle reminder.

Ok Times For Nose Picking

*home alone with all the curtains drawn
*in the bathroom with the stall door closed and only if you intend on flushing with your foot
*under the cover of darkness when you are POSITIVE your spouse is sleeping
*when your nose is whistling so loudly the scores of neighborhood dogs begin flocking to you (this is the ONLY acceptable reason for a public pick)

I’m pretty sure that’s it. It is not ok to pick your nose in your car- WE CAN SEE YOU. Windows are not a nose picking cloaking device. We know when you are itching your nose and when you are, in fact, picking it. You can’t play off a 3 inch booger bridge stretching from your nostril to your finger. When you rest your chin on your palm, you look thoughtful or tired. When the fingers of said hand shoot in a northern direction you look gross and obvious. For the less aware I bring you this final no no. When you choose to engage in conversation, it is no less revolting to blatantly cram your finger into your nose and pull out a booger forrest. Sure, props to you for “I don’t give a damn” factor but such a move will immediately end all conversation and the hope of further conversation. I may also be prompted to tell the OB nurse that your chair needs to be disinfected when you leave.

My days of frozen waffle fondling are behind me. My largest hope of gluten free and fuss free waffles has been dashes like so many Hollywood dreams. Foolishly I believed the rumors. I quit my job, ran away from home and moved to LA dreaming of hitting the big time.. er I mean I stopped sobbing over the Eggos and moved over 2 feet to Van’s Gluten Free waffle’s display.

Once home with my kill, I clawed the package open and tossed two of them into my special uncontaminated gluten free toaster (oddly I find the “Poptart” setting on this toaster to be most efficient for my rice bread as well as gluten free waffles.. Irony? Well, let’s not have that argument b/c you know it’s like rain on your wedding day and yada yada).

I drowned those freshly warmed toaster delights in the finest grade A maple syrup and let out some gleeful (ok more mad scientist sounding ) giggles. GAH! EEEWWWW!! Utter disappointment. I have read over and over how wonderful these are and yet my freshly toasted Van’s gluten free waffles were not just unsatisfying, they were like eating gloppy sand- my waffles were flopples!! Oh how I mourned for that 1/3 c of grade A maple syrup wasted… Once the memory of that doomed meal faded I started having visions of brownies dancing in my head. Instead of risking another Flopple Gate I set about the task of making my own.

I found a recipe online that sounded workable and did some minor modifications (note this recipe rocks hardcore and even if you aren’t living gluten free you will want to make love to the brownies as will all of your friends). This is a base recipe and I can envision many different reincarnations of this recipe with just minor add ins (oh like dissolving espresso into the chocolate blend, drizzling warm raspberry jam over the top to be swirled into the batter… that sort of thing). These are extremely rich. I prefer Dark chocolate thus the choices I made but you could use semi sweet and regular unsweetened cocoa to nearly the same effect (they wont be quite as sumptuous).

11.5 oz Bitter Sweet Chocolate Chips (I used ghirardelli)
12 TBSP unsalted butter
1/4 scant cup Hershey’s Special Dark Cocoa powder
4 large eggs
1 cup white granulated sugar
6 oz sliced almonds (any nuts will do)

Instructions:
preheat oven to 350

grease an 8×10 or 9×9 pan and line with parchment paper (VERY important to line it!!)

spread nuts evenly onto parchment paper, if you are particularly ambitious you can toast the nuts at this point, I was too lazy to bother

Melt chocolate chips and butter in a metal or heat proof bowl set over a pot of boiling water, stirring frequently. Once completely melted sift in cocoa and stir until fully incorporated, set aside. In a large mixing bowl beat eggs while adding sugar. Continue beating until mixture is fluffy (I had mine in my Kitchenaid mixer in medium high for 6-8 minutes). Using a large metal spoon, fold chocolate mixture into eggs. Once thoroughly folded in, pour mixture into pan on top of nuts. Take care to pour all over so when you spread to even out the mixture, you are not pushing the nuts into piles. Bake for 25-30 minutes. The center should still be soft but not soupy. Overcooking will result in bricks. To bake mine to perfection I baked for 25 minutes, pulled out to test, TURNED OFF the oven and returned the pan to the now off but still hot oven for 4 more minutes. Cool in the pan for 10 minutes and then turn out to cool completely

One mystery has been solved, my bleeding. It’s source? I’m the lucky recipient of another bleeding placenta previa
. I am on modified activity which means no gym, no sex, no excessive standing or walking, no lifting, no pushing… My dreams of being yoked like an ox and pulling a steam engine have been temporarily crushed, at least for the next 5 to 7 weeks. In the mean time I will spend my days lazing about as an ineffectual mother. My children, able to sniff a faint whiff of weakness from 500 miles away, will run amok and possibly be incarcerated for cookie robbery. Then they (the doctors) will repeat the ultrasound and reassess the situation, either releasing me from my ass spreading bondage or ordering me to bed.

In other intriguing mysteries

Am I the only one who thinks this baby looks imported? Tom + Katie = Asian?