Day of the Father

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At latest count, I’d say there are about a thousand things that I do that remind Steve of the importance of specifity when writing one’s wedding vows. I have no doubt that his secret diary is filled with phrases like, “Refuses to put my sox away in color sequence” and “Can’t park the 4Runner correctly in the garage”. If I were to guess about one of the items he has written in red Sharpie, underlined with exclamation points it would probably be: Rearranges Furniture!! This, I have found to be the mother of all cheese moving issues we deal with – and as such, has to be handled with the utmost of delicacy. Which is why on Mother’s Day, along with all of my other lovely gifts, I was given explicit permission to dismantle and rearrange the living room. Truly, one of my more cherished opportunities.

And so it filled me with great sadness to realize that after all of his generosity and self-sacrifice on my High Holy Day, I have chosen to repay him by whisking myself and his first born child 1000 miles away on Father’s Day, and leaving him behind with our adorable, yet tempermental 1-year-old. It was a complete oversight on my part as I began jockeying around between vacation days at work and booking plane reservations. Before I knew it, I had done the one thing I had specifically intended not to do: be gone on Father’s Day. By the time I realized it, we had two non-refundable round-trip tickets booked, and the understanding that he had just added item 1001 to that secret diary.

So instead of reciprocating all of the generosity and selflessness he granted me – giving him a relaxing day of clean counters and all the fast food he can eat – I am reduced to sending him all of my love and appreciation here on these pages.

To my husband – the father of my children, the man who makes this crazy, overwhelming, endlessly challenging job actually doable – I say this:

I am reminded daily how infinitely lucky I am to have found someone so collaborative, dedicated and amazingly human with whom to raise my children, and for that I couldn’t be more grateful. Although Stella and I aren’t there with you, we are thinking of you and wishing you a wonderful Father’s Day.

To B (street) or not to B (street)? That is the question.

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As many of you may or may not know, we have begun house hunting. And, if you know us, you know that we are your garden-variety nightmare consumers. We research. We discuss. We research some more. Then we concoct some elaborate plan that involves ebay, an interest free payment plan and overnight shipping. House hunting has been no different. Throughout the course of our newest retail adventure, Steve has become intimately involved with the various Humboldt County MLS databases – buying them expensive jewelry and taking them out to fancy dinners – all in hopes that they will put out provide us with that one perfect listing. His level of knowledge of the current Humboldt County housing market is such that all I need to do is yell out a house color and he can tell me how many properties are currently listed in that color, their square footage, the price and whether or not they have slab or perimeter foundations. This, my friends, is how I have chosen to put all that obsessive door-knob-touching behavior to good use.

The upside of knowing all the houses on the market: We know what is out there.
The down-side of knowing all the houses on the market: We know what is out there.

Welcome to house-hunting in the state of California.

In much the same way that we used our previous residence as a guide when choosing this house (i.e., NOT college student adjacent, NOT completely blocked from natural sunlight, NOT required to use a ladder to access the bedroom), our current residence has provided us with a set of criteria for our newest housing adventure (i.e. NOT on a busy corner, NOT 1 bathroom, NOT able to hear our neighbor’s toilet flush). Hence, we are getting ourself into a slightly more refined search. We are finding that no matter how many listings Steve has memorized, we still are unable to afford something that meets our newly defined criteria without having to sell a kidney the black market to make the down payment.

Although there are many things we truly love about our house, we have begun to realize that its size and location have some noticeable downsides. And one bathroom. Really, it’s all about the one bathroom. The one small bathroom. Okay, and the ridiculously annoying cars with ridiculously bad paint jobs and ridiculously loud mufflers that accelerate around our corner day and night. But aside from size and location, we really do like our house. After all, we did just dedicate Stella’s College Fund a sizable sum of money towards eliminating any and all traces of gold-flecked, seafoam green formica.

So what now?

We have begun to realize that we may be staying put for a little while longer. After numerous discussions on the subject, we have decided that we have no interest in putting our emotional and physical energy into a home unless it is the one we will be in for a long while. We have also realized that we will probably not be able to afford exactly what we want, but will instead need to find something based on its potential. And although we have been on the look-out for this decent-enough-for-the-short-run-but-with-plenty-of-potential-for-the-long-run house, we are hoping that we aren’t wishing for something that falls on the reality scale somewhere between leprechauns and unicorns. So for now, we are still those crazy cock-eyed optimists that believes the right one will somehow surface in a price range well below the GNP of a small, third-world country. Call us crazy.

And although I realize it lacks grace and style to bemoan one’s financial situation, I will say this: as of late, we are hemorrhaging money in terms of day care. Undertaking a new (and inevitably higher) mortgage may best be saved until I stop endorsing my entire paycheck to the State of California and their hifalutin “full cost” status they have granted us. I’ll refrain from my red-state rant about being punished for working for a living because Porter’s new center is the equivalent of a toddler day spa. Although I can’t prove it, I am fairly certain he regularly gets mineral baths and pedicures.

In the meantime we have made a decision to continue to just revisit our space usage strategies. So, we bought some new dressers, underwent phase 7 of child-proofing to offset my son’s unerring instincts to go for the one unsecured item in a room (and even figure out how to get to the things that have been secured), and we are doing a bit of spring cleaning. If we are creative, I’m certain we’ll be able to continue to think of ways to stretch the space. As it turns out, Stella is even good for an idea or two. Last weekend, while we were discussing where to put this, that and the other, Stella chimed in with her suggestion:

“I know, Daddy! You and Mommy can get bunk beds!!”