Visitors

I feel some pressure to put another post up so that people are no longer confronted with the last one. But there isn't much news to report, thankfully--we've had enough surprises and big life events lately! Work had even been relatively calm for a couple of weeks, even to the point where Sam and I could reliably watch an episode or two of the shows we've been Netflixing. We got hooked on House, MD, (which I think could become a favorite on Kintail Dr., BTW) one night when it was the only English show on TV in Italy or somewhere, and we actually caught the entire episode, something that happened only once during our 8 weeks in Europe. We've also been watching Heroes, which has proven equally addictive. Is TV getting better these days, or is my mind turning to mush?

My parents are coming into town today. Naturally their visit inspired a small burst of cleaning and de-cluttering. Sam joined so cooperatively in this effort that I had to assure him that it was okay if there were traces that he actually lived there. I wish we could live all the time the way we do just before people arrive--everything in its place or at least out of sight--but then, between work and remodeling (and the abovementioned TV habits, our one reliable form of relaxation), we never seem to have the time.

After my parents leave, JS is coming for her first visit to the newly joint household. She's used to marching in, opening cabinets, inspecting food supplies, and generally helping herself, so she has already stated that she's preparing herself mentally for the transition. ;)

Not Just for Breakfast Anymore; or, a Taste of Daily Life

Warning: This post is going to be graphic, disgusting, and completely inappropriate for public discourse. I'm writing it just to indulge myself, and I'm sure I'll regret it later. But don't worry, I promise not to let this blog turn into the pregnancy daily news.

Unlike JS, who--impressively--can purge on demand, I'm not much of a vomiter. Apart from a minor grad-school incident involving the second visitation of some Sprite (and well, okay, a bit of rum) one memorable evening with Clare (see, it couldn't have been too bad--I remember it!), I had basically not thrown up since a Girl Scout camping trip in junior high. In hindsight, that incident was quite understandably inspired by the bologna-and-oil sub sandwich that we girls had resourcefully prepared for ourselves. So, for a couple of decades, I had somehow managed to avoid the stomach flu, various sources of cross-contamination, and anything else that would render such distress.

All this changed about fourteen weeks ago. We'd just confirmed the presence of the little rice-grain using three 99.5% accurate pregnancy tests. They turned cutely pink--oh, how sweet. But then that teensy tiny presence made itself known much more forcefully, and I started getting nauseous. Really, really nauseous. And factor in intense heat; 10-hour days on buses, trains, and ferries; and erratically available foreign food sources. I started carrying ziploc bags around with me so that if necessary, I could whip one out on the bus, vomit neatly into it, zip it up, and hand it over to Sam to dispose of. He loved that.

So, what have I learned in 3 1/2 months of vomiting (which now, I gingerly begin to hope, has backed off a bit)? Well, for one thing, I feel lucky if I throw up right after eating, because less digested food is slightly less revolting. I've also gotten much more efficient at it--at first, there was lots of retching and kvetching; now I can bring up everything back to the bile and have my teeth brushed and face washed within a few economical seconds. And finally, of all the things I've thrown up, Count Chocula cereal was the least bad (still sweet). The runner-up worst: raisin bran (the thing is, the texture is kind of like vomit before you even swallow raisin bran the first time). Ultra worst: eggplant Parmesan with a pure bile chaser.

A Shout-Out to the FMFCU

I joined the Franklin Mint Federal Credit Union when I was in college, partly because my dad advised me, "If you can ever become a member of a credit union, do it over a bank." It was one of his fatherly bits of wisdom. I've now had this account for about 15 years.

Today I realized that some checks I had sent in a week ago had not appeared on my balance, so I called them (I suspected a problem based on my recent name-change--the checks were written out to a different name). The kind woman who answered the phone called the branch where mail deposits arrive and talked to them for me (rather than just transferring me). They hadn't received my envelope, so she had them keep an eye out for it. An hour later, I got an email from the person she had spoken to saying that it had just arrived, and they wanted to let me know they'd received it.

It's a small thing, but so nice and personal. I wish I could send them some of the Halloween cupcakes we have at home right now.

Skittles

Sweet, tangy, fruity intensity--I had forgotten how delicious you are, O Skittles!

Why Sam Believes in Miracles (Now)

Not long before we got married, Sam and I were talking about my church. He'd started attending a few months before and really liked much of what I like about it--the humility and authenticity of the pastors, the pragmatism of the sermons, the emphasis on social justice. But, he announced, he did not like the way we all talked about miracles. "I just don't think those kinds of things happen anymore," he said.

"Fine," I said, "but if we have a baby within a year, you'll have to believe in miracles."

"Fine," he chortled, "THEN I'll believe in miracles. Because THAT is never going to happen."

Sam had good reasons for this assertion: he had been informed that he could not have a child naturally. An infertility specialist had told him, "A woman on the pill has a better chance of getting pregnant than you have of getting a woman pregnant." Insensitive perhaps, but confirmed with second opinions and such.

I teased him about his position while we were traveling in Greece: "You know, if I did get pregnant, you'd have to carry the heavy bags. And we'd have to eat really often."

Eventually tiring of this commentary, he replied one day, "Well, why don't we get a pregnancy test tomorrow?"

Now I was the scoffer: "Because I'm not pregnant! Why would we waste money on a pregnancy test?"

This conversation in jest was enough to get us snickering as we stood in the Greek pharmacy the next day waiting for a prescription refill, unable to read any of the labels and speculating about which would be the appropriate product. Our junior-high-health-class behavior drew the attention of the pharmacist, and after some improvisational Greek on Sam's part ("My wife and I, having been married two months [a slight exaggeration on his part], and now, maybe, the baby?"), we walked out with our little pink box.

I wasn't even going to take it. I didn't have any signs, after all. Yes, I had been nauseous, but that was the carsickness from our long bus ride. And I had been lightheaded, but come on--it was 115 degrees out! As for the other usual indicators, it was hardly even time to get suspicious yet.

But then again, we weren't going to carry this test all over Europe with us, were we? So I went ahead and dutifully took it.

When we saw the result, we dropped that hot potato onto the bed and jumped away from it. Then we zoomed around the room like two balloons that had had the air let out of them too fast. Then we changed our tickets, and then we headed for home.

A few weeks of stunned surprise later, my doctor at home nonchalantly confirmed the results (you'd think he did this kind of thing every day).

And just two weeks ago, we heard the beating of a brand new heart.

Welcome to the Vineyard, honey!

Remodeling

Here is a list of what has been done on the new house since closing on February 13 (minus a few months in Europe over the summer):

• Had entire house rewired, and repaired walls and ceilings throughout
  
• Installed central air conditioning and further repaired walls and ceilings
  
• Had roof repaired
  
• Cleared and fixed cracks in living room
  
• Removed a bit of living room wallpaper
  
• Repainted living room ceilings, walls, and trim (a soothing green)
  
• Removed strangely bricked-over door in front room and replaced with drywall
  
• Repainted front sunroom ceilings and walls (warm vanilla)
  
• Repainted cathedral ceilings in sunroom
  
• Repainted sunroom walls (cheerful yellow--who would paint a sunroom brown like that?)
  
• Painted tongue-and-groove woodwork in sunroom
  
• Ripped out virtually indestructible laundry chute (constructed of solid, thick timbers that ran from the basement to the attic, along with concrete reinforcements and sheet metal
  
• Replaced wall and floor where laundry chute used to be
  
• Cleared out enormous piles of rubble in basement under old laundry chute from destruction
  
• Removed 4-6 layers of vinyl, linoleum, and parquet flooring in kitchen and hallway
  
• Laid down radiant heat pads and installed tile in kitchen and hallway
  
• Cleaned every square millimeter of the tile with a metal toothbrush-sized tool and acid when the "haze" (read: Thick layer of grout) on surface of tile did not simply wash off as promised by tile guy
  
• Removed kitchen wallpaper
  
• Removed upper and lower kitchen cabinets
  
• Redesigned kitchen layout and had new kitchen cabinets and countertops installed
  
• Removed carpet in two upstairs bedrooms


• Laid new carpet in upstairs bedrooms
  
• Removed bizarre dogs-playing-poker-at-a-bar wallpaper border in office


• Removed four layers of wallpaper in master bedroom (including a bottom layer fused to the wall)


• Removed old fiberboard checkered tiles from bedroom ceiling


• Hung new drywall ceiling in bedroom
  
• Cut and hung new crown molding in bedroom
  
• Painted bedroom ceiling and bedroom trim (five times on all those panes in the window trim!)
  
• Painted bedroom walls (calm blue)


• Removed wallpaper from walls--and ceiling--in small bathroom
  
• Repainted small bathroom ceiling, trim and walls (pale orange)
  
• Removed wallpaper in smaller bedroom


• Removed two toilets and two sinks and replaced them with new fixtures in bathrooms


• Removed almost-naked heating element from shower ceiling (I'm serious!) and replastered ceiling


• Removed wallpaper in walls and ceilings of big bathroom
  
• And lastly, discovered enormous hole in wall of big bathroom (solution pending . . . )

Most of the work we've done ourselves (which means Sam has done it himself, especially since we've been back), with a few unforgettably generous assists from family, friends, and a former student. My mom took down the wallpaper in the bedrooms; my dad helped pull up the flooring and hang the new crown molding. Sam's former student spent three days on his hands and knees scrubbing tile . . . similarly, another friend voluntereed several days' worth of her painting skills (the student was paid, and our painter friend bartered help from Sam with a website, but can you really repay those who help you in an hour of need?).


One day, a friend from school stopped by to give a bit of advice on repairing the wall behind the laundry chute, and when he saw how discouraged we were at how little we were getting done, he returned a while later, let himself in, and quietly set about fixing the wall *for* us. Another friend came over after his evening child-care shift at home and worked until 11:00 a couple of nights figuring out how to bolt the pedestal sink into the concrete wall. And on one of those nights, his wife came over with a basket full of dinner for everybody who was working over there. Our pastor helped hook up the kitchen stove.

At this point, what's left is to paint the kitchen and touch up the paint in a few rooms, do some excavation-level cleaning (which we've thankfully started), fix the bathroom wall, and paint in there. Then I move (Sam's stuff is mostly there already, though we're living at my house for now), and we settle in with a big party for all of our friends and benefactors.

The house looked nice--albeit in a 1980's kind of way--when we started. Then it looked really, really bad somewhere in the middle while we were ripping out walls and ceilings for various wires and vents. Now it looks better, and Sam has taken some pics to prove it I've stolen these from his blog, and if there's anyone you don't want to steal Internet-published intellectual property from, it's probably a new media professor--the lectures alone that you'd get! (But then, "what's yours is mine," right, honey?)


Master bedroom, during and after:

Kitchen, during and . . . later during:

The Doctors Are In

So one of the weird things about having a gender-neutral title is that when you get married and change your name, you end up having the exact same professional name as your spouse. I'm just getting used to my new last name, but only sometimes, and only when my first name is still attached as a buffer. Then today a student introduced me to another student as "Dr. F--" (oops, that looks like a bowdlerized cuss-word, but that's not what I mean) and it felt like I was posing as Sam.

He likes it, though, because he thinks it will throw our colleagues into consternation, result in students taking one of our courses when they intend to take a course by the other, and generally create inconvenience and chaos. I guess it's true what they say about how opposites attract.