Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Oh, Good. More Snot.

My daughter turned 11 months old two days ago.  She's getting increasingly mobile, right as I'm FINALLY getting ready to move into our new house.  (Pack/load is Monday.)

I love my daughter.  I do.

But I hate being a parent.  I resent the ending of my life in Chicago.  There is nothing satisfying or enjoyable about 90% of this.  Why the fuck does anyone do this voluntarily?  Turns out?  Those 30 years I spend not wanting children, not even a little bit?  I knew what I was talking about.

How am I going to keep doing this?  When I don't like my job, and I can't fix it, and it's not going to get better, I leave.  And now I'm trapped in this godforsaken backwater with this time-sucking little beast.  And it is not going to get better.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

A Finish!


This is "Tempest in a Teacup."  He's a free pattern by Teresa Wentzler.  TW is known for thousands of colors, crazy fractional stitches and insane back stitching, but I LOVE the way her patterns turn out.  Of course, this is the first one of hers that I've managed to complete and I don't even want to talk about how long it took me...

But, it's done it's done itsdonedoneDONE!  Yay!  *insert happy snoopy dance here*

Monday, March 10, 2014

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe


On the 18th of February, I went browsing through a realtor's online portal and found this house.  This lovely, lovely house.  I sent a request for more information via the site and then also called and then called again, because I NEED A HOUSE.  The realtor (MY realtor) sent the request over to the person handling the listing and heard... nothing.  And so she called and called and called and emailed and the woman responded to her string of questions by email, and answered one question.  And so it's been. 

It took until February 24 to arrange for a viewing, and my realtor emailed me that day to cancel because she hadn't gotten confirmation back and then emailed again in the afternoon to cancel her cancellation 'cause she'd finally heard back.  I walked through the house on the 24th, turned to my realtor and said "this is it.  make it so."

It is now the 10th of March and I still do not have a lease.  I have a signed form saying that they are going to do a lease, which my realtor assures me means that the house is mine.  I will feel SO much better about this when I have a lease.  GIMME THE HOUSE.

On one hand, if the realtor for the house had been at all tech-savy, I would probably not have found the house.  And I do mean at all - I'm on Zillow, trulia, hotpads, rent.com, yahoo homes, realtor.com, craig's list, various online newspapers, several realtor's portals and several other locations - and this house showed up NOWHERE.  If you google the address, it shows up for sale on one site that I've never heard of.  When I drove by it, the 'for sale' sign in the front yard was hand-lettered.  So in this market, where rentals are gone in a day, this house has been available since NOVEMBER.  In November, I was in the midst of my "we shall audit all the things" whirl of travel so odds are very good that the house would have been long gone before I was available to see it.  So, I should be patient because this is going to work for me.  Patient.  I shall be patient.  GIMME THE HOUSE! 

Evidently, the owners have never rented before and they're freaking out over drawing up a lease so they have their attorney drawing it up.  And there's a new request for information about every day.  Last week, they requested names, ages, pictures and assorted other information about my cats.  So I sent them this.  I see no way this could possibly go wrong...

 
(Yes, I did send real pictures of my cats later.  No one but my super cool realtor saw this one.  Relax...)
 
My perfect house is older, updated with character, 4 bedrooms (upstairs), 2 bathrooms, 2 car garage (I prefer detached, with garage behind house), basement, eat-in kitchen with dining room, space somewhere for a baby pottery studio of my own, fireplace, nice front porch, and room for my books.  I want 4 bedrooms because I'd really like to have a dedicated guest room.
 
THIS house is older (1924), updated with character (yay, built-ins!), 2 bedrooms upstairs (one of which was 2 rooms until they took down the connecting wall) and one bedroom downstairs, 2 bathrooms, 2 car detached garage behind house, basement, dining room (with bonus woodstove!), a separate room in the basement where I can put a baby pottery studio of my own, fireplace, fantastic front porch, and room for my books.  There's also what the owners call an "artist's loft" at the top of the stairs, so I need to wander the house and ponder a bit, but the downstairs bedroom may become a dedicated guest room and my craft room can go in the artist's loft, with overflow in my bedroom.  the kitchen is not big enough to be eat in, but there's a family room off the dining room (which has hard floors.  why does anyone ever put carpet in a dining room?  my darling child can spread a single green bean around a 5 foot radius, for pete's sake.  carpet = bad.) and a living room that is the front of the house, so there's probably space for my lovely tables. 
 
There's also a fantastic patio in the back and a very small amount of grass to deal with.  (Have I mentioned my hatred of grass?  I hate grass.  Biggest waste of resources ever.  What is wrong with meadow?  Grrrr.)
 
 
 
AND it's only about 5 miles each way to work!  Huzzah!
 
So it only took 5 months, but I think I have a house!  Soon, hopefully, I'll have a comfy little rut, in my house, with my stuff to call my own.  YAY!
 
Just as soon as they GIMME THE HOUSE!!  (Patient.  I will be patient.  If it kills me.  And them.)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

Monday, February 17, 2014

In Which We Reconvene...

It's been a bit over a year since the day my world came crumbling down around me.  I'm still struggling to wrap my head around it all. 

My water broke at 6:00 in the morning, May 13.  Squeak was born on May 14 at 2:23 am.  I went back to work on the 25th of June.  And then I put my notice in at my company in Chicago, worked until 9/20, spent the weekend moving to my parents' house and started at my new company on Monday, September 23.

I STILL haven't found a house here so my stuff is still in Chicago.  I think a big part of the problem there is that I do not want to be here.  I don't want to leave there.  I don't want to leave the place, my studio, my friends, etc.  I don't want to admit that her father doesn't care.  I don't want to leave.

Except, I've already left.  I've been with my new company for nearly 5 months.  I'm currently driving 60 miles each way, every day.  I love Petunia, but gas mileage is not her best thing.  Filling her tank every day or so is KILLING me.

One more thing: I spent last weekend in Chicago, staying with a friend, while we packed up my kitchen and dining room.  At some point between 1/19 when my friend was there last and 1/31 when my landlady found it, a pipe burst in my kitchen.  This has required my kitchen to be gutted out to the external brick.  A team of water/fire/mold experts came in and cleaned.   The floor in the dining room, and part of the wall, had to be torn out as well.  So that was awesome.

And walking into that house, and smelling the damp, and seeing the destruction, made me realize that I'll never stay in that house again.  And it hit me all over again how unhappy I am to be in Ohio.  Sigh.

I have to wonder about the CRAZY housing market here.  It's worse than Chicago, where, if it was on the market more than a day, something was wrong with it.  I have actually walked through at least 10 houses.  I've had easily twice that many cancel because they've already been rented.  And that doesn't count the houses (at least 15 or so) that will not allow pets.  So it's not like I'm not trying.

Of the ones I've seen, the house in Seville was beautiful but 50 miles away from EVERYTHING.  More of a problem was the pond.  The owner mentioned that they used to have 3 little donkeys but a month or so before, one of them fell into the pond (RIGHT OUTSIDE THE HOUSE) and drowned.  If a donkey can't get out of the pond, my daughter would be toast.

Then there was the huge, 6 bedroom house that clearly used to be amazing but was so run down that probably the only hope is a wrecking ball.

And the tiny, super expensive houses in Bay Village.  One didn't even have a basement.  And the tiny duplex in Bath.  Interesting that they can apparently count the square footage of a garage if it's attached, even without a door to the inside.

And the gorgeous historical home in Highland Square that had plaster walls that were bubbling off due to the water damage.  (Thanks, but I really hope to be done with water for a while.)  The historical home in the middle of nowhere that was going to have the crazy caretaker ("I don't need any drugs now that God is talking to me.") living in the basement.  The craftsman bungalow that reeked of pot and had no appliances... The super expense yet small ranch in West Akron with a vertical driveway and zero storage... The house in Medina that had no grass, and an oven from the early 50s - which I wouldn't have minded, had it worked.

And so on and so forth.  So that's been frustrating.  I just feel like I'm stuck in such a rut.  I need a house.  I need to get out of Chicago.  I need my own routine.  My parents would like their house and life back.

In the meantime, Squeak is 9 months old.  She's got four teeth, all on the bottom, and most resembles a tiny bulldog.  Her hair is a dandylion fluff of white gold that waves around her head like a fraggle.

I'm not yet at the point that I can't imagine life without her, because I totally can.  And it would be fabulous.  But, I can imagine life WITH her and I'm looking forward to Halloween costumes and Christmas mornings and seeing the world through her eyes.  So, that's progress, I guess.

Keep your fingers crossed for me.  I NEED A HOUSE.

Sunday, December 15, 2013

The Unfairness of It All

Something's been bugging me for a while. I love my daughter, I do. 
 
But I spent 18 years arduously avoiding pregnancy and was relieved when I was told that I'd probably never them.  In spite of that, and the nuvering, and the condom, I found out at 28 weeks that I was pregnant. (And I'm lucky she didn't pop out wearing that damn thing as her first bracelet.) Right up until I had her, I was seriously considering adoption because I had a fabulous life that I loved a lot.
 
So, you know, it's been a fairly traumatic year for me and I do my best to make light of it and I'm determined to be the best mom I can be and I'm making the best decisions for her that I can... but some days are harder than others which kinda makes me feel like those whiners in 'first world problems' or whatever. (Oh, poor little me, with my fantastic supportive parents, awesome new job and perfect baby - I can't sleep in when I want to anymore.)

 So I was talking to a couple of people at dinner this week, and I told them the highlights of my year, and the lady started to cry because she tried for 5 years, lost twins at 4.5 months, tried for another 2 years, lost that one at 5 months, gave up and then had her daughter (who almost killed her) a year or so later.  And she was really having an issue with the comparison. and I can't really blame her, because it's something that I feel kind of guilty about.  
I' m struggling with still coming to terms with having a child at all, and then I am also struggling with the unfairness of it all - people who so desperately want children and would be such awesome parents put themselves through hell trying to have them, to no avail, while I tried so hard to NOT have them, and then have the easiest pregnancy ever and now I have this gorgeous child. (And don't get me started on the sperm donor buying a boat this year while I left Chicago to afford his child.)

I don't do regret - what's the point? - and I'm not a believer in plan of a higher power, but any words of wisdom about reconciling my brain right now would be welcome.

Friday, September 06, 2013

Bitter Tears

 I told my daughter's father tonight, via phone, that we were moving to Ohio, and he started cracking jokes about taking my dead plants and who had to move my tons of books, as tears slid silently down my face. 
My fault, for fucking someone I barely knew to get over someone else. 
My fault, for wishing that he cared enough to even try when he so clearly doesn't. 
My fault, for letting emotions get in the way, for the little thrill that went through me when he said my name.   We've been "together" or whatever you want to call it for over a year, and this is the first time he's said my name.  I wasn't even really sure he knew it.
My fault, for breaking apart a little every time he says "my daughter" and means the real daughter, with his ex-wife, the one he acknowledges. 
And so I sit here on my couch, and watch my daughter sleep, and I mourn for the daddy that she'll never have and the hole in her life that I can't fix and it's killing me and there's nothing I can do about it. Every time I think that I'm as hurt as I'm going to be and surely it'll start getting better, it gets worse. and I am just so tired and heart-sore. And maybe one day, I'll be able to look at a father and daughter or read about a happy family and not be engulfed by a wave of agony for what will never be that damn near brings me to my knees. At this point, I don't even know which I hurt for the most - that he can walk away from her so easily, or from me. But I wish, oh how I wish, that I wasn't so easy to leave. And gods, I hope this scabs over quickly because I don't know how much more I can take.
 

Friday, July 05, 2013

ME TOO!

I started to write a comment at Jenny's hilarious entry but it kept growing so I decided to just post it.  You're welcome.

Roy Orbison isn't blind?  Really?

I thought slugs were homeless snails too.

I was in my thirties before I realized that the short bus had an ELEVATOR, not a cage, in the back.  My parents told me that it was a cage for really bad kids.  My cousins were laughing hysterically at me when I confessed, and my brother looked confused and said, "Wait, it's not a cage?"

If you show me the word "Arkansas," I pronounce it ARK-ansas.

When we learned about maps in fifth grade, I decided that that meant that you were always heading North, and a righthand turn meant that you were turning toward the East.  A lefthand turn, of course, meant that you were turning West.

To this day, I don't like raisins in things mostly because my dad said they were beetles.  Also, he told me that tapioca pudding was made of fish eyes and I haven't eaten it since.

I also thought people were talking about the old TV show "Sanford and Son" when they went on about Mumford and sons.

To this day, I have to make my pointer fingers and thumbs into an "L" to figure out which is the left one.  And sometimes that doesn't help.

It was very recently that I discovered that "Duck Dynasty" was not, in fact, about ducks.  I thought it was like that meercat show where they followed around a family of ducks.

I'm not alone - friends from college visited last fall, and we went to Navy Pier (in Chicago).  As we were walking back to the train, my friend asked where the seals were.

In college, I worked for the library and one morning a week, I had to work the information desk from 7:00 to 12:00.  A woman used to come complain all the time that men were using the women's bathroom.  When I finally asked her what made her decide that, she told me it was because when she went in there, all of the lids were up.  (The cleaning people put them up when they cleaned the toilets.)