"All I Know Is I Sure Ate A Lot of Jelly Bellies As These Photos Uploaded"

Alternate titles in the running for this post were "Doing Our Part to Revive the Economy"; "At Least It Got Us to Dust"; and "So, I Suppose If We Have a New Kitchen, That Means We Should Wash the Dishes?"

Naturally, because my brain is cacaphonous and full of conflicting shouts and yips, I have yet another option: "Some Weeks, I Find Myself All Balled Up Inside Because I Have No Time to Write." The subtitle for this option would read: "Groom Is Doing His Stint Today as a Newspaper Reader on the Radio for the Sight Impaired, and Paco's Testing for His Orange Belt Tonight, Followed by a Soccer Game, Followed by a Parent Meeting for Girl's Class Regarding an Upcoming Trip to an Environmental Education Center, and, Oh Yea, I'm Also Having a Garage Sale This Weekend, and Because My Neighbors Rock, They're Letting Me Use Their Garage, and That's So Cool Because Our Patch of Asphalt Could Not Be More Low Rent, but That Also Means I've Spent the Last Two Days Not Only Dredging and Pricing but Then Carrying Every Last Damn Piece of Crap the House Is Pooping Out Across Two Lawns--Oh, One More Thing, I'm Also Trying to Find Time to Grade a Passle of Run-Ons Activities, Get to the Grocery Store, and Go for a Sanity-Maintaining Run on a Beautiful Trail Where I Can Smell Some Pine Trees and Remember All That Is Good."

That last title's kind of catchy, inn't?

Adding to the kerfuffle has been the in-and-outing of construction guys and carpet layers (new rug on the back porch, as the old one got trashed during the kitchen work) and the fact that each of them is very chatty and has to ask me if I have a wrench and, inexplicably, an iron. Then I make them mochas and find out they hate their jobs and bemoan the lack of healthcare in this country, and before you know it, there's another hour I'll never get back.

Yet, somehow, it's all a bit of giddy fun at the same time. I kind of like making mochas for people, a skill that could come in very handy, should this teaching gig ever get tired. Mocha-making, coupled with a penchant for random chat, could turn me into Starbucks with personality, friends.

Anyhoodle, as of yesterday, the interior of the kitchen is done (a bit of exterior work remains). And, yes, I know I've rather gone on this summer about the remodel and have posted pictures time and again, but since we aren't so much Christians at our house but more Foodstians, I guess I can't help myself. It's like some disciples came and built us a new worship space.

So here goes again: the most recent views of the narthex, the pews, and the altar.

Tony, the tiler, came last week and put in the backsplash. White subway tile is almost as nummy as homemade croutons (which is what Groom's got drying on the counter there).

Backsplash from a distance. You can also see a silver-bullet looking flask on the island; I got that for Paco, in an attempt to get him to take a stainless steel water bottle to school. It has a skull on the front, and that has made all the difference. That skull is at first grade today. I think Paco is, too.

Technically, this would be the altar, methinks. Miss Silva, vixen of the village of Rancilo, has had me on my knees, kowtowing in gratitude, more than once.

The hood here--with the push of a button--rises majestically out of the countertop. In the presence of such technology, every testosterone-driven being who has come into the kitchen in the last two days finds himself struggling to catch a full breath. Gasping, the individual in question eventually asks, "Can I push the button again and watch it retract? And then push the button again and watch it come up?"

The vanity in the new half-bath has been installed. Get this: when you add another sink and toilet to the house, that means there's ANOTHER SINK AND TOILET THAT NEED CLEANING.

My antidote for this? Don't clean.

Groom painted the back porch, and then a really sketchy guy who seemed suspiciously tight with his bottle of glue came, cursed a lot, and installed the free carpet (kitchen remodelers paid for it).

What were you doing at 9:34 last night? I was shrieking at the appearance of yet another disembodied head in my day. The first one had been that of a Barbie (I put a price tag of $.10 on it). This second one looks like Librarian Ken's, eh?

Part of the domino effect of switching up the kitchen was the floor refinishing and--aw, what the hell--a rearrangement of furniture. Most important is the presence of the Playmobil castle on the radiator, of course.


See the heap of junk on the sideboard there? This morning, I carried it across two lawns and tossed it into a garage. With any luck, some poor sod who needs a fleece ballerina blanket will drive through my neighborhood this weekend.

You know, overall, as the various projects start to move towards a close, it's not so much about "stuff" and "having" and "shedding" as it is the creation of a space--and a house can be synergistic, more than the sum of its parts--that feels right,

a space that feels like a haven from the meetings and kid activities and grading,

a space that makes me want to take Communion.

In my case, of course, Communion consists of Triscuits and a hell of a lot of wine, often sucked straight from the bottle.

I would use a glass.

But with all the household transitions, I can't find one.

"Obligatory Kitchen Remodel Update, To Satisfy My Sister, If No One Else"

The notion of remodeling our kitchen first took root five years ago (namely, the day we moved in to our current house and recoiled in horror at the dark, run-downedness of that room...which, strangely, implies moving-day was the first time I ever spied the kitchen--as though I hadn't known the previous owners, eaten dinner there, done several walk-throughs, had the place inspected, and then, finally, moved in. Watershed moment on this blog: I'm a big liar through implication), and, since then, we've hung in there through dying appliances and floor tiles peeling up under our feet. Finally, though, finally, about six months ago, we saw the light at the end of a financial windfall (incidentally, it occurs to me at this juncture that not only do I love to mix metaphors; I also wish I'd had twins and named them Watershed and Windfall), and started moving ahead with plans to change up that sad drag of a room, the space where, nevertheless, we spent most of our time.

Here's another "incidentally": that last sentence has 72 words in it, so if you need to take a break right now and go pour a shot of vodka, I totally understand.

Waiting. Humming. Tapping.

Oh, you back now? Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and then we'll continue. You get a little sloppy when you drink, you know.

All right, then...

In a future post, I'll summarize how the funding for this venture came to us, but for now, let me summarize the process of the remodel:

About a year and a half ago, we interviewed possible companies/architects. Nothing felt perfect. Good news: we had no money anyways, so hahahahahahahaha on the whole idea.

About six months ago, we saw first glimmer of a financial payout that would allow the remodel to happen. At that point, we met with an architect and project manager from a local cooperative company named Builders' Commonwealth. When we hedged a quiet, "We were hoping for kind of an Arts & Crafts kitchen that's also modernized," and the project manager jumped in, gesturing to the architect, with, "But that's Hugh's speciality!" we were hooked. Because this company is a cooperative, there is no hierarchy, and the administrative positions rotate throughout the workers. This year, a furniture builder named Thad is president. He has an earring. The vice-president is a Lead Construction guy named Barry who, like me, is profoundly not a morning person, who appreciates quality coffee, and who laughed heartily at my quip about the laundry sink I grew up with when I reminisced, "Oh, man, I gave myself many a bad home perm in that thing."

The thing about this company is that each guy is personally invested, and each guy is wayyyyy into craftsmanship. We know our cabinetmaker by name. He is Jason. He is revered by his co-workers, who wish and hope that he would mess up a little, so they could score some of his "unusable" work. In fact, one of our construction guys, Sam, still can't believe he once scored some cabinet fronts made by Jason--the stain was too dark to suit the clients, so someone had to take them. And then hug them tightly for years afterwards. And maybe occasionally lick them.

Anyhow, I rather dreaded the influx of workers into our house, but they have made it easy. I would have any one of them over to dinner. At that dinner, I would insist they have dessert. It would be an espresso granita, with whipped cream. I would give them two dollops.

So we have had gracious, invested, talented people in our house since June 9th. Despite how much I love them, they could be done already. It's our kitchen, after all and fer crissakes. I'm ready no to wash dishes in the bath tub or over and neighbors' houses. I'm ready to bake Snickerdoodles. I'm ready to be able to find the molasses and my really big mug that can hold a well-iced latte.

Things were going along swimmingly...up until Builders' Commonwealth got The Call.

From ABC.

About an upcoming episode of Extreme Home Makeover.

Which they had been selected to help orchestrate--you know, as the builders.

Our fellas had not put in a bid for this, actually. The network just knew what region the show would be visiting, had a list of five potential families, and then read up on contractors in the area. They, rightly, thought Builders' was the best choice. Honored, excited, flabbergasted, Builders' agreed to do the job.

The details that have emerged since then are:

The home build for a needy local family will start August 3rd (smack dab in the middle of our ongoing project, naturally).

The ABC home build is done completely with volunteer labor, including the manhours from the entire company of Builders' Commonwealth

The local contractors have to hit up their vendors for materials, too; the network provides only liasion work and logistics. Oh, and Ty Pennington's highlights.

As loyal, paying clients of Builders', we may be getting VIP passes...to, um...the street of the home build? Or to the tent that has danishes? Or, best yet, to the moment the bus rolls away from the front of the new house?

Because this is such an intense project, lasting 120 hours from pouring the slab to rolling away the bus, all the contractors have had to pull back from their loyal, paying clients' projects over the last few weeks, just to pre-build things for the Extreme Home Makeover show.

Despite having split focus, the fine fellows at Builders' have done their best to leave us in relatively good shape for the next week, when our work site will fall silent.

To their credit, the place is coming together nicely:

This is what the kitchen looked like a couple of weeks ago, after the insulation went it. Turns out we had NO insulation before. You know we're true Northerners since we never noticed the draft.

Does a part of you wish we'd decided to keep the walls sky blue?

An extraneous door into the kitchen was sealed off, and the bottom stairs that turned into that now-non-existent door were straightened. Remodel domino effect #1: we get to pull up the old runner, paint the stairs, and get a new runner.

A hint of the color we did choose...clearly not sky blue. Look how hungry Groom gets when he paints and uses all those man muscles.

Don't you love the plywood "back door" we've been living with?

What with putting in new windows, all the beadboard on the back porch had to come down, and new is being put in. Remodel domino effect #2: we get to repaint the back porch. Oh, and since the carpet on the porch has been trashed, we have the opportunity to get new carpet.

This is where we usually sit and read books and eat lunch. Not this summer.

Remodel domino effect #3: this is upstairs, showing the wall that had to be cut open to reveal "The Stack"--whatever the hell that is...something to do with plumbing. Remodel domino effect #4: we also have the opportunity to repaint the hallway.

And then, this past week, it all started to come together. Cabinet installation began. We got a sink. We got a dishwasher. The oven works. It's convection. We have no earthly idea how to use it.

The tall door there is a pantry and also holds recycling bins that pull out.

You understand why someone might want to lick that wood, don't you?

Or just lay on it, all night long, whispering sweet nothings into its iron pyramid knobs?

Look how much lights don't suck!

When I look at these, I feel like I'm starring in a one-hour drama that depicts an idealized version of my life.

Yum all over.

Did I forget to mention the half-bath? Sweet Johnny Willywacker, but it's a whole new world of urination.


Yesterday...Saturday...two days before they start working full-time on the Extreme Home Makeover, a couple of the guys came over and installed our new back door. No more plywood. Even better, the door has a keypad that holds up to 19 entry codes, so we have gone Full International Spy 007. Paco had to meditate long and hard before coming up with his code of choice; the process involved his retiring to the couch with a tin of Yu-Gi-Oh trading cards for 15 minutes and studying all the monsters' various attack powers. My process involved babbling, "Um, I dunno what I'll be able to remember. How old am I again? Could we use that? A lot? Over and over?"

As you can tell, if we do score VIP passes to be in the crowd scene when the bus pulls away and that lucky family's new home is revealed to them, I won't be hard to spot. Look for the really bewildered woman who seems not to know her own age or where the molasses are.

"They Say They'll Be Done in Four Weeks..."