“An eye can threaten like a loaded and leveled gun, or it can insult like hissing or kicking; or, in its altered mood, by beams of kindness, it can make the heart dance for joy. … One of the most wonderful things in nature is a glance of the eye; it transcends speech; it is the bodily symbol of identity.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson
Andy has done so much for our house. He’s installed three ceiling fans, three light fixtures and a chandelier. He’s patched countless cracks in our plaster walls. He’s painted almost every room in the house—a couple of them, twice. He’s re-cemented our front steps. He’s installed French doors. He’s redone almost all our outlets. He built a beautiful fence for our backyard. But if there’s one thing he’s not really comfortable doing, it’s plumbing. An example:
Several years ago, before our bathroom remodel, we were tired of our plastic, mold-invaded shower knobs and faucet. So we bought chrome ones.
Andy began to disassemble our old knobs and faucet and, after three trips to the basement, our bathroom was filled with what seemed like a lot of tools (and odd non-tool items) for what was supposed to be a simple project. About an hour into the process, Andy hollered for me to come upstairs: He needed my advice. The conversation went something like this:
“See this pipe?” he asked. “It’s too long for our new faucet. I think I need to cut it. Do you think I should cut it?”
“What’s the baseball bat for?” I asked.
“Bee, seriously, should I cut the pipe or not?”
“How are you going to cut through metal?”
“With a hacksaw,” he said with a tone that insinuated everyone knows you cut metal pipes with a hacksaw. (Note: We own a pipe cutter.)
“Sure, cut it.”
“You really think I should?”
“If that’s the only way you can get the new faucet to fit, I say cut the pipe.”
Three hours later our home-improvement store was closed and there were three pipes sticking out of our shower wall, and no knobs or faucets attached. Apparently, our new chrome knobs and faucet “wouldn’t work.” We went to bed.
The next morning Andy made the first of four total trips to the store that day for additional parts, including a new set of knobs and a new faucet. Later that afternoon I found him in the kitchen, angrily cleaning the mold out of the old plastic knobs. The new second set, he said, wasn’t going to work either. So the old knobs went back on. But the old faucet couldn’t be reattached because the pipe it was attached to was lying in parts on the bathroom floor. His solution? We were going to take baths.
I’m a shower person. The idea of forever taking baths didn’t appeal to me. Technically, you could take a shower. You simply stuck your thumb over the hole in the end of the pipe, which caused water to come out of the showerhead, instead. To actually clean one’s self while doing this, however, required flexibility I didn’t have.
A couple nights later, we made one last trip to the home-improvement store and bought some copper pipe and couplings. Andy stuffed some bread into the pipe to soak up any water (a trick he learned from a home-improvement book), and, using our new crème brulee torch, soldered a copper pipe with a threaded end on to the existing, hacked-up pipe. While the crème brulee torch did a fine job with the soldering, it also managed to toast the bread, turning it into a hard substance that completely clogged the pipe.
Thankfully it was only a matter of cleaning out the burnt bread before Andy was able to attach the new faucet, successfully.
We use Bum Genius 3.0 one-size cloth diapers. We love them. They were particularly easy to care for when Sophie was solely breastfeeding. But then, she started solids. Solids do things to diapers. No longer could we simply throw the diapers in the wash. Now they need rinsed off, first. So, I asked Andy if he could attach a sprayer to our toilet. Simple, right?
I’m not sure if you can tell from this picture but here’s Andy, after attempting to connect the sprayer, soaking wet. Something about compression fittings. I don’t know.
So if anyone reading this uses cloth diapers I’d love to know what you do about rinsing before washing, without a sprayer.
“If I had my life to live over again, I’d be a plumber.” —Albert Einstein
Thursday Andy and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary at Honey in Northside.
Nini and Grandpa babysat Sophie at our house, hoping to lessen her separation anxiety. Dancing helped.
“A happy marriage is a long conversation that always seems too short.” —Andre Maurois
Check out this awesome helmet I’m holding, which you can buy—with your own colors and customized logo—from Fantasy Sports Factory.
If you drop it on the ground, it won’t break. And, you can chew on it!
(I knew it would only be a matter of time before Mom and Dad used my good looks for monetary gain.)
“Fantasy football is out of control.” —Lewis Black
Last week Andy called and asked if we wanted to meet him for lunch. A quick diaper change, a treat for Tucker and we were off. We ate on Chipotle’s patio until we feared it was a little too cold for Sophie—although she did look cute in her bonnet, trying to sneak handfuls of rice and beans when we weren’t watching.
“The Dalai Lama visited the White House and told the President that he could teach him to find a higher state of consciousness. Then after talking to Bush for a few minutes, he said, ‘You know what? Let’s just grab lunch.'” —Bill Maher
Dad let me pick out my outfit the other day! I wore my Cincinnati Reds T-shirt because their season was almost over. I wore my Baby Legs because they were new. Then Dad said I had to have something over my diaper so I picked a pair of knickers that go with my favorite summer dress. I think it’s the best outfit ever.
“Just around the corner in every woman’s mind is a lovely dress, a wonderful suit, or entire costume which will make an enchanting new creature of her.” —Wilhela Cushman
I love hanging out on the quilt Uncle Tom’s mom, Andrea, made for me.
Tucker likes to hang out with me. This sometimes drives Mom crazy because his hair gets everywhere.
I play with my toys and sometimes drool on my shirt.
But none of my toys compare to my foot.
“If you were to open up a baby’s head—and I am not for a moment suggesting that you should—you would find nothing but an enormous drool gland.” —Dave Barry
Dear Sophie,
Six months ago today I thought I’d be carrying you for a few more weeks. I didn’t know you were a girl, I didn’t know your name was Sophie. I didn’t know you’d weigh 5 lbs, 9 oz, which would mean your fingers and toes would be so delicate I’d almost be afraid to touch them.
Six months ago today I underestimated the power of seemingly small achievements—latching on, three continuous hours of sleep, a smile in reaction to another one. I didn’t know that breastfeeding doesn’t always come naturally, that sleep deprivation can make you come undone, that a smile can make the most trying of days worth it.
Six months ago today I didn’t know you’d develop a personality so quickly. I didn’t know how easy it would be to make you cry or how easy it would be to make you laugh—sometimes all at the same time. I didn’t know your mood would affect me so much.
Six months ago today I didn’t know that a night filled with zerberts and dancing would be infinitely more desirable than a night out with a cocktail and dancing. I didn’t know how grateful I’d be for some alone time and I didn’t know how crazy anxious I’d be to then get you back.
Six months ago today I didn’t know how much I’d love showing you this world and I didn’t know that by watching your wide-eyed response I’d be introduced to my world all over again.
Six months ago today I wasn’t quite sure how you fall in love with someone you’ve never met.
Now, I get it.
Love,
Mom
“Grow old with me! The best is yet to be.” —Robert Browning
“What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?” —Vincent van Gogh
Saturday we drove up to Medina, Ohio to celebrate Suzanna’s 2nd birthday.
Sophie hung out with Great Uncle Mark,
watched the big kids hit the pinata,
admired Suzanna’s butterfly wings,
hung out by the pond with me,
and saw horses for the first time with Sandra, Suzanna and Dad.
“Horses and children, I often think, have a lot of the good sense there is in the world.” —Josephine Demott Robinson
