The Lawn Gnome in the Living Room

As many of you already know, my husband had surgery two weeks ago for an ongoing spinal injury. He was nervous about going under the knife, as any reasonable person would be. This was his first time having anything major done, his first experience with anesthesia, his first time spending the night in the hospital. It seemed normal for him to feel apprehensive about everything. I started to worry about the recovery process, however, about a week or so before the surgery, when he slumped about the house (in too much pain to do much of anything) breathing heavy, anxious sighs every ten minutes or so, rolling his eyes towards the heavens, and calling everyone he knew to say goodbye "just in case". Dear God. 

The surgery went about as smooth as could be expected, health wise he was recovering appropriately, but it became clear to me from hospital day one that maybe wives shouldn't be their husband's nurse maids. We snapped and snipped at each other while he moaned and writhed in pain. "Help me change position", "No! Not like THAT!", "Aargh! What do you want from me?!", "I'm not an invalid you know, now help me put on my socks!", "Do you want me to make you soup? What more can I do?!" Ugh, it wasn't pretty. 

We have spent long hours the past two weeks up in the middle of the night with him trying to find a comfortable position, discussing his bowel habits in great detail, and me trying to drum up the same compassion I have for my patients in the hospital, or my kids when they're sick. I'm embarrassed to admit how challenging it has been to really feel anything besides annoyed at how long it is taking for him to get better. Do other people feel this way when their mate is out of commission? Does this make me a bad person? A bad wife? Probably. I'm sure a better woman would feel terribly concerned, dote endlessly, and never want to scream out in irritation when grumbled at from the sofa to change his bandage for the fifth time that day. 

I felt especially guilty this week when he was able to get around enough to make a sloooww painful trip to the store to buy me flowers to thank me for taking care of him. Oh the guilt and shame. But he was so whiny! But I'm an asshole. Perhaps it's a bit of both. He is one whiny, sniveling, annoying sick person. And I suck at taking care of him. Thank god I take care of pregnant women and not injured relatives. And I will maintain that men are not as tough at getting through surgery as women. This must be a documented fact somewhere. It must. 

I guess the reality is that it's hard to see your mate as anything other than your strong hardworking partner. And having your husband planted in the living room like a lawn ornament watching endless reruns of Law and Order can get awfully old after three solid weeks, especially when there is no recognizable end in sight. Regardless, I'm feeling like a pretty callous person at the moment, and trying hard to channel my frustration with the situation into a positive force. It really could be much worse, but I'm pretty sure I couldn't survive that. 

A Dusty Road To Done

I think it's fairly obvious to all within a five mile radius of my Facebook page that we are living in a construction site while our house is being renovated. Having bought a century-old farmhouse with way too many walls, we have spent the past month creating some open space. We have had the wall removed between our kitchen and living room, and are adding a wood floor and a wood stove to our main living area. Albeit a small project, it is both magical in the transformation in our home, and slightly miserable for our lifestyle while we await completion. 

When I began thinking about this transformation I did not consider how long it would take to make things happen. I thought that, given the relative smallness of the project, it would take two weeks, maybe three. Now over four weeks in and with no clue as to how much longer, I realize that I may have been a bit naive. 

The floors went in today, and by golly, it felt like a home makeover TV show. Stunning transformation from our carpet/linoleum number. Unfreakingbelievable. Francisco and I both waltzed around the fumy living room in complete awe and a bit of a polyurethane haze. The wood stove has been positioned where it will eventually live, and -gasp- removed from its crate, and the walls have been repainted and are ready to go. 

A thick layer of construction dust is still covering every surface, not to be removed until the renovation is finished, and the entire contents of our kitchen are still sausaged into the hallway, but the light is visible at the end of the tunnel. I can finally see how this will drastically improve our quality of life, and maybe curb some of my never ending wanderlust. Maybe. I know I will revel in my new found open space. I'm just hoping the fumes dissipate before my kids' chances of getting into college are completely squashed.  

The Ruins

The almost completed floor

Stewing in Your Own Juices

As many of you know, this weekend included the arrival of a very special new addition to our family: the hot tub. I have been waiting many years to make this dream of mine a reality and now - ta dah! - dream actualized. Very exciting. And yes, the first soak made it incredibly clear to me why I have wanted this for so long. What is more lovely than taking a super hot bath and being naked in your own backyard as powerful jets massage away your upper back tension? It's all glorious and heavenly. Until the water starts to smell. Really really bad. 

It turns out the pool store I bought my chemicals from (and relied on to fully instruct me in all ways of hot tub care and maintenence) seemed to have someone under qualified working the desk the moment I popped in to buy my chemicals. Bad advice and lack of my usual internet prowess lead to an unfortunate build up of imbalanced spa chemicals after our first three days of Roman bath-like hot tub use. It turns out that the hot tub is not actually a mini pool for kids to jump in at their leisure (much to their dismay), and you can only sausage so many people into the tub so many times a day before you really need to manage the situation. Otherwise you end up with a tub that smells eerily like the YMCA locker room on a Saturday afternoon, and water that resembles alka seltzer. Not good. 

The good news is that all hope is not lost. I returned to the pool store today and replenished my supply of chemicals, and insisted on a full length tutorial from a new and seemingly knowledgable salesperson. I got home and spent the better part of the afternoon rectifying the situation, and the water is now sparkling clean and smells like water. Lesson learned and I'll be back in full on soaking action tomorrow.

The Traveler Stays Home

It's official: I have shocked myself with my own lack of traveling ambition. 

A quintessential part of my personality is that I love to go places. This is no secret, anyone who knows me knows that I am always loading my kids up and heading out somewhere, or (more likely) daydreaming about my next adventure. I think that was why I was so surprised this morning when I woke up and thought "I just want to stay home." 

It doesn't help that both kids and I woke up feeling a little under the weather. Nathan has the kind of cough that makes you think that he might get knock-down-ginger-ale sick, or could be fine tomorrow. For now it is all just a tickle of sickness, but somehow that's all it took for me this morning to forgo our four day trip to one of my favorite towns in Pennsylvania with one of my all time favorite people. Pretty unheard of for this gal, but it's true, I just want to stay home today. 

Perhaps it is the craziness of the new school year. Or maybe it's the fact that construction is going to start in our living room in a couple of weeks and then being home will become royally unpleasant and I'll be scratching at the door to get anywhere I can find an open door or a spare cot. Whatever the reason, for now I am sticking around, a choice that may be regretted after just one day of inevitable whining and fighting, but so be it. 

Keeping up with the Cosmes

Forget the Kardashians. These days I am barely able to keep up with my own family. I feel like someone should give me a reality show, except that it would be the most boring show of all time as every episode would take place inside my minivan, with the exception of a few hours spent in a preschool gym. This might still be preferable to the fashion dilemmas of the collagen-lipped Kardashian sisters, but not by much.

This school season our roster increased with the addition of my lovely stepson Carlos to our year round household, and I am shocked at how exponential the busyness is when you go up from two to three kids. Yowsers. Football, soccer, gymnastics, swimming, dance, playdates, sleepovers, school, appointments, and oh yes, work. Total insanity. I am unsure if we will ever have a meal together again that isn't in the car on the way somewhere. When am I supposed to make dinner when there is barely time to take a crap? Maybe those things could be done at the same time, but then no one would ever visit us for dinner again.

Are all families like this? Is this chaos universal in the modern day household? If so, there is a major flaw in this plan. When are families supposed to decompress and spend time together? This hectic lifestyle does not seem conducive to a healthy life.

I know that I feel this way at the beginning of every school year, and every year we get into the groove eventually, but I can never remember when that happens, so I am hoping it's soon. Until then I will keep on checking my calendar to make sure I'm not forgetting anyone, and try like hell to savor every moment of down time that comes my way.

Camping with the Cosmes: Notes from the overplanned mother.

Well, the Cosmes have now officially been camping. Woah. Actually, it's not all that exciting or stellar news, but it merits a blog post as it is hard to get my husband out of the house to do anything, let alone something he LIKES. That may, in fact, be quite extraordinary.

So we went to Tully Lake in Royalston for two nights. Not far away or overly adventurous, strategically planned so there would not be an excess of whining from either my husband or any of the three kids. Easy drive, site close to parking lot so there wasn't a lot of dragging stuff in, bathrooms nearby, meals planned, pretty nice.

And then we get home and I'm hit with the realization that I have spent weeks planning something so simple it is gone in two days, and I've barely noticed when it's passed.

Sure, we had a lovely time kayaking around the lake, and sleeping in our cozy tents. Grilling outside on the fire was a big hit for Francisco, who channeled life in the Dominican down by the river. But does it need to be so hard?

I'm thinking the answer is no. I am giving up the plan-plan-plan for quick vacations to make everyone happy. My goal for whatever next trip we go on (and if you know me you can pretty much expect it will happen any day now) is to just GO. Throw some clothes in a bag and worry about what happens when we get there. Enough packing, list-making, meal-planning crap. I don't care who has fun or who is missing their underwear, I seem to be draining all of my energy over planning and then can barely get it together to enjoy our trip.

The highlight of our two day camping adventure was Francisco's joyful expression as he set the platter of perfectly cooked chicken wings in front of us all and gleefully announced "Now THAT'S how you do some grill!" I think maybe that quote alone made my weekend.

So quote me on this people: my next vacation goal is to be agenda-free and see what happens. I have the feeling that might work better for me next time, although it has great potential to backfire and bite me in the ass (picture two kids with no socks and cold wet feet crying out in hunger in the middle of the night from our half-prepared tent). Well, we'll just have to see how it goes.

Virginia Beach: Wish I Was There

We have spent this week along the glorious shore of Virginia Beach. I think for years I associated Virginia Beach with some kind of honky tonk haven for crop tops and mullets. I'm not sure why that is, it couldn't be farther from the truth. Perhaps I have mistaken it for somewhere else (Hampton beach perhaps?). I don't know. The reality is that Virginia Beach is a lovely little stretch of Atlantic with a lively and upbeat atmosphere, something I had no idea I was missing.

I would love to be out strolling the beach on this glorious sunny April morning. It's about 75 degrees and not a cloud in the sky, a vision for the sunbathers and shell seekers milling about out my hotel room window. The beach is almost deserted, I could have it all to myself if not for the sick child occupying the other half of my suite. Poor Nay has a stomach bug, and he is all but comatose today, so his mommy is confined to the indoors and the small oceanfront balcony that gives me the glimmer into the frolicking and smiling that is happening down below.

I have to be honest about why this sick-on-vacation scenario is really not as bad as it could be. First of all, I am traveling with another mom. A competent, been-through-that mother who has scurried my other child away to play mini golf so that I might lie around here eating pizza and watching catch up episodes of The Voice while Nathan moans away in the next room. One of the best things about Ainsley is that she is totally flexible and very understanding. She doesn't care at all that we have to spend another night here when we should be back on the road home, and thank god for that because I don't think getting in the car with this weak little person would be possible right now. Kudos to her good sportsmanship in this rough and tumble game of mothering.

The other reason this doesn't suck as much as it could is the fantastic Holiday Inn and Suites Resort in Virginia Beach. Let me give this amazing hotel the shout out they deserve. Here's why they rock:

1. They had no problems with us extending our check out, and then deciding to just not leave at all. No hassle, just hang around as long as you'd like.

2. They have free washers and dryers. Boo-ya. The kids clothes have started to smell a lot like pee. And I'm out of underwear.

3. I am in a suite, and it's cheap. That means that there is a door between my sleeping sick child and the cackling away of my laptop, and we are all very comfortable. Plus the view is outstanding.

4. They brought me lots and lots of towels, new bed sheets, and a razor to shave my legs. Hallelujah. 

5. Kids eat free. This is bitchin'. We have five kids with us (well, only four who can eat right now, but you get my drift). I hate spending money on tiny chicken nugget meals only to have them picked at with a disgruntled little face and then turned away from. Hooray for free food.

So here I am until further notice. Holed up with my laptop and a view of the water. Not really the end of the world, but I hope my little guy is feeling better soon so he can get back in the action before it's time to wind our way back home.