Who Knew an Organized Make-Up Drawer Would Provide Such Joy?

This morning, at roughly 6:23 am, I organized my make-up drawer.  And when I had placed the last tube of lipstick in the organizer with the other tubes of lipstick, all facing in the same direction, all with caps and none with smears of lipstick on the outside casing, I smiled into the mirror and quietly clapped my hands together.  Smiling into my clapping reflection in the mirror I could not help thinking that today is going to be a great day!  Why? Because my make-up is all organized!  How on earth could something so trivial leave me so confident, happy and ready to face the world?  Simple.  The make-up drawer and frankly everything else in the master bathroom has been in disarray for the past seven years.   And today the bathroom remodel is complete enough that I can put my make-up back in the drawer.

My husband and I bought this crazy “fixer upper” seven years ago.  My original plan was to remodel the master bathroom almost immediately.  It was an illogical layout with a door for each “room”…toilet, shower, tub.  And the fabricated marble in the sinks was all worn away.  But then we got into the house and the kitchen was so “80s” and dis-functional and ugly that remodeling the kitchen quickly moved into the number one redo project list.   And once the kitchen was done, we had to redo the main floor powder room so that guests would be comfortable.  And then it was Spring and the deck was falling apart so we needed to fix that so that we could spend time outside.  And every time any project finished and we looked at the list, something else planned or unplanned always trumped the master bathroom remodel.  There was the hail and wind that damaged all the windows on two sides of the house.  There was the electrical storm that affected the garage doors and washer/dryer.  There was the toddler niece coming for a visit who needed a working bathtub because she couldn’t yet take a shower so we remodeled the upstairs bathroom.

And so, seven years later, the master bathroom was just was it was when we moved in, if not a little worse for wear.  Over the years, the jacuzzi tub in the master bath stopped working so I used the space for storage.  And with all the remodeling projects, we pilfered doors from the master bath for other projects throughout the house.  And I spilled red nail polish on the cream colored tile floor and it stained the grout.

And finally, seven year later, there was nothing left to remodel but the master bath.  My husband completed all the demolition last year before his surgery.  I bought the floor and wall tile two years ago on sale in the hopes the project would start soon.  I temporarily moved all my stuff — make-up, hair care products, accessories and appliances, cleansers, nail stuff, contacts, buffers and such — down to the hall bathroom to share with my teenage son.

My son was a good “roommate” for the first few weeks.  He did a nice job keeping the hall bath tidy enough for out-of-town guests.  But after a while, I believe it was shortly after the winter dance at school, he slowly stopped cleaning up after himself.  At first, he left the stuff he uses to spike his hair open on the vanity counter.  Then it was a dirty T-shirt left in a ball on the floor.  Eventually the bathroom floor was littered with his size 13 large and stinky shoes and an athletic supporter was left hanging on a hook.

But I’m sure I was no picnic either.  My hot rollers or curling iron seemed forever precariously and dangerously plugged in and heating up on the vanity.  Feminine products invaded the space under the sink.   And the waste basket always had nasty looking make-up removing cotton balls, used tissues or a wad of hair from cleaning my hair brush.  (But at least I mostly got these items in the waste basket!)

My husband has recovered well from his surgery and in recent weeks, he’s been strong enough to resume the master bath remodeling work.  There was a lot of foundational work:  moving water lines, changing wiring and building pockets for a new pocket door into the bedroom before he got to the “fun” stuff…laying tile, painting and installing the vanity.

Installing the vanity is what he worked on this week and last night, the cabinet doors and drawers where installed.  And where was I while he was attaching those drawers? I was at the local bath shop buying drawer organizers, of course!

And so, this morning, even before the alarm went off, I took all my things off the shelves in the hall bath and raced back to the new bathroom, the new vanity and my clean, clear and empty new organizers.  I removed all the tags being careful to leave no residue.  I put all my make-up on the counter and examined each item to make sure it was worthy of placing in the clean, clear and empty organizers.  I wiped down some items and discarded some others.  And then put everything in its own compartment.  And continued filling the drawers with all my supplies.  Make-up in the first drawer, teeth and nail stuff in the second drawer and hair things in the third drawer.  I carefully closed each drawer, picked up a few bits of torn sticker off the floor, looked in the mirror, smiled, let out a long contented sigh and did my little happy clap of joy.

Working Together

My husband and I are spending a lot of time home together.  He is recovering from major surgery and I am, as they say, in transition.  My position was eliminated.  What we are finding is that my career transition is coming at a great time because, regardless of how much it pains him to admit it, he needs me to do things for him.

We find ourselves practicing the definition of insanity on a daily basis.  You know the one. It’s where you do the same thing over and over again but expect different results.

My husband has always been very active and physically fit in his daily life.  He’s a general contractor and has been his entire life.  He can add fractions faster than any calculator on the planet.  Now, while I try to get on the elliptical every day, I have a desk job.  I have a Master’s degree and like to think of myself as relatively smart.  But when something minor is broken around the house and he is talking me through the repair, not only do I feel physically at a loss, but also incapable of understanding the simplest directions.  Or maybe he just stinks at giving instructions.

Here’s an example of a recent exchange…

Him:  “You need to push Up on this end”

Me:  pushing in the direction that most seems like “Up”.

Him:  “No, you aren’t pushing Up.  You have to push Up.”

Me:  pushing a little harder in the same direction that I thought was “Up”.

Him:  “You aren’t listening.  I said to push Up.  Push Up.”

Me:  stopping for a second, taking a deep breath and resuming pushing in the same direction.

Tomorrow will be the one week anniversary of his surgery.  And to think we only have five more weeks to go!

Slow Down

Slow is…

Waiting for a call when he says “I’ll call you”

Waiting to see if the pregnancy test is a plus or minus

Waiting to hear his first cry

A deep well-worn recliner, soft throw covering legs, feet in slouchy wool socks and slippers, cradling a sleeping infant

An animated movie for toddlers that you didn’t want to see and played “Rock, Paper, Scissors” with your husband to see who would go

Practicing math facts at the kitchen table

Refusing to eat dinner because you don’t like it even though you haven’t even taken a bite and it’s getting cold but you aren’t going anywhere until you take a bite and everyone else is finished and the dishwasher has already started

A holiday concert of first time musicians

The last three days before Christmas

The last three days before Summer vacation

Traffic when you are running late and need to pick your child up from practice

A roast that refuses to reach temperature even though your guests have been there for hours

Going there…returning is always faster

Watching the patient number board in the surgical center waiting room to see your husband’s number move from Green/Procedure to Blue/Recovery

Following someone using a walker after hip replacement surgery

Sitting together before dawn, sipping coffee and waiting for the pain medication to take effect

 

Backseat Driver

My husband recently had hip replacement surgery.  He’s relatively young for the procedure but was in such intense pain and getting virtually no relief from medication, there really was no choice.

Well, the plan was that he was going to be released from the hospital today.  I went to the hospital early today to be there for his physical and occupational therapy sessions.  I wanted to know everything about his recovery exercises and how they wanted him to get in and out of a chair so I could provide the right kind of physical support and reminders once he was home.

We decided he would ride in the back seat of our car for the ride home.  So, one of the things they had him practice was how to get in and out of the back seat using a trash bag on the seat to help him scoot across the seat.

And for some reason, once he was in the back seat, he seemed to think he was required to critique my driving ability.

When we ride in a car together, he does the majority of the driving.   I’ll take my turn at the wheel during long road trips and if he needs me to drop him off when his car is being serviced.  And, for the most part, when I’m driving, he keeps his mouth relatively shut.  But on this trip home from the hospital he had a comment on nearly every block.  “Why are you breaking?”  “Why are you in this lane?”  “You can go faster, you know.”

I counted to ten and held my tongue and decided that the critiques weren’t really because of my driving.  I decided that he knows for the next six to eight weeks, he’s going to have to rely on me and the kids at a level he’s not accustomed to and which makes him uncomfortable.  He, the man who always takes care of everyone else, is now the one who needs the care.

Adieu 2013, Hello 2014 – Life with Teenagers (LwT) 1

Last night, at the stroke of midnight I was standing in our living room with my two daughters.  The youngest had grabbed a frying pan and wooden spoon as was banging away — and to think she’s had 4 1/2 months of percussion lessons at school!  My older daughter was counting down the seconds to midnight but for some reason was off by one second…Ryan Seacrest and the crowd in Times Square were counting down “10, 9, 8…” and my daughter was counting “11, 10, 9…”  I think she somehow thought this was funny.  I didn’t get it.

Earlier, between the TV shows that recapped the best and worst of 2013, I had informed my daughters that I wanted them to help me “stay current”.  This meant that every week, I wanted them to share what topics they and their friends were talking about, what was trending, videos and vines they were watching (see I learned about vines last night!) and music and artists that were hot.  They asked “why?” and I said I didn’t want to be a “fuddy duddy”.  They fell off their chairs laughing.  I suppose in hind sight, I might have picked a different word or phrase that a bit less telling as to my state of hipness (or lack thereof).

I was filled with dual conflicting emotions.  On the one hand I was immensely relieved that my husband would now have release from the pain of arthritis in his hip — he had just had hip replacement surgery.  I was so proud of my kids.  Their posts about their father and the relief they felt for him brought tears to my eyes.  I was with 2 of the greatest joys of my life and we were getting along and being silly (at my expense but that was okay).  But I was worried too because my son was at a party.  I had no qualms about the party or his behavior.  But New Year’s Eve is called “amateur night” and it was the other drivers that had me on edge.  Usually my husband is the one to wait up until everyone in the house was home and safe.  But he was resting in the hospital and so it was my job to stay up last night until everyone was accounted for.

I heard the garage door open and close.  I heard the back door open and close.  I heard footsteps down the creaky back hallway.  And then my phone buzzed with a text from my son and one simple word…”Home”.

 

Daily Project — Life with Teenagers

I’m not sure I want to call it a New Year’s Resolution.  Too much commitment.  Too much disappointment if I fail.  I like the idea of “personal challenge” better.  Maybe that is splitting hairs or rationalization.  But if it works, then that is what I’m going with.

So, I’m personally challenging myself to write everyday.  I’m now following the Daily Posts feed and I downloaded the 365 writing prompts to help me along.  There are so many projects and topics that I could choose – a couple of the obvious contenders:

  • My husband’s recovery from hip replacement surgery — but that is problematic for a couple of reasons:  1) It is his project; 2) I hope it doesn’t take 365 days; and 3) I’m sure it will work its way into some of my posts but just the inspirational ones and the funny ones
  • My professional journey to find a new career that is meaningful and impactful:  1) Whoa, that is really personal and maybe putting myself a little too much out there (yikes); 2) Again, hoping this one also does not take 365 days; and 3) Also I am confident this subject will work its way into numerous posts
  • My personal health and fitness goal to lose 50 lbs by the time I’m 50 years old: 1) Whoa, and I thought the job thing was a little too personal; 2) I don’t have 365 days until that lovely milestone; and 3) I envision a lot of cranky posts that won’t have the inspirational impact I was hoping for

So, I’ve landed on the idea for my 365 writing project as being about Life with Teenagers.