Shit happens...
I've moved. Find me here: Sarah: Version 2.0
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Monday, April 14, 2014
Perspective
I've been sick with an upper respiratory infection for three weeks. I am exhausted. I have a sore throat. I am coughing up stuff that looks like it comes from a horror movie. I bruised a rib during said coughing. I have been to the doctor twice, and I head back again today. I am doing my best not to complain about my situation too much, but I know that my husband is probably tired of hearing me moan and groan about it all.
I was feeling fairly sorry for myself yesterday, and then it dawned on me that this is nothing. This is nothing compared to what some of my own family and friends have endured. This is nothing compared to what thousands upon thousands of people with chronic illnesses go through day in and day out. The exhaustion, the fear, the isolation ~ it all must be so overwhelming difficult to handle.
It could always be much, much worse.
I was feeling fairly sorry for myself yesterday, and then it dawned on me that this is nothing. This is nothing compared to what some of my own family and friends have endured. This is nothing compared to what thousands upon thousands of people with chronic illnesses go through day in and day out. The exhaustion, the fear, the isolation ~ it all must be so overwhelming difficult to handle.
It could always be much, much worse.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Bathroom Surprise!
After we had that beautiful tile installed in our main bathroom, we decided to upgrade some of the fixtures and clean up the baseboards and trim. And so we did, and it went swimmingly.
Shortly after, we had a plumber come out to the house for two different problems. The first one was easy - our hot water pressure in the sink was barely there. We had gotten used to it and lived with it that way for a long time, and it was finally time to have it repaired. The second problem was that our bathtub faucet was leaking. It started slow and continued to get worse. We thought we needed to replace the handles, as that will usually take care of it. So we watched a few online videos about how to replace the handles. And then Mike took the decorative handles off, and it looked nothing like we saw online.
The plumber informed us that he needed to break out some of the tile and replace the entire set. No problem. He'd use a stainless steel plate to cover the area between the two handles, and while it wasn't perfect, it would work.
Instead, we got this:
When he got in there, it was a mess! The former owners installed tile right onto drywall so there was mold growing on the back of the tiles. The line up to the shower head had to be replaced too.
And so a lot of dollars later, we have this:
And it'll likely stay that way for a while until we can pay for new tile. When we have guests over, we just pull the curtain shut. The joys of being a homeowner!
Shortly after, we had a plumber come out to the house for two different problems. The first one was easy - our hot water pressure in the sink was barely there. We had gotten used to it and lived with it that way for a long time, and it was finally time to have it repaired. The second problem was that our bathtub faucet was leaking. It started slow and continued to get worse. We thought we needed to replace the handles, as that will usually take care of it. So we watched a few online videos about how to replace the handles. And then Mike took the decorative handles off, and it looked nothing like we saw online.
The plumber informed us that he needed to break out some of the tile and replace the entire set. No problem. He'd use a stainless steel plate to cover the area between the two handles, and while it wasn't perfect, it would work.
Instead, we got this:
When he got in there, it was a mess! The former owners installed tile right onto drywall so there was mold growing on the back of the tiles. The line up to the shower head had to be replaced too.
And so a lot of dollars later, we have this:
And it'll likely stay that way for a while until we can pay for new tile. When we have guests over, we just pull the curtain shut. The joys of being a homeowner!
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Battle Wounds
When my Dad called me at 6:43 am on a Tuesday, I knew something was wrong.
When I heard my Dad struggling to catch his breath, asking me to come get him so he can go to the ER, every petty little worry no longer mattered. As I sat in traffic during rush hour trying to get to him, I wondered if the ambulance I just called for him was having the same problem. How on earth could the ambulance be moving any faster than I was? Complete helplessness settled in, and I tried to remind myself that I must focus, slow my breathing, and just take one road, one stop light at a time.
And as I sat still on the Dodge "Expressway" my mind wandered and every memory of January 2010 came back, flooding me with fear and complete disdain for what lies ahead. We've been here before, so I know that there will be tears and sleepless nights. I know that laundry will pile up, bills will be paid late, and the dog will feel abandoned. I also know to grab my cell phone charger and laptop because we'll be settling in for the long haul. And I know that work doesn't matter, and I don't feel compelled to give them anything more than a text that says "Family emergency -- will check in later." And I take some comfort in knowing, at the least, that we have done this before. That we know what questions to ask. I know where to find an outlet to recharge electronics. I know exactly how many minutes it takes to get from our house to the hospital and from work to the hospital. And I know that I will make the best of working from the chair next to Dad's bedside; having take-out in the waiting room; prioritizing those things that really matter and cancelling those that don't.
I hoped and hoped that it was just the flu, a kidney infection maybe. But when the emergency room nurse said Dad is being transferred to the cardiac unit, I knew this was more than that. When I heard terms like MI, myocardial infarction, I could not help but wonder what lied ahead. And while one part of me rejoiced that Dad was stable, another part knew there was more to come.
So we geared up for an angiogram. And then we geared up for bypass surgery. I cried. I read. I wondered. I worried. I heard stories from those who had done it before. I felt like a soldier preparing for war ~ arming myself with information and building strength and endurance for the long day that awaited us. I felt a sense of foreboding but did not say the words aloud. My gut told me this would not be as easy as everyone said it would be. And I was right.
Surgery day came. And we gave Dad hugs and kisses, trying as hard as we could to push the fear that this may be our last "I love you" down, deep down. And we waited. And waited. Then we were delayed. Finally, the nurse told us that surgery was underway. Some sense of relief came and new worries rushed in, but we were comforted knowing that this step in the process had begun.
When the doctor came out an hour after surgery began, we knew something wasn't right. While I am grateful that Dad's surgeon took the safest steps possible to remove the cyst in Dad's chest that would prevent bypass from happening as scheduled, I felt complete and total disappointment. The battle was supposed to be a 3-6 hour affair, not a 7-10 day affair. Adrenaline left my body, and all that was left was complete and utter exhaustion.
But we'll rise and do this again. I'll smile and offer words of encouragement for Dad even though fear is pulsing through my veins and stifling my breathing. Through teary eyes I'll respond to texts asking how Dad is doing. I'll ignore hunger pangs, too worried to leave the waiting room in search of food. I'll be satisfied with an out-of-office notice that gives nothing away even though I really want to scream to my colleagues that I am sitting and waiting while my Dad has open heart surgery, and while your request is important to you, it's at the bottom of my priority list today. My sisters and I will exchange hugs and hand squeezes, looks of worry and fear, supporting one another through silent encouragement. And I'll look forward to hearing from the scrub nurse that the surgery is over and that Dad did well, that this battle is over.
On to the next: recovery.
When I heard my Dad struggling to catch his breath, asking me to come get him so he can go to the ER, every petty little worry no longer mattered. As I sat in traffic during rush hour trying to get to him, I wondered if the ambulance I just called for him was having the same problem. How on earth could the ambulance be moving any faster than I was? Complete helplessness settled in, and I tried to remind myself that I must focus, slow my breathing, and just take one road, one stop light at a time.
And as I sat still on the Dodge "Expressway" my mind wandered and every memory of January 2010 came back, flooding me with fear and complete disdain for what lies ahead. We've been here before, so I know that there will be tears and sleepless nights. I know that laundry will pile up, bills will be paid late, and the dog will feel abandoned. I also know to grab my cell phone charger and laptop because we'll be settling in for the long haul. And I know that work doesn't matter, and I don't feel compelled to give them anything more than a text that says "Family emergency -- will check in later." And I take some comfort in knowing, at the least, that we have done this before. That we know what questions to ask. I know where to find an outlet to recharge electronics. I know exactly how many minutes it takes to get from our house to the hospital and from work to the hospital. And I know that I will make the best of working from the chair next to Dad's bedside; having take-out in the waiting room; prioritizing those things that really matter and cancelling those that don't.
I hoped and hoped that it was just the flu, a kidney infection maybe. But when the emergency room nurse said Dad is being transferred to the cardiac unit, I knew this was more than that. When I heard terms like MI, myocardial infarction, I could not help but wonder what lied ahead. And while one part of me rejoiced that Dad was stable, another part knew there was more to come.
So we geared up for an angiogram. And then we geared up for bypass surgery. I cried. I read. I wondered. I worried. I heard stories from those who had done it before. I felt like a soldier preparing for war ~ arming myself with information and building strength and endurance for the long day that awaited us. I felt a sense of foreboding but did not say the words aloud. My gut told me this would not be as easy as everyone said it would be. And I was right.
Surgery day came. And we gave Dad hugs and kisses, trying as hard as we could to push the fear that this may be our last "I love you" down, deep down. And we waited. And waited. Then we were delayed. Finally, the nurse told us that surgery was underway. Some sense of relief came and new worries rushed in, but we were comforted knowing that this step in the process had begun.
When the doctor came out an hour after surgery began, we knew something wasn't right. While I am grateful that Dad's surgeon took the safest steps possible to remove the cyst in Dad's chest that would prevent bypass from happening as scheduled, I felt complete and total disappointment. The battle was supposed to be a 3-6 hour affair, not a 7-10 day affair. Adrenaline left my body, and all that was left was complete and utter exhaustion.
But we'll rise and do this again. I'll smile and offer words of encouragement for Dad even though fear is pulsing through my veins and stifling my breathing. Through teary eyes I'll respond to texts asking how Dad is doing. I'll ignore hunger pangs, too worried to leave the waiting room in search of food. I'll be satisfied with an out-of-office notice that gives nothing away even though I really want to scream to my colleagues that I am sitting and waiting while my Dad has open heart surgery, and while your request is important to you, it's at the bottom of my priority list today. My sisters and I will exchange hugs and hand squeezes, looks of worry and fear, supporting one another through silent encouragement. And I'll look forward to hearing from the scrub nurse that the surgery is over and that Dad did well, that this battle is over.
On to the next: recovery.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
A New Porch & A Wine Cellar Make-Over
Our concrete front porch covers a small storage area that is accessible from our basement. We have always called it our wine cellar because, let's be honest, that sounds so much better than a concrete storage area.
A few years ago we noticed moisture seeping into the storage area, so we just limited what we stored in that area (ie, no valuables). We tried for years to determine the source of the leak. We caulked. We built up the dirt and landscaping around it. We sealed it from the inside. We had no luck. And then this spring when the last days of winter had left us, we noticed that our porch was crumbling to pieces.
We really didn't know how bad things had gotten in there because we hadn't used it much and there was insulation stuffed between those boards. Wow!
So we shelled out an arm and a leg to have the porch reconstructed. We really had no choice. The crumbling steps were a liability, and I really wanted to be able to use that storage space again.
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A few years ago we noticed moisture seeping into the storage area, so we just limited what we stored in that area (ie, no valuables). We tried for years to determine the source of the leak. We caulked. We built up the dirt and landscaping around it. We sealed it from the inside. We had no luck. And then this spring when the last days of winter had left us, we noticed that our porch was crumbling to pieces.
Outside:
The "Wine Cellar:"
We really didn't know how bad things had gotten in there because we hadn't used it much and there was insulation stuffed between those boards. Wow!
So we shelled out an arm and a leg to have the porch reconstructed. We really had no choice. The crumbling steps were a liability, and I really wanted to be able to use that storage space again.
Phase 1
Tear off the old concrete pad. Seal and waterproof.
Phase 2
Rain. Rain. Rain. The morning after sealant went on. And fail. We woke up to rain pouring into our basement from a tiny missed spot right at the threshold. It was promptly fixed, and we moved on to phase 3.
Phase 3
The new pad and the support beams below. Apparently concrete is really heavy when it's wet.
Phase 4
Wait a long two weeks for a new railing.
Phase 5
Clean up and paint the wine cellar. There are no pictures of this stage. I'm not pretty when I paint. And it's just a white box. Boring.
Once the railing went in, I scored a deal on two awesome chairs and a table at Menards. The chairs were $67 each, and the table was $35. I spray painted the mailbox. Mike replaced the porch light. And we spray painted the house numbers so they can actually be seen from the road.
After:
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I might even have room for a little pantry, right over here:
Isn't she lovely? We have enjoyed sitting out on the front porch a number of times. Even better -- I am ordering two ottomans tomorrow from Home Depot that will make sitting out there even more comfortable.
I'll admit that I have not put anything valuable back in the wine cellar since the work was finished. It has been absolutely bone dry in there since the work was completed, but I'm just not quite ready to put old photo albums or yearbooks in there.
Next up: new carpet for the basement. Oh, and I am still painting trim. And we still haven't installed new baseboards in the kitchen after the wood floors went in a year ago. The list is long, but we're busy living life too. Working, getting PhDs, loving on our nephew, walking the dog, and sitting on our front porch having a beer.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
The Great Flooring Project of 2012...and 2013
This May, we finally got tile installed in our bathroom (see the surprise we uncovered when we had our wood floors refinished here) and in the entryway by our garage.
We scored an awesome deal on the tile for the bathroom and picked a neutral tile for the entryway that would hide the dirt we track in and out. We found both at our local Habitat ReStore, and I even stumbled upon tile for our kitchen backsplash to be completed down the road. One of our good friends did the work, and we are so pleased with how it turned.
We scored an awesome deal on the tile for the bathroom and picked a neutral tile for the entryway that would hide the dirt we track in and out. We found both at our local Habitat ReStore, and I even stumbled upon tile for our kitchen backsplash to be completed down the road. One of our good friends did the work, and we are so pleased with how it turned.
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