the pieces of my life

I’ve baked my last hallot in this apartment (that’s the plural of hallah for you goyim out there). Tomorrow night will be my last Saturday night in this apartment. Sunday will be my last Sunday night in this apartment.

We leave for Israel on Wednesday (and I have no compunctions writing this because there are big burly construction workers at my house so just forget about making any mischief over there!). We get back home on Monday, the 23rd. (And I won’t have a laptop while I’m gone–if I get into areas of WiFi, I’ll be able to post pics from my iPhone, but otherwise, this blog will be quiet for a while.) We are out of our apartment and into our house on Saturday the 28th, when our lease is up. So we are into the lasts.

And the firsts. I peed in my house yesterday. Yes, I did! And I was the first member of my family to do so, much to Adam’s chagrin. We’ll do our last load of laundry here before we go, and then when we get back, trip laundry will be done in our brand new washer and dryer at the house.

The painters are coming today. The floors went in yesterday (they need to be sealed one more time, but there are floors!). We have toilets and heat and working showers. Countertops will be measured on Monday and put in the following week with sinks. We are nearing the end people. The house may not be completely done, but I’m starting to have confidence that it will be most livable!

I’ll miss this tiny apartment. Adam thinks I’m crazy when I say it, as I do go crazy with the lack of privacy. But I’ll also miss the closeness of my kids around. But I’m excited to let them scream at 6 a.m. without waking the neighbors. I’m happy to be able to let them jump without worrying about them shaking the apartment below. I’ll be happy to have their toys out of storage so they can get playing again.

And I’m already planning the first party. I’m thinking an all-day open house. Sometime in March. With boxes and no furniture. But in our own house!

I need a color for my office that will meld nicely with another color for the bedroom, because the spaces really lead into one another. My architect doesn’t like Bryant Gold. My husband doesn’t like Bryant Gold. My mother doesn’t like Bryant Gold. Adam likes kind of a dark gray-blue. My mom is a fan of greens. The architect suggested some yellows. Bryant Gold doesn’t go much with any other colors we like. So, of course, I’m using Bryant Gold. Because I like Bryant Gold. I’m a rebel that way.

There’s also a lighting fixture I love. Nice. Old-fashioned. Very classic. Can’t you see it hanging over Robert Benchley’s desk? I’ve been told it’s too big for the space I have. Guess who’s going to have a too-big lighting fixture in her office?

I have this vision in my head–I want my office to be Dorothy Parker (without the suicidal tendencies floating around). My first thought to achieve that was more of a russet color, but it was simply too much for the space. To me, Bryant Gold evoked much of the same feeling. So Bryant Gold it shall be! Of course, we’re blowing our whole budget on the renovation, so I don’t have a desk for my Dorothy Parker office, but we’ll find something soon. Adam really wants to get rid of a lot of our current furniture–and I admit, much of it has seen better days–but we’ve agreed to hold onto everything for the time being. As we can afford nice pieces, we’ll replace what we have, but in the meantime, I’m reading books like Use What You Have Decorating and 750 Great Ideas for Decorating on a Budget: Transform Your Home Inside & Out. And my computer will sit on the floor or a card table for a bit. It’s what you do for Bryant Gold.

My son, tonight, when he had the opportunity to choose any show to watch tonight, requested “a wedding show.”

And right now I’m selecting lighting fixtures and color and it turns out that Adam and I totally agree on the former and not at all on the latter. This should be fun, except that I’m just not a stylish person and I find the process painful and stressful. I want to hire a designer to help us, only the first one we priced gave us a quote that was higher than our entire furniture budget. So we may be on our own here except for the kindness of friends with good taste.

But I’m still giving my Martha side a go. The kids and I tonight made homemade tortillas for dinner. Do you have any idea how easy it is to make homemade tortillas? It’s so ridiculously simple I can’t believe how much I wasted on these mondo packs of tortillas only to toss them out when the family ate 2 1/2 out of 12. We made six–and they’re all gone.

Apropos of nothing, I love Carol Kane. We don’t see enough Carol Kane. And if you know why I said that, then you’re watching what I’m watching, so you can’t judge me.

And continuing this randomness, I hate winter marathon training. I have dreams of the Goofy Challenge, but it’s another January marathon and I’m so sick of running on ice and snow. I can’t wait for this marathon to be over so I can be a lazy ass again.

Did I mention that I hate color? I do. I think our new house will be all black and white. Just so I don’t have to pick any colors.

Doodles turned down a concert at the library because he’s just not into music. And he’s grown out of our yearly SteveSongs concert, which is too bad–he’s going anyway. He hates babysitters even more than he hates music.

Bed. I need bed. I’m scared of bed, though. Because I dream in color. But all the wrong colors.

I’m contributing to the delinquency of a diva. The snow is piling up outside. Adam isn’t feeling well, so he’s napping. We’ve read books, shoveled in the snow (just for fun and we discovered the greatest snow fun there is–I pull sheets of ice off the picnic bench in the backyard and the kids jump on it to shatter it), had hot chocolate, wrote some thank you notes, kids played with Legos and painted and I cleaned, and we started packing. And it’s only 3 p.m. I don’t have the energy for an afternoon of Mickey Mouse Playhouse and Imagination Movers, so I’ve turned on Wedding Central and the kids are riveted. Pie’s already chosen her cake: “It’s going to be the biggest one in the world. It’s going to have chocolate sticks with trees and a piggy. And it’s going to be Pie and Jasmine.” For what it’s worth, I did try to show them both Land Before Time and Charlotte’s Web but Pie freaked out at both of them, and Doodles finally said, “Can we just keep watching the wedding channel.” Et tu, Doodles?

It’s been a languorous weekend. Despite sounding like I got a lot done this morning, I’ve had this lazy haze about me. I’m feeling unusually stressed these days as there’s a lot coming up. Two things are on the forefront of my mind:

The first is the house remodel. We’ve given our notice on the apartment–we’re to be out by February 28–and things are supposedly in the fast-moving stage of the house. I’m not completely sure I believe it. We were stuck at a point where I couldn’t see the changes–electrical work, plumbing work, waiting for inspections. But now we’re moving. Insulation is in. The walls started going up on Friday. Plastering will be done this week. According to the contractor, we’re about two weeks away from the hardwood floors going in (one of the final steps). According to the architect, we’re supposed to be picking out paint colors. So we have about six weeks till we’re out of here and in the house. Only, we’re going to be gone for ten of those days, which means we get back from our trip, and will have just five days to get out of the apartment…

Which brings me to my second stress. Our trip. We’re going to Israel. Yes, Israel. And I’m waffling big time on the trip. Everyone I know who’s ever been to Israel tells me I’m being silly and it’ll be fine. For starters, we’re going nowhere near the Gaza. For second, we’re going with a tour group (with our synagogue), so we’ll be on a tour bus with security on the bus. They’ll be constantly checking the security situation and revising our itinerary as needed. We won’t be on any public transportation at all. The biggest issue is that we won’t be allowed to do many of the things I really have enjoyed doing in the past (like shopping in the shuk. I’d been fantasizing about everything I was going to buy for our new home, but that’s totally out at this point). We leave in about four weeks. And four weeks in Middle East terms can really be a lifetime. For the first time ever, we bought travel insurance, which means up to 24 hours in advance of the trip, we can cancel and still get 75% of our money back. But I really don’t want to cancel. Adam’s never been and I’m anxious for him to see it. Israel is such an amazing country (I’ve been three times already, including a six-month stay on a kibbutz). But–and this is not an invitation for anyone get to political with me; I don’t do politics here–I’m feeling vaguely terrified. How do I decide whether or not to go? (And yes, it’s “me.” Adam really isn’t worried at all, he’s said, and he’s looking forward to the trip, as is the rest of our group.) I’m literally waking up in the middle of the night worried about taking my kids into a war zone. Yet every time a trip to Israel has been postponed (my sister missed out a trip in the ’80s), it’s been for naught. I am absolutely certain if I cancel the trip, I’ll seriously regret it. I am confident that once we get to Israel, it will all be fine. But I can’t stop my stomach from churning now.

So I’m trying to focus on other things. Like the marathon I have coming up in two weeks. And the craft projects I want to do as soon as we get into the house and I have easy access to my sewing machine. I’m officially addicted to craft blogs. And I’m thinking about organizing (starting with photos and ending with the kids’ toys in the new house). And packing boxes (I’m storing them in Beetle’s basement so there isn’t a mad rush when we get back from Israel). And Pie’s wedding. And the multitude of other minutiae that crop up.

And come March 1, I’ll be a sane person again. Relatively speaking, of course.

Adam signed up for a site called icovia, which is a site for decorators that let’s you lay out rooms. It’s kind of silly, because we realized that once we’ve paid for our kitchen, there will be no money to furnish the rooms that need furniture (which are our bedrooms, my office, the living room, and the family room). But I’ve been playing with the site anyway, and have discovered it has some pretty nifty features on it. Adam’s not too sure about the Santa, but I figure this is kind of what it’s all going to look like:

(Do all interior decorators have to factor in crime scenes when planning out a house? I mean, it strikes me as fairly practical, but it requires an awful lot of forethought.)

In a marathon, it’s very important not to focus on the end point. Sure, in training, visualizing myself crossing the finish line can be really helpful in getting me through some tedious long runs. And then there are those glorious days, when I feel like I could run forever–say the leaves along the trail are in full fall color, the air is nippy but not not cold enough yet for gloves and hat, and my legs just feel powerful and strong–when I pick up the pace and picture myself sprinting across the finish line to the undulating sounds of the crowds on the side lines.

But really, those thoughts are few and far between. Because when you’re at the start of a marathon, that finish line is a lifetime away. For me, the only way to get through the marathon, is to break it into smaller pieces. The first two miles fly by. Really. Adrenaline. The crowds. The freshness of your body. But it doesn’t take long for that feeling to set in. “Three down… Twenty-three point two left to go.” That kind of feeling will kill you. So you focus on the first 10k. Then the second 10k. All you think about is making it to 13.1, the halfway point. Because the finish is simply unreal.

But then, then I hit the halfway point, and it doesn’t seem so difficult. After all, at that halfway point, all I have is a half marathon left. And I run like four of those a year. No big deal. At 13 mile run isn’t even worth going to sleep early for. It’s not worth forgoing that second glass of wine. Because from 13.1, 15 miles is just around the corner. And from there, 18 is easy breezy. At 20, you’ve blasted through the wall and are in the final 10k. Of course, that’s when it all gets hard again. That final 10k is somehow the longer than the previous 20 miles and the last mile is simply the longest mile you will ever run. Ever. Ever! So there’s this magic window of marathoning, when life is good and fun and you even entertain thoughts of picking up the pace, of breaking a few records, of going for it all the way.

I’m discovering house remodeling is similar. That first half marathon was a killer. After a week, the novelty of being in this teeny tiny apartment wore off, and the miles were just too daunting face.

And now, now we’ve hit the half marathon point. The second floor is framed. The roof will be complete in a matter of days. We are two months into our four month project (and, yes, so far things are on schedule). While I am still having problems envisioning how this shell of a house will transform itself into a livable space by January, I’m starting to feel just a twinge of hope, a smidgen of optimism. The stove has been purchased. The refrigerator is on order. The studs of walls-to-be are defining an actual living space.

Every time I do something in this apartment, I wonder how many more times I’ll have to do it. Changing the roll of toilet paper. Vacuuming up the crumbs under the kids’ seats at the table. Yelling at the kids that they can’t be stomping dinosaurs before 7 a.m. on a weekday or 9 a.m. on a Sunday. How many times will I go for something, only to remember it’s sitting deep in some vault in Wilmington. I feel like we’re on the back side of those numbers.

So yes the apartment is miserable. Yes, everyone’s tensions are high. Yes, I’m tired of being the noise police and vacuuming cereal from where it adheres to the rug. But we’re in the magic window. We’re on the backside of the race. We’re sailing free and easy and clear and all will be good… right up to that last 10k. Dear God, please don’t let that last 10k shred us! I’m already mentally crossing that finish line.