Storage solutions (part 2)

Last time we delved into the reality of my storage situation I shared part of my solution for the miscellaneous knick knacks previously housed in a linen closet.  But that was only part of the problem.  Not only did I lose a linen closet when I moved here, but my laundry closet went from a horizontal format with lots of high shelving to a vertical format with no shelving.

At Lowe's I found this pantry rack and thought it was the perfect solution.

Paul hung it on the back of the door and I fell in love.  It perfectly fit all of my laundry needs as well as extra hygiene products for the bathroom.  Once I could take these products out from under the sink it freed up some much needed space for towels.

And we have a lot of towels.

Another place we lost storage was the master closet which is a bit smaller than our last one.  Paul put together some wire shelves which we placed high in the closet to take advantage of the nine foot ceilings on the second floor.  Paul also made a tall, vertical shelf and a dresser to house all of our clothes that we use to hang up.

On the back of the closet door we put some hooks for our towels and bathrobes since the master bathroom only has one towel bar.

Our previous apartment had a built-in bookshelf by the master bedroom for books and media, and we had a coat closet for games.  When we moved here we bought some cabinetry from Ikea for our TV that gave us a place for most of these things.

The best part is that most of it is behind doors so we can keep the Rowbabies from making too much of a mess.

Because the DVD's are now above the TV, the shelf that use to house DVD's now houses books.

Another change we made when we moved here was remove most toys from the living room.  I was getting so tired of staring at the toddler clutter in our apartment that I decided to make Andrea's bedroom the main home for toys.  However, I knew that she wouldn't just want to play in her room all day, so next to the media cabinet is a basket for Andrea to put toys she's brought downstairs.  When the basket fills up we take it back upstairs and empty it.  There's also a secret bucket of toys under the couch.

We also have a little nook that we plan on turning into a office area.  So far we've added this cabinet.

It's mostly a home to office supplies and some of the pots and pans that don't fit in the kitchen.

I have a plan for those pots and pans though.  I've got a plan and it involves this wall.

Our old apartment had a row of hooks by the front door that I used for aprons.  We put another set of hooks on the pantry door to store these things out of sight.

It's been so nice to have homes for most of these things and to have them out of sight.  I worried that I the storage situation here would be horrible, but with a little creativity Paul and I have found lots of solutions, and I love living here!

Mastitis

This weekend I battled the mastitis monster.  In the entire year that I nursed Andrea I never fell victim and knew little about it other than it was an infection in the breast.  What I discovered this weekend is that the infection is accompanied by a fever of over 101 degrees, convulsive chills, drenching episodes of sweating, aching muscles, a migraine headache, weakness, and skin so tender to touch that my own hair felt like needles.  Thank heavens it struck on a weekend when Paul was home to help me.  I'm happy to report I'm on the mend and think I've identified the cause (a new bra) and can hopefully avoid another infection.

So while I get my health and life back in order, please enjoy a couple of pictures of my children that make me smile.

Sam's first trip to the pool

Frosting goatee

Andrea photography

More of Andrea's photography

And more of Andrea's photography (what can I say?  She's got talent.)

Sleeping Sam

Sleeping Andrea

Cruel

Tonight I hosted a little family dinner.  My parents and siblings ventured up to my little house and I fed them a surprise dinner.  Chicken and waffle casserole and flourless quinoa cake with avocado frosting.  Everyone ate in silence.  I knew the lack of comments meant something was wrong.  Apparently, I seasoned the casserole with an herb my dad hates.  The cake was good, but different, especially the frosting.  You could taste the avocado, and although I had not mentioned the strange ingredient in hopes no one would notice, people began asking questions.  After the plates were empty, I revealed all and received some rather unexcited looks.

What have I done?  I thought.  They'll never come have dinner with me ever again. . . .

It was so good to have them here though.  It was fun to see them sitting on my couches and playing with my children.  I've become so accustomed to packing everyone into the car and spending family gatherings living out of a diaper bag that being in my own home where everything is familiar was actually relaxing.  And I love my new home so much and having it filled with people for whom I care so much felt almost sacred.  It made me want to establish my home as a gathering place.

But after tonight's dinner I may have blown my chances.  Oh, why did I plan such a strange menu?  Why did I have to be so cruel?

Bonnie and Clyde

Growing up, my mother use to scold me and my older sister for fighting.  She would say, "You two need to love each other!  I always wanted a sister, and if I had one we'd be best friends."  There was one thing Janell and I did agreed on.  We were pretty sure that was utter nonsense.  If she had a sister, they, too, would fight.  A lot.  Being friends with siblings was just not possible.  Then, years later, my little sister unexpectedly weaseled her way into my affections, and I suppose she proved my mother right.  Tessa and I are Bonnie and Clyde.  She's my other partner in crime.  She's my best friend.

This summer I had my second child and three weeks later moved to Salt Lake City.  These events brought about some lifestyle changes.  There are no more daily trips across a park to see my sister.  She doesn't pop over to play with Andrea and watch our favorite shows together.  We can't walk to the grocery store and drown sorrows over a 30 cent soda on hot afternoons while talking about celebrities and my bodily functions.  Because I have children and am a full-time milk-making machine, Tessa and I don't get much alone time even when I do venture down into her valley.  I miss her a lot.  This last week, through a series of text messages, I began to see how hard this move and my child bearing has been on her.  Though her difficult and messy teenage years her best friend hasn't been able to spend countless hours at the mall with her.  She hasn't been able to join her for concerts and fan girl Zain Tomlinson Styles.  She's not available for frequent weekend sleepovers and late night nail painting.  She's at home scraping boogers off the walls and wiping poopy bottoms.

Watching me mother has even inspired Tessa to wait a LONG time to have very few children.  I guess I don't always make motherhood look very glamorous.  But there is something I want her to know.  Even though I don't enjoy cleaning up throw up or scraping feces out of panties, frequent night wakings make me feel like I'm losing my mind, and I've yet to find anything that compares to the emotional strain my children put me under, this is the best job in the world.

Where else could I receive daily eskimo kisses, hear Andrea's little voice calling my name, view Sam's cheesy grins, and consume such fine dining (peanut butter and jelly sandwiches)?  Where else could I feel the satisfaction of cleaning and dressing my little brood?  And when everyone is clean and calm, there is the joy of reciting from memory an entire collection of children's books over the noise of toddler giggles and baby coos that can't be found in an office somewhere.

Then there is after bedtime when the house is dark and quiet.  It might seem strange that one of the things that I love about motherhood is shutting my children away in dark rooms and sitting by myself with a tall drink of apple juice.  However, there is an indescribable feeling of accomplishment at the end of a long day that comes from keeping two people alive.  Especially when those two people have done everything in their power to provoke homicide.

This little family of mine is hard work, but I know what I'm doing is valuable beyond measure.  I wouldn't give up time with my sister for anything less important.  I hope some day she'll understand.

And something tells me thirty-something miles may make our escapades less frequent, but I don't think it can kill our craziness.

(I hope Andrea will be a good babysitter to repay Tessa for the countless hours she's performed that service for me.  And that way Tessa and I may actually be able to do some child-free activities in the distant future.)

Storage solutions (part 1)

I've mentioned before that our new house lacks a linen closet.  One of the first things I did when we moved here was find a place for all of the miscellaneous things once stored in the rather massive closet in our former apartment.  I purchased an over-the-door shoe bag organizer from Wal-Mart for about ten dollars.  I hung it on the back of the utility closet under the stairs.  I was super impressed by how many things I fit in this thing.

Across the hall from this door is a little powder room.  I managed to put extra hand towels for that bathroom in the organizer.  I also got quite a few cleaning products in those slots.  Notice I put them up high and out of the reach of my two year old.  Since taking this picture I've added Fabreeze and Magic Erasers to the list of things that can fit in these pouches.

 This door opens like so, revealing my secret storage.  And when I shut the door. . .

 It disappears and is conveniently out of sight.

Because there are chemicals hanging on the back of this door, as well as the furnace and water heater in this closet, I've taken the added precaution of putting a lock on the knobs just in case that two year old gets curious.

The neighbors

I'm loving our new house. Being able to put my children asleep upstairs and have the whole main floor for my personal whisper-free use is heavenly.  I've cleaned the kitchen, listened to music while singing along rather loudly, and watched my share of Netflix (not turned down to volume levels only discernible by dogs, mind you).  And once we kick that son of ours out of our room, I'll being able to sleep a little more soundly as the groans and moans of my decrepit mattress will stop waking up this paranoid mama.  But there is one thing that I actually hate about my townhouse, and surprisingly, it's not the lack of linen closet (although I'm still getting use to that).

I'm struggling with my neighbors.

Before we moved to this valley I was excited to meet new people, make new friends, and study the city folks.  Alas, the people here are less than friendly.  Aside from the first week of church where no one would move over for the new family standing awkwardly in the back (aka us), I've found almost all of the people I've encountered living in my complex to be, well, rude.  After living here for a few days, we were approached by the lawn guy and asked to not walk on our grass for three weeks as the sod is new and still taking root.  Since that day, we have noticed streams of people marching though our little plot of earth, taking their garbage to the dumpster (which is in front of our house, not behind).  People walk by so often, Paul and I have started seeing people who aren't even there.  One evening two women stood outside our back window and carried on a full conversation.  How rude!  You would never see this in a traditional backyard!  They call that trespassing.  It's illegal.  I suppose because I don't have a fence my lawn is game for the convenience of my neighbors' garbage runs.  Good to know.

The second horribly rude thing that we've been victim to is pinched parking places.  We have one officially reserved parking place.  It is clearly labeled with our house number.  I have come home multiple times to find someone parked directly in front of our sign.  Obviously the person who parked there is not blind, otherwise they have no business driving.  My husband doesn't seem to care.  We can still park relatively close to our house in an unmarked spot, but this is not about parking to me.  It's about respect, and so far, our neighbors and their guests have demonstrated a complete lack of it.

Paul has given me permission to place some diplomatically-worded notes on windshields if this persists.  I've already conjured some ideas that convey several different approaches.

Kind approach:

To the driver of this vehicle: Please refrain from parking in spots assigned to specific tenants.  Thank you.

To the driver of this vehicle: Next time you visit, kindly direct your vehicle to visitor parking.  Thank you.

Mean approach:

To the driver of this vehicle: Park here again and I'll call the cops!

To the driver of this vehicle: I hate you!  Park here again and DIE!!

 Passive agressive approach:

To the driver of this vehicle: Thank you so much for assisting me in my goal of daily exercise by allowing me to carry my screaming toddler, my newborn in a car seat, diaper bag, purse, and a weeks worth of groceries exactly one invigorating block as you are in my assigned parking spot just steps away from my front door.  My biceps and quads thank you.

Sassy approach:

To the driver of this vehicle: Since it is apparent by the sign in front of your car that you have moved into my home, I'll like to extend a hand of welcome.  Also, I'd like to confirm that your rent will be $400 a month (utilities included).  If you'd like to decrease this amount you may share a room with one of my children and assist them in their nighttime wakings.  This will reduce your rent to $200 a month.  Another way to  reduce your rent would be to STOP PARKING IN MY FREAKING PARKING SPOT!!!  Let me know which option appeals to you most and I'll try to be as accommodating as possible.  Thank you!

Hopefully things get better soon.

Some SLC firsts

Night number one in the new house: I sat on my bed in my second story bedroom high above the quaint street below. My back nestled into the green pillows, and Sam nursed eagerly. Sun light streamed through the panes of the windows and warmed the skin on my arms. It felt like magic, soft and tingly. Such romantic scenes weren't possible in our gloomy basement apartment. My shoulders slumped in exhaustion and my feet ached from the manual labor of moving, but my spirit soared from joy and negated any physical discomfort. Between the solar energy dancing about my room and the soft infant in my arms, my eyes closed automatically as if savoring a gentle kiss. I opened them again and tried to memorize the unfamiliar silhouette of the Salt Lake valley mountains. Grey clouds rolled down from the north and drizzled light rain on the pavement. I stared down the street at the gabled roofs of my neighbors and felt transported to the stereotyped streets of suburbia England. Whistling the theme song from Harry Potter may have crossed my mind, but instead I serenaded Sam with a vintage tune from a soda commercial.

First shopping trip: After a few days of living in the new house I found myself without the internet I'd been promised. New to the area and with no smart device that could direct me around town, I was housebound until my husband came home with his phone. The refrigerator was empty and echoed when I opened it for a drink of water. The closest grocery store was a Reams a few blocks down the street. Although I'd never been to a Reams I was eager to check out my local options for supermarket excursions. With my Rowbabies safe in the arms of my husband, I ventured out alone so the motherhood fog about my head could clear. My blue car pulled into the Reams parking lot, and I surveyed the building. It was short, small, and old compared to the Orem stores to which I was accustomed. But it had produce and milk so I stepped into the shady lot, locked the car, and hurried inside as a light sprinkling of rain fell from the deep gray clouds. Once inside, the smell of decay weaved its way into my nostrils, and a bearded stranger eyed me grumpily. I was oddly comfortable as the outdated décor and elderly employees reminded me of the small towns of the Midwest. This was a jewel inside the big city, and as I picked out berries for Andrea's breakfast I felt my mouth pull up into a smile.

First breakdown: Thursday morning began with a slightly feverish toddler who refused to eat breakfast. A hour later she began to complain of some nausea. I sat beside her, with a nursing newborn in one hand and a barf bowl in the other, praying her stomach would hold until I could put Sam down on the floor. When he finished eating I laid him on his play mat and tried to address Andrea's needs. I fought the urge to call my mom. I stopped my fingers from texting my sister. What could they do forty miles away? No, I was alone-- alone in my pseudo-British community just down the street from a small town store. All the charm in the world could not erase the homesickness that was attacking my lungs and constricting my airways. While Andrea and I sat on the couch snuggling away “the pukies” I choked back tears and asked my little child if she would say a prayer with me. We knelt on the floor and through an episode of ugly blubbering I begged Heavenly Father to help my child feel better or give me the strength and ability to properly care for both of needy children. We said amen and the blue eyes of my sweet toddler penetrated my soul as she studied my face. She smiled a crooked grin and hesitantly asked, “You happy now, Mommy?” And leaning on her perfect faith I was.