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Archive for the ‘Rebuilding’ Category

In Search Of…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-4-2009

You know, when you spend 1000 years rebuilding a house, Triage does exist.

Got to have a bathroom upstairs, and those stairs, why, call them a ladder instead.

The kitchen, the Fridge did not work and on and on and on and on.

Last on the list is lighting. Why, we do have some lovely ( beauty is in the mind of the beholder) Art Deco hanging lamps, old school lamps in our kitchen, a Polish Church Chandelier in *The Front Room*.

But most of our lights look like this : a long cord and at the end a light bulb. I can make this ever more grim, the long cord and at the end a light bulb in my little room of my own doesn’t work. Not the bulb, but…. the connection… or something like that, gets pretty dark here, I must say.

When I am tired, depressed, you name it, want to relax, I do a search for a hanging lamp that I once saw in* The Big City*. Now, remember, I adore kitsch. It has little pink porcelain roses dangling all over it.

I know, there is no accounting for taste.

But like an ancient gem, I search on and on, for that hanging lamp, with the little pink porcelain roses dangling all over it.

Nope, no accounting for taste.

Hypocrisy

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-2-2009

I have stopped mentioning that The Boy seriously needs a new redecoration of his bedroom

Comfy room, for an 8 year old boy.

The Boy is 14 now.

The Father asked me about what it would cost. I saĆ­d 2000 Euro.

The Devil on my shoulder whispers into my ear : and that car of The Father, what price tag does that have ?

But our 14 year old boy likes his 8 year old room and I suppose that I shall loose this battle.

Although this morning, after telling him last night that I shall never bring up redoing his room again – cross my heart and hope to die- he gave me a piece of paper, of how he would like his room to be.

Someone tell me that Tony Montana is simply a phase,,,,

Crushed

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-23-2006

No Jo today.

Who knows why.

I won’t ask, but will- at the proper moment- ask The Father to have a crew from Poland sent over to do the dirty deeds.

I’m sick of waiting.

In fact, I printed out a 14 page how-to thing, as I want to have a shadow box for The Boy’s Ajax shirt for Christmas.

Me, who could not figure out how to unroll a roll of chicken wire.

Hope

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-22-2006

Rumor has it that Mr.Jo might turn up here tomorrow.

He has been a very busy man lately.

On bended knee, I am hoping that he now has all of the time in the world, for I have a to- do list that fills a note book.

I kid you not.

Pray for me.

Oh, Really ?

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-17-2006

Yesterday at dinner- rather out of the blue- The Father said that there was a good chance that Mr.Jo could start up here next week.

“Oh, really?” I said, as I was thinking : two weeks.

On Sunday I get my first lessons on how to use, uh, plugs and screws and I guess drills of various sorts.

Look ! A new area of knowledge which I have no vocabulary for !

Two Weeks

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-13-2006

That time that Mr. Jo was here- for almost two years- working on the house, whenever he began a project, I would ask him about how long he thought that it would take. Rubbing his beard and staring at the floor, after a short pause he would always reply, oh, about two weeks.

He is supposed to come here once more. I actually have a very organized notebook, room by room, of things that need to be done in the house. We still don’t have a door handle on the inside of the laundry room, a fact which once found an infant The Boy and I trapped in the laundry room, early in the morning, with no help in sight until late in the afternoon. Placing my baby on the floor and covering him with towels, I bravely broke the glass window on the door. This looks much easier to do than it actually is/ was.

So, I have been waiting since about September for Mr.Jo to darken our doorstep once more. He is very busy these days.

This weekend, I asked The Father when he thought Mr.Jo might turn up.

Silly me.

Oh, in about two weeks, The Father replied.

When will I finally unhack this site ? I work on it almost every day.

I suppose it should take about, oh, two weeks, if you know what I mean.

Beunhaas- Mummy Dearest

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Nov-2-2006

Today, I hung The Boy’s wooden blinds ( which fell down, oh, about a year ago) back up, as well as straightening out his curtains.

I am very determined to become my own, private beunhaas.

After tomorrow’s domestic chores are completed, I plan on trying to take the extra bed in The Baby’s room apart. The Father wants to put it on the rose arbor as a bed for the dogs.

Fine with me.

Mr. Jo comes next week, if I can get it downstairs, then he can deal with it.

And I wonder if The Girland I are a strong enough team to get that sun- bed out of The Baby’s room as well.

It was supposed to help my eczema. It did not.

It now functions as a high rise apartment complex for spiders.

And I want it gone.

New Skills

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Oct-31-2006

About a week ago, I decided that I should stop being so stinkin’ helpless when it comes to those sorts of he- man household chores, you know, those things which involve tools and nails and plugs. Oh, I can paint, stain and varnish with the best of them, but I wanted to expand my horizons ( read : I got stinkin’ tired of waiting for one of the boys to do the chore for me).

I chose a simple task : while a very simple task, I simply cannot remember the English word for the damn thing , I wanted to put up one of those bars in The Baby’s closet to hang clothes- with hangers, you know- on.

The Father took me to a handy- man store and we bought the fool thing. He showed me how to use this portable drill, complete with a philips head….whatever. He showed me how to set the machine in reverse, should I need to unscrew a misplaced screw.

All went well, until I went to unscrew a screwed screw. I put the drill in reverse and, well, couldn’t get it out of reverse. But I was very determined and said to myself, well, that is why God made normal screw drivers.

Little holders all in, measured carefully, no lopsided bar coming into this closet.

Now, I measured the interior of the closet, it was 101 cm. We bought a 1 meter long bar.

It didn’t fit, it was too long.

Piece of cake, The Father said, I have a metal saw in the shed. Which he could not find. ( Shed , read : his territory)

Today while doing some chores outside, I ambled over into the shed and low and behold, found the metal saw.

Within 15 minutes, I broke it. I hid the evidence- after all, he said that he couldn’t find it, didn’t he ?

And then I took a pair of scissors and some tool and cut the f**king bar to the proper length.

It worked.

It did not work in the proper old boy way, but The Baby now has a thing to hang her dresses on in her closet.

And it actually has made me feel quite proud.

I did it.

The Answer

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Oct-28-2006

JoAnne asks where I am. Why, I am here every morning, sipping coffee, unhacking the archives. I noticed rather recently, that most of the March, April, May, June, and July of 2004 archives were gone.

Check out the archives following October 2004. Hmmm, I think I see a slight problem there.

Otherwise, I have turned 49, The Baby 7, Oma a cootie’s age, Mr.Jo and The Father have placed double glass in the windows in the front of the house, downstairs.

All during this week.

And tomorrow, the Blue Fairy has prepared a noon ’till the wee hours of the night feest at Casa Kitchen, celebrating both The Baby and Oma’s birthday.

Oh, and I’m trying to fix The Father’s MP3 player.

And that, folks, is where I have been.

Here, all of this time.

June Cleaver

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Oct-5-2006

Since Cecile was diagnosed with death last November and did indeed die last Spring, it sometimes seems that everything in my head has changed.

The effect of her death upon me has been a shattering event, or, perhaps, has simply led me closer to being an adult ( although, at odd times, I wonder if there is any such animal as an adult. If you ask anyone who is old, how old they feel deep within their souls, they never seem to feel older than 30).

If you saw me now, the one thing that you would immediately notice, is that I have lost a lot of weight. From hovering around 57 kilos, I now weigh 44, 45, depending- perhaps- upon the weather.

I want to stop the work- work that I do.

And I want our house organized.

Every two weeks, they pick up our non- green garbage, and in the shelter of the darkness, we haul out bag after bag of rubbish that Mummy Dearest has evaluated and said “good by, you ugly thing” to. My little room of my own is the War Office, where all meet their fate.

Today, I started on The Boy’s room ( life can be so complicated, in dull ways, at times. The arrival of the chaise means the formal dining room table – usual function : throw junk on it- goes up to The Boy’s room. Spread out to it’s full two meters, it will provide a place for his keyboard and computer). I cleared out the little attic above the girl’s bathroom and linen closet and that shall be transformed into The Boy’s Lego Room.

Yes, Mr. Jo is coming soon.

Six bags of rubbish were tossed out of The Boy’s room today, those Komo bags with white wire ties.

And, to use a much overused phrase, his room ain’t seen nothing yet.

Is it death or is it nearing 50 that brings these changes ?

Haven’t a clue, but I am weary unto death of the phrase “it is up in one of the attics” meaning “and shall never be seen again.”

I want to be rid of the dross in our home, in my life.