Amber Dusick

Red Big Chill Fridge

It is here!!!  My much anticipated Red Big Chill "dream fridge" has arrived, just in time to house Thanksgiving goodies.  I've fawned over this fridge ever since I found out they existed and knew that someday one would be mine.  

At first, it didn't fit in our space and stuck out like a sore beautiful thumb.  It didn't phase me.  I'll cut a hole in the wall to have this fridge in my possession. 

All we needed to do was shave down the decorative 50s cabinet trim with my trusty Dremel, prime and paint and all would be well.

  It worked & now fits perfectly.  Phew!  I can't stop staring at it.  Just looking at it releases endorphins.  Seriously. 

You'll notice the cat has inserted himself in at least one photo.  Since we're all spending so much time gazing at, cleaning and transferring the food to the new fridge the cat has learned to plant himself near it at all times.  And who wouldn't want to be near it?

Sigh.  I'm in love.  This fridge is so much more than a shiny appliance to me.  I've been waiting for and working towards this fridge for a long, long time...even before I knew it existed.  A greater symbol of my dreams coming true.  Coming true because I believed they would and then made it happen.  By "dreams" I don't mean the ability to buy stuff either, the stuff I'm talking about it the ability to work from home and bake cookies with my children.  The ability to grow stuff in our garden and then enjoy it.  Basically, this fridge symbolizes "home" for me and my aspirations of being a 50s housewife...only a happy one that also has two lovely children, a career, time to herself and an internet connection.  And this is what I'm thankful for this year.          

Roman the cat is a lover not a fighter

Someone very important has been absent from this blog until today.  Our cat.  His name is Roman, which is actually short for...wait for it...Romanee-Conti.  As in Domaine de la Romanée-Conti.  Yes, we tried to give him the most pretentious name possible.  So funny to hear them say his full name at the vet's office especially since this jolly fat cat is exactly nothing like a fine French wine.  Or is he?  

He is more like a dog in cat's clothing.  Always where the action is, always in the center of the family.  While most cats retreat to a far off room during a party, he is a social butterfly going from lap to lap.  After initial comments of "Wow, that cat is huge" people ooh and aah over how friendly he is. 

Maybe it is because I practiced "attachment cat parenting" before we had kids?

Kidding.  I was just using him as a tester for a sling I was trying out.  He liked it though, that is the silly part.  Such a patient cat.

And I'm amazed that I have't had to mention him because he always manages to insert himself in nearly every photo I take.  A lot of the time, this is annoying: 

We can play a "Where's Waldo?" game of where is the cat in our family photos and most of the time there is a part of him in every shot.  Usually his butt:

He is a big, fat sweetheart.  He purrrs while my son climbs on him or plays drums on his belly.  He even tolerates tail pulling.  I don't think he ever once got up and walked away, he loves attention in any shape or form.

 You can't lay or sit down for more than a couple minutes before he plops himself down next to you.  Below was the day before I went into labor a time when there was a great deal of lounging around, much to his delight: 

And he loves everyone in the family, he certainly doesn't pick favorites. 

He even has managed to get a few (well supervised - this cat weighs more than our toddler!) cuddles in with the very wee one:

Although most often he is being cuddled climbed on by the three year old:

 

He was a kitten rescue from a shelter.  The catlady said he was bottlefed and that bottlefed animals are very special because they think they are human.  Boy, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into that day we picked him out.  The fact that he stuck his tiny paw out and grabbed us as we walked by should have given us a clue.  He has mellowed down with age though.  Perhaps he is like a fine wine afterall?  (You all knew that preditable "better with age" ending was coming, right?) 

PS - as I type, Roman has tried twice to climb on my lap (that currently is occupied by a sleeping baby)  and finally settled down next to me on the sofa.  

   

 

Coming out of crafty hibernation & going back in again

I did it!  I finally made something after a long spell in crafty hibernation.  I spent way too much time on this beautiful, thick felted wool sweater to keep my big little boy warm.  With hand sewn details and everything.  I think it turned out amazing.  His verdict?  He hates it.    

Of course he is more than happy to "model" anything for me so don't let the photos below fool you.  Kid would wear barbed wire if he got to be goofy in front of the camera.  The moment I set down the camera the truth came out, "Please take it off!  I don't like my sweater!  I don't wanna wear it!"

Childishly, I even threatened to give the sweater away to "another little boy" hoping a little jealousy would work.  Well, that backfired.  He started suggesting people to give the sweater to.  "Do you think the neighbors would want it, Mama?"

Later, for his naptime story, I even resorted to telling him a tale that included a magical, handmade brown sweater that allowed the wearer to be transported to wherever they wanted.  He listened intently as he always does.  When I was finished he was silent for a few moments.  I thought for sure it had worked.  Instead, he simply said, "I don't like that sweater you made, Mama."

Fair enough. 

Sigh.  I think I'll go back into crafty hibernation.

 

I love you but you're no good for me

Every few autumns I buy a pair of knee boots because I love them.  Then I don't wear them.  There are earrings studding my Etsy favorites list but I don't wear earrings.  Ever.  I also can't exactly cram a cloth diaper or a sippy cup in a tiny clutch purse yet I covet those too.  The 1950s style dresses look terrible on me and I know this.  Yet I search for them, wasting my precious time.  

So here is my ode to things that I for some reason love but are not me. 

1. junquegypsy vintage boots  2. JenniferCasady citrine earrings

3.  23stien 50s dress  4.  luluvintage 1940s clutch

I am very concious of what comes into our home in all other areas besides fashiony stuff.  I ponder and research endlessly about what dish rack, garden hose or sofa to purchase, comparing pros and cons and prices.  So where did I get so lost with fashion stuff?  No more, baby, I'm turning over a new leaf. 

So goodbye knee boots, clutch purses, earrings and 50s style dresses!  It isn't you, its me.  Honest.

**It is pretty obvious that I've reached that magical 6 week postpartum mark!  Here I am suddenly interested in fashion and wearing normal clothes again.  Feels good to be here.   

 

   

The Ivy is Gone (Or WTF Did We Do to Our Yard?)

As I mentioned in the spider post, we decided to rid our yard of the black widow breeding grounds and rip out all that ivy. 

This ivy:

Sure, it looks pretty here but most of the year it is all brown and burnt and unhappy.  Our dry California heat is no good for it.  It looks like a small patch, but a stripe of this shit spans our entire backyard.  So we ripped it out.  I say we, but really, I mean "they" as in the two guys with big shovels that we hired.  No way I'd stick my hands in there knowing what lurks beneath.

So then it looked like this:

To which I reacted as such:  "Crap!  What did we do to our backyard?  Was I too quick in deciding to yank it out?  Did I make a crazy decision with little thought based on emotions as usual?"  And to my husband, "Why did you let me talk you into this?"

After a brief panic, we talked about what to replace the ivy with.  Yes, I'm fully aware that most people would have had this all planned out beforehand.  Not me.  My thoughts had only gone so far as, "have black widows...must rip out ivy...NOW!"   

A trip to the nursery and a carload of herbs later, I was feeling downright calm again.  We want to plant primarily edibles on our property and we knew this would be a great spot for an herb garden.  The herb garden was on our "do it someday" list and I really didn't think it would happen for a few years at least.

So I spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing with the above view.  The two of them planted until the sun started to set, everything from rosemary to savory to lemongrass.  And now we have the lovely herb garden we always dreamed about planting someday.  All thanks to some black widow spiders.  Funny how things like this work out, eh? 

Yum Placenta! Or, are you really gonna eat that?

Yes, that is my placenta.  Or, rather, it is my son's placenta.  And yes, some people will slice and dice this thing and eat it.  Raw.  Perhaps in a smoothie.  Perhaps sauteed in a stir-fry. 

And here I thought I was all hippie-crunchy for just wanting to bury my oldest's placenta under a tree three years ago.  Nope, apparently I've spent the last three years getting even weirder.  This time around I wanted to eat it.  And I did. 

Or more accurately, I still am eating it...since I have some pills left.  No, no raw placenta injesting for me.  I just couldn't do it this way.  I don't really even like rare steak.  I'm a well-done meat eater only and don't like my meat to resemble meat.  It must be from those years of being vegetarian.  No way was I going to eat that thing as is.  

So I had it freeze dried and encapsulated.  A midwife picked up my fresh placenta (that we stored in the fridge for a few hours before she arrived) and then dropped off a bottle of placenta pills a couple days later along with that dried up umbilical cord that she shaped into a heart.  I'm not sure if that heart umbilical cord is beautiful or just weird.  I'm not exactly sure what to do with it.  Do I keep this?  Is this baby book fodder?  Perhaps I should bury it.  All I know is that she said to make sure I keep it away from dogs or cats because they'll turn it into a chew toy. 

Anyway, these pills (Mr Woodmouse calls them my "placenta helper pills") are supposed to ward off postpartum depression.  Do I notice a difference?  You bet I do.  About a half hour after popping a few things seem less cloudy.  Placebo?  Maybe.  But who cares.  If it works, it works and I didn't even have to eat the darn thing raw.     

(and I'm now giggling that I get to put this in the "food stuff & cooking" category)

Hello Color!

I would never consider myself a "beige" person.  I love color.  I love wearing colors (purple + red together is my favorite) and the things I create are colorful.  So it may come as a surprise that up until now the apartments I've called home were always of the beige variety.  Lots of browns.  Neutrals.  You know, safe.  Boring. 

Sure, blame it on the fact that they were apartments and came painted that way.  Indeed, I had many excuses for the lackluster decor.  Why bother painting the walls of an apartment when we might move soon?  Why bother investing in decor stuff I actually like when it is just an apartment and we might move soon?    

Well, now I own a house and the game has changed.  It seems fitting that the house we bought was beige.  Like, the whole thing.  Every last exterior detail was painted the same beige color, as if they were trying to hide the adorable 1950s ranch style details in all that neutralness.   

Above, here we are on the beige front step the day we got the keys!  Below...here is the front step in full updated BRIGHT HAPPY YELLOW glory.  I've always wanted a "bright happy yellow" house with a red door.  Our elderly neighbor said, "Interesting color choice." 

Our color fun didn't stop with the exterior, we got to play with color inside too.  I admit it was tough picking out wall colors before our stuff was there.  Everything looks so different now that there is furniture (and a shitload of boxes) everywhere.

Thankfully, I'm loving the outcome of all but one color choice.  But it is growing on me.  I think I'll love it once I reupholster two chairs, paint a table and hang art on the walls.  You know, with all the free time I have now.  Ah yes, perfection will have to wait.