The Other Woman

The summer after 8th grade, my dad took my brother and I on a road trip. We drove Northwest and visited Yellowstone National Park, Devil's Tower, Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and probably some other parks and landmarks I'm missing. My brother and I were your typical teenagers. We would sit in the car and listen to our music or play on the computer while my dad drove. 

At the end of this scenic road trip, we ended up in Kirkland, Washington. At the time, in my head, we were in the middle of nowhere. We'd never ventured this far northwest before, and I didn't know anyone who lived there. But my dad did. At the time, we'd hear him talking on the phone at night on the weekends for an extended period of time. We didn't know who he was on the phone with, but we were old enough and keen enough to be able to make some inferences.

I remember my dad pulling onto this street and telling us we'd arrived. We were parked in front of a house I didn't recognize in an area where houses looked different than what we were used to seeing in Texas. We grabbed our suitcases and walked up to the front door. A woman opened the door and let us in. She took us downstairs to the basement where we'd be staying. Of course, the only thing we cared about was if there was wifi and how to log on. And she did that, too. Great.

The next morning, we got up and ate breakfast together. All four of us sat at the table and ate breakfast. We didn't do this at home when it was just the three of us. Each of us ran on our own schedule. My dad went to work. We went to school. And on weekends when we were home, we were all in our own little world. 

All four of us sat at the table and ate breakfast for two hours. I can't remember what we ate for breakfast that day, and I know I finished eating probably after about 30 minutes. And that was stretching out my eating. For the rest of the time, she and my dad talked. We maybe replied to a question occasionally, but most of the time, they talked to each other, and we sat there and watched and listened. I can't remember how breakfast finally ended, but my brother and I felt very very awkward. 

One night, we all went to Red Lobster for dinner. She and my dad sat next to each other in the booth and my brother and I sat next to each other across from them. We ate dinner, and once again, most of the conversation was had by the two of them while my brother and I sat quietly, ate, and listened. The rest of the dinner is fuzzy, but I remember thinking to myself: We look like a normal family of four, a father, a mother, a son, and a daughter, eating dinner together.....but we're not.

After dinner, she took us to a park with a path along the shoreline. We walked for a bit, and she pointed out that this was the dry side of Washington. If we crossed the lake to the other side, that was Seattle, the wetter side. 

We left Washington and continued the rest of our road trip back home. We drove through Colorado and stopped at Arches National Park. We went to see the cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde National Park. Both of these were great parks. I didn't near appreciate it as much then as I would now if I went back, but we also didn't explore either to their full extent.

After coming back home, my dad asked us at dinner one night what we thought of the woman in Washington. Neither of us said much. We didn't know what to say. Did we like her? What does it mean to like her? As a person? As the role she would fill? Did we even want that role filled? Time passed and the phone calls stopped. We never heard anything about her after that. We never went back to visit. To this day I can't remember what her name was. 

For the last 12 years, someone else has taken over that "spot." And throughout these years I've been learning more about myself, my grief, and the sore spots you shouldn't mess with ever. And sometimes, I remember all the way back to when we drove out on a random road trip to meet a random woman I didn't know. And however awkward it felt at the time, I now realize, that would have been fine. The awkwardness may have remained in a way, but everything would have worked together much better.  I didn't know it at the time, but I liked the other woman. I liked her poise, her personality, and who she was. I discussed this with a friend, and he phrased the exact revelation I came to in such an elegant way.

She was self-confident and mature, and she understood her potential role in your life. Yes. She did not pretend to be something she could not be.

I never wanted another mother much less a stepmother. I never wanted another grandmother for my children. I never wanted someone to waltz into my life and fill the hole. The hole is still there. It always will be. I wanted someone to be a companion to my dad and realize that she was nobody special to me unless I wanted her to be because those are separate roles. And I wanted her to realize even if I never wanted her to be anyone in my life, that was okay, and to let it be okay. 

I liked the other woman. 

We're Painting Again: Part 2

Catch up with Part 1 here.

Within a week, we finished painting the built-in shelves and cabinets in my music studio. I'm very pleased with the way it turned out. We are not completely done with the project yet as we have to paint the shelves and doors, but that can and will be done outside of the house.

At the end of part 1, we left off at one coat of primer. We made the decision to put on two coats of primer and two coats of paint because this shelf was going to be used almost daily.

We had a little helper come in for a few minutes to assist us 😊

Still looking a little grainy and uneven after the second coat of primer. That's ok. Here's where good paint comes in and works its magic.

Already looking so much smoother after the first coat of paint. It was also way faster to put on. I was able to paint a coat in an hour by myself. 

This is the final look after the second coat of paint (and before I cleaned up...) 

I love the way this shelf turned out. It brightens the entire room and I'm still pleasantly surprised when I walk into my studio and have this bright white shelf next to me instead of what used to be brown. I'm not against wood altogether, but the original stain, finish, and grain of the wood just did not complement the colors we had chosen to use in the rest of the space. 

I'm really excited to finish the rest of the shelving, except all the rain we've been getting has put a damper on my progress. Ideally, I would need two hot and dry days to finish priming and painting. The plan is to put on two coats of primer and only one coat of paint, although I may put on a second coat of paint if everything dries in a timely manner. I would takeover the garage for two days, prime, flip, prime, flip, prime, flip, prime, flip, and then call it a day. Then, I'd do the same thing on the second day except I would paint, flip, paint, flip, paint, flip, and paint. 

On nice, hot Texas summers, I can recoat after about 1-2 hours. We...haven't gotten there yet, weather-wise. So the rest of our project is on a temporary pause until the weather cooperates and throws me some sun and heat. But I'm okay with that. 

Fortunately, the shelf is now a beautiful, clean white. Unfortunately, our wall paint looks a little peachy now...I foresee painting the wall in our future. Once I pile up the shelf with stuff, maybe it'll help tone down the white a little bit? 🙈

We're Painting Again!: Part 1

When we were first buying houses, one of our "must-haves" was no wood paneling. Unfortunately, this requirement wasn't met when we bought our house. Actually, a lot of requirements weren't met when we bought our house. So when we moved into our house, we hired someone and had the wood paneling painted.

There were two built-in shelves in our house we did not have painted in order to save money. One was in our breakfast nook and one was in what is now my piano studio. It worked for the time being because only the shelf was left natural wood so it was acceptable. But I would often teeter totter between thinking it was fine the way it was and wanting it to be painted to match the rest of the room.

With the Covid situation improving, I am currently getting ready to reopen my studio and have students return in person for lessons if they choose to. I was also in one of my moods where I wasn't quite happy anymore with the way the shelf looked.

Natural '80s wood glory. Finding a place to
temporarily put all of my piano music was a challenge.

Painters charge more to paint wood paneling because it's been stained and sealed. In order to get paint to properly adhere, there's a couple options:

1. you sand down the wood to remove the finish

2. you use really nice primer and paint (typically oil-based)

3. you clean the entire surface with a strong cleaner (TSP, krud kutter, etc.)

4. some combination of the above options

We never officially got a quote to paint this shelf, but my guess is someone would have charged between the $600-$1,000 range to prime and paint this shelf inside and out. My guess is it would have cost us more than average because a painter would likely choose to spray normally. However, because my piano is in this room, I would never let anyone spray paint. Even if they said they'd cover everything, I would not trust it enough to do it. And then they'd charge you more to paint it by hand because it's more work. So we chose to do it ourselves. 

It seems like we started this project on a whim, which we kind of did, but there's actually been years of experience and thought put into it.

- we painted our own kitchen cabinets and 6 years later, they've held up really well considering it's a very high-trafficked area of our house

- we found a better type of paint and primer since then that holds up better than the one we used in our kitchen

- we have leftover painting supplies

- now is the time to do it if we don't want my studio to look like a construction zone when my students are back

Prep is key.

It actually didn't look terrible after I wiped the entire thing down with
TSP and 20 paper towels. But I'm still painting it.
Also since we have plenty of masks lying around, it was great not to inhale the spray. 

First coat of primer.

I was laughing at myself because less than a month ago, I'd told myself I was done with home improvement projects for a while. Our various handyman experiences from last month left me exhausted. And here we are again...I told a friend we were starting this project and her response was, "You're just bored at home, aren't you?" 😅

Clearly, this past year has had such an effect on me.

So this is how we started another house project and plan to finish hopefully within the next 3 weeks before my students come back. So far of the friends I've talked to, one is sad the wood is going and three are excited. Which side do you fall on? 

Stay tuned for the budget breakdown and final look!

Read Part 2 here.

A Slice of Time

When I think of losing my mother as an event, it's usually a sad and somber memory. It reminds me of how short our time was, the things I wish I could have changed, and the life we will never get to share with each other. But at the same time, I'm reminded of the wonderful memories and the people who were able to share them with me in the year which followed, fondly remembered as 8th grade.

1. 

I had a friend drop off a teddy bear for me at my house. She didn't come in or anything, just left it for me. She told me later she wanted me to have something to hug or hold when I was feeling sad. It was very sweet of her. She wasn't the emotional/sentimental type. She didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve. She was very hard to read. But she dropped off a teddy bear for me after my mother died.

2. 

A few of my friends made my 14th birthday very special. They decorated my locker at school because that was how friends showed their appreciation for you in middle school. It was the first and only time I'd ever had my locker decorated. They used purple plaid wrapping paper with gold ribbon. A picture of a teddy bear was glued onto it along with some fake flowers, and they'd written Happy Teddy Bear Day instead of Happy Birthday. They knew me so well, and although a little embarrassing, I really loved it. After taking it down, I kept it in my bedroom at home for several years because it was so special to see what my friends had done for me. 

3.

My dad hired a nanny that year. She picked me up from school and then prepared dinner for us while we waited for my brother. After he came home, she'd finish cooking and leave around 5:30. This way, I was never at home by myself. It was a little strange at first, having a nanny as a teenager. Unfortunately, it was short lived. She wrecked her car one afternoon on the way to pick me up. That was the last day I saw her because she wasn't getting another car and therefore could not fulfill her duties. Ironically, it worked out better (in my opinion) because I began to carpool with a friend, and I had about an hour to myself before my brother got home from the high school. Almost every Monday and Wednesday after that, I would spend the first 45 minutes at home talking on the phone. It was nice. Being home alone, talking on the phone with a friend, enjoying my freedom. I was still a straight A student and finished all of my work on time. But that was fun, getting to do something myself without needing to ask permission.

***

I don't talk to anyone on a regular basis from middle school anymore. Am I friends with some of them? Yes. And if I ever ran into them at the store or on the side of the street or by chance in another city, I would definitely stop and say hi. But despite the radio silence, they have a special place in my life which even my husband does not have the honor. They are the people who lived with me through this life-changing event when it occurred. They were the ones who would have AIM conversations with me after school. They were the ones who sat with me in the cafeteria at lunch. They were the ones who knew who I was when it happened, as it happened. And all of those moments are forever sealed in the capsule that is "the year after my mother died."

I don't wish to go back to the year after my mother died. Although fond memories, that's all they are. But these people. These people get to be a part of my memories. I hope they know how special they are for the memories they are a part of.