The Half-Way House

Unfortunately, the day has come when I am 29 weeks pregnant and writing at 4:00 am, unable to sleep due to my inability to stop drafting an email to our builder in my head.  At 3:00 (after at least an hour of completing revisions in my mind), I quietly descended the ladder from the loft of our temporary home and turned on my computer. Even though I know that the email currently saved in my account will not be sent, it helped to write it.  Seven months ago, it would have been discarded by the builder as authored by a 'sensitive woman.'  Today, if sent, it would still no doubt be written-off, but now, in all likelihood, be attributed to the emotional swings of pregnancy. 

Somehow, writing and saving such an email was not enough to calm my mind.  Sleep will have to wait.  And so, for the first time in more than two months, I post another blog entry.

Prior to the start of construction, we began to, jokingly and lovingly, refer to our house as "The Lot."  The nickname signified a challenge that Rob and I took on a week before we were married and has given us a good laugh when we've needed one.  Since our purchase of The Lot, we have experienced many adventures, have felt proud of each step in progress, and have never regretted the decision we made to buy the 1928 structure.  We've kept the end result in sight and have looked forward to the completion of the home where our future children will grow up.  We've worked together, supporting each other as if through a marathon or, more accurately, like a team in the Tough Mudder Competition that my brother-in-law, Joe, completed just a week or two back.  The Tough Mudder advertises as "probably the toughest event on the planet." Yes, more accurate.

Photos taken from Joe's facebook page without his permission

Clearly, both the feats of The Tough Mudder and home construction "test your all around strength, stamina, mental grit, and camaraderie."  Rob and I have certainly experienced the uphill battles.  We have often felt as if for each foot we climb, we slide back down two. But over the four years we have been able to mark progress.  And so we know that while the climb is steep and can feel like a scramble, being able to look at the view once we reach the top will be worthwhile. 

When I look through Joe's photos, I am, oddly enough, struck by the similarities in the challenges.  I remember Rob's adventure under the house, plugging up the holes in the floors to save me from the cucarachas. He army-crawled through vines of poison ivy.  This mud can be washed off within minutes, while Rob still bears the scars.

 Yet other photos remind me of our pipes bursting and flooding our walls during that cold winter.  We survived by showering at the Y or staying with friends through the freeze, barely gripping the rungs of sanity.








I envision Rob up in the scaffolding of the frame of the new house, trimming limbs from our trees and painting the sawed off stumps to protect them from oak wilt.  I cringe a bit at this picture of Joe descending the wood planks, as I remember Rob teetering at the top of the cable pole or hopping across the open beams of new attic, planning the space for attic decking or wiring for speakers and Ethernet.

Over the two months since my last entry, my stamina has waned.  I've entered my third trimester and I'm tired. My patience has been put to the test.  A few weeks back I stepped to the side of the course, sat down in the mud, and gave up on a completion date that comes before our due date. 

The new nickname we've been using for the home under construction on W Johanna Street is "The Half-Way House".  This new name is said with more of a forced half-smile than a chuckle.  We continue to try to have a good sense of humor and to pull through, but our attempts at a laugh are less effective.  I've stopped driving by the house on my way home.  I know there are no changes there to witness.

However, what I am blessed to be able to do now, is focus my attention on more significant changes.  

Baby McKay is growing.  He (I'm convinced it's a boy) is as active as Joe in the Tough Mudder.  I wish I had an ultrasound machine at home so I could watch him all day long.

And today, the productive and fun-filled hours before tonight's fitful sleep were full of signs of good health, preparedness, and love.  I ran 3 miles.  Rob and I went shopping together and packed our bag for the hospital.  Rob humored me, accompanying me to maternity clothing stores.

And at about 4:30pm, I headed to the home of a former student, located in a neighborhood funded by the Housing Authority of the City of Austin.  There, Maria and her three girls had spent the day decorating for my baby shower.

Teresa, another mother and now dear friend who I worked with when I was a Parent Support Specialist, arrived with a diaper cake.

 The girls (1st, 3rd, and 7th grades) had hung both pink and blue balloons and crepe paper baby bottles from the ceiling.  They'd wrapped gifts for the guests and many for Baby McKay.

 They had organized at least a half dozen games that had us all laughing until our cheeks hurt.  We saw how many clothespins we could hold in one hand,

 how many plies of toilet paper it takes to encircle my growing tummy,

 who can drink out of a baby bottle the fastest, and ate delicious chocolate cake that read "Welcome Future Baby!"

 

 Baby McKay and I were surrounded by love and support. 

 My dear friend, Brynne, gave me picture books that reminded me of the priorities that trump construction deadlines and nursery decorations.

While I may not be sitting in a comfy rocker in a new house the first time I read "On the Night You Were Born" to my first child, I will surely know that on the night Baby McKay was born he or she was blessed with everything that one could need and more.

Eventually, we will finish this construction obstacle course.  Rob and I will reach out our arms and yank each other up the last, steep, uphills to the end.  We will smile and celebrate with friends and family.

This Christmas, my whole family will be in Austin for the birth of the first grandchild.  My mother will stay to help with the baby and has even reserved the weeks prior to the due date in case we call to say, Baby McKay is coming early!  Maria and her three girls have vowed to help come decorate the nursery when the house is done.

And so, now I'll go back to sleep with a glass-is-half-full mentality.  "The Half-way House" is still a nickname that can bring us a smile.  Half-way isn't half bad! We're closer than we were and are blessed with a baby on the way to remind us of all that we have.

The Writing on the Floor

In a June post, I reflected upon the work that the subcontractors who have contributed to our project have done.  I have thought a lot about our house and the men who are out there on days of 106 degree temperatures, building the home where our family will live and our children will grow up for years to come.  I bought a bunch of sharpies and wrote a message to the workers that, in short, asks them to please write a message, blessing, saying, or just sign their name to demonstrate their work toward this project that means so much to Rob and to me.

For a week or two, my message sat lonely in the middle of the floor.  I worried that no one would respond. I wondered if my request seemed silly or selfish.  After all, I can hardly stand to be on site more than 20 minutes in the heat and I'm asking for yet another favor from the men who endure the summer temperatures and humidity for hours and hours every day.  I wasn't ready to give up, though.  I continued to stop by the house and introduce myself to the men working.  Sometime in June I met Antonio who was working to paint the exterior of the house.  What a kind and positive man! He gave me a huge smile each time I came by to say hello.  He was excited about the idea of having everyone write something and he set out to help me campaign.  He thought that, maybe, the note on the floor could be overlooked. So, he wrote his own note and posted it to a 2" x 4".

Translation: To everyone who would like to write a thought for the family who will live in this house, please write on the floor.  Thank you

 He also spoke to other workers on the site.  Pretty soon, there were several other messages...

The first message I saw was actually a draft of a message.  It was written in sharpie on a scrap piece of wood.  I found it lying off to the side of the living room.  Coincidentally, the previous day we had spent time in class at UT looking at images of authors' work in progress.  Well-known authors take notes on old envelopes or on the back of shopping lists, on scraps of papers or on napkins.  The authors who are building my home complete drafts on 2"x4"s!  I carried this piece of wood back to my house. I can hardly wait to show it to my students!

Nearby, was the final copy of his piece, on the floor...

Life with a significant other is akin to two horses pulling the same cart.  The horses are the heads of the household. The passengers aboard, wherever they are headed, are the children.  It is up to you to guide them on the right path.  In whichever path it may be, you should both pull the cart with equal force, because with just one, the feat would prove too difficult.

My friends and writing project colleagues, Gladiola and Felisha, sat with me while our writing group met to help me to tease out a worthy translation.  While it always feels that an English translation of such a metaphorical piece of text in Spanish does not do the piece justice, it helped me to realize the depth of thought and consideration that this analogy holds. I read it to mean that a couple shares equally the responsibility of guiding their children on the right path through life.  I picture a horse drawn carriage carrying the children and the parents as the horses. If one horse slacks off, the carriage veers off course.  We also talked about how it could also refer to how the paths we take in life vary in difficulty but how we must not become complacent or lazy but keep pulling forward with the same level of determination and shared goals no matter the feat.

Here is a note from Victor...

The place that we love, this is our home, where we spend the most important moments. 

~Victor Escobedo, fiberglass and shower pan.

I love the way Victor's words flow.  Isn't it so true that so often, with family, our best moments are spent together at home where we are comfortable and we are ourselves?

The piece below is incredibly honest and brave.  I love how he alternated colors and tied his own past experiences to advice for our family's future.

Testament of a father who died from alcoholism:  Date of death: July 15 1996 He drank so much that he never realized that he had developed an illness for which, even today, no doctor in the world has found a cure: alcoholism.  For this reason, if you drink or do other drugs, think about the fact that your parents or your children need you.  I write this from experience. My father left 7 sons and 5 daughters without thinking about who would support us in life.  All we could do was ask God to grant us each day.  Today, I am a father of four sons who I love very much.  I don’t want to relive the history of my father.  Therefore, I wish many blessings on this family, that they enjoy this beautiful house and know that sometimes we have to make sacrifices to obtain these material things.  We are grateful because through your sharing this opportunity, we have been able to provide for our children and our lives.

And with that I say goodbye.  Your friend, Cristo -insulation

When I am together at workshops or institutes with my colleagues from the Heart of Texas Writing Project, we often look at student work and practice "mining for gems" as Katherine Bomer puts it in her book, Hidden Gems.  We identify and name the strengths and strategies that authors, young and old, developing and experienced, use to reach the reader.  When I read Cristo's writing I think about what a personal experience he has published here on the plywood.  He has put his story out where others can read from it and learn from his experience, as he has learned from his own.

Unfortunately, I couldn't get the below piece to appear horizontally...

Thank you for giving us the opportunity to contribute a grain of sand to this, that will be your home and for allowing us to be a part of your home through these messages. ~Oscar, fiberglass and showerpan

*Please excuse the orientation of this photo. I'm not sure why it kept uploading as a vertical image...

Oscar's message makes me think of my own students and how, sometimes, just asking for someone's input, for their story, for their opinion, can value that person in ways in which a simple 'Thank you' could never suffice.  'A grain of sand' is one example of how Spanish is full of metaphors.  

Below is Antonio's message...

For you, Katie.  There are moments in life when we all want many things and we put purpose toward those goals and we try to achieve them, but we are unable.  We must always continue forward, step by step, and you have taken the first step in making your wishes, your purpose, a reality.  You are in your own house.  I appreciate the opportunity that you have given me to write this thought because it gives me the motivation to continue contributing a piece toward your home and continue working for all of the families so that they are happy and content.  May you be happy with our work!  Thank you, Antonio ~painter

It makes me smile that Antonio's message is addressed specifically to me.  There are several places on the floor where, I presume, Antonio wrote drafts and then painted over them.  My heart feels so full when I think of him thinking through the words that he would contribute.  I like thinking of our life as steps and pushing forward toward making our dreams a reality, even when faced with obstacles or challenging circumstances. 

As everyone warned us from the moment we bought "the lot" (as Rob often referred to our house for the first 4 years), the process of building a new home has not always been easy.  However, we have never lost sight of how blessed we are to have this opportunity.  I hope to frame many of the above messages and hang them in the house when it is complete as a constant reminder of how many people contributed to making this dream a reality.  Reading these messages has taught me the value of hearing others' perspectives and how asking someone about their life or for their opinion can help to build relationships across languages and cultures.  

We certainly will enjoy our new home!

 

Step with care

In high school, my sisters and I  traveled to Connecticut and to Michigan with our Youth Group to help build houses for Habitat for Humanity.  Even in the heat of those summers of '95 and '96, we were required to wear jeans and construction boots while on the work site. We each sported a pair of those big, yellow Timberlands while we worked. They were bulky and not so cute but they were necessary, we were told.

It wasn't until Saturday, October 22nd, 2011 that I truly appreciated why we'd been required to wear those inflexible, thick-soled shoes on the work site.  I learned my lesson... the hard (as nails) way.

I can remember the exact date because it was the day before our nephew, Tate, was to be baptized in Houston.  Rob planned to join some friends at a beer tasting in Austin Saturday around noon, so we decided we'd leave for H'town after the event.  I would drop Rob off at the bar, come home and do some packing and cleaning up.  Then, I'd pick him back up and we'd be on our way to Houston. One of my first chores was to throw the vegetable scraps into the compost bin.  At this point, the back portion of our house had already been torn down and our back steps were made of stacked cinder blocks.  I carefully carried the container down the 'stairs' and made my way a few steps through the yard toward the compost pile.

Can you make out those cinder block steps?

If only I'd been wearing those old Timberlands!  But, alas, my flimsy flip flops did not protect my foot from the debris that, leftover from demolition, littered our yard. While the level of pain I felt at the moment was foreign to me, I didn't even need to look down to know what had happened. I've never had stitches nor broken a bone, so I think it' safe to say that I'd never experienced something quite like the feeling of that dirty old nail piercing my foot. 

I hopped over to an old cement stoop (pictured above) and sat down to take a look at the damage.  Though it had not gone all the way through, the nail was deeply lodged into the ball of my foot, just below my little toe, securing my shoe to me.  Shit, shit, shit! I thought.  I knew I must yank it out.  I bit my lip and tugged.  It was as if the flesh of my foot was suctioned to the metal.  I tried again and could feel the meat pull and stretch, gripping the ragged metal.  Oh, no. Oh, no. I can't do this!  I could hear the next door neighbor working in his yard. Was I going to have to ask him to pull this thing out?

I crawled back inside the house, perched on the side of the tub, and called Rob.  He could barely hear me over the noise of the bar.  "I need you to go to where you can hear me right now!"  I said rather dramatically.  When the noise died down I frantically shouted, "I stepped on a nail and I can't get it out of my foot!!"

Rob says that the reason I've, in my 33 years, been able to avoid serious injury, is because I don't take the types of risks that would put me in any position to get hurt. It's true, I don't go mountain biking or cliff jumping or do any crazy hikes. I generally step with care and, so, am taken entirely by surprise by mishaps. It's only fair for me to admit that I don't always handle such startling moments with grace when they do occur.  Rob, however, being the man who drills his own finger nail and stitches his own wounds with fishing line, honestly enjoys these types of injuries.  When he heard what had happened all he could do was let out a kind of stifled chortle. A kind of 'oh, oh, oh!' or maybe a 'ho, ho, ho!" that sounded like he was probably rubbing his palms together, wishing he were there to yank it himself.

"You're gonna have to yank it out!" he half laughed.
"I can't get it out!"
"Yes you can. Just put the phone down for a second and yank. Like a bandaid. Nice and quick."
"Okay..."

With my foot propped up on my opposite knee, I grabbed hold of the head of the nail, closed my eyes, and tore the foreign object out with a jerk.

"I did it! I did it!"
"Good job!"
"Do I need to go to the hospital?"
"Nah, just clean it off best you can and it'll heal."

Now, puncture wounds (which, obviously, is what this was) close up pretty quickly.  I did what I could to clean the cut with alcohol, but by the time the nail was out, the hole looked more like a cute little freckle than the bacteria-ridden, internal gash that it was.  Now, anyone who has watched a bit of Grey's Anatomy (thank goodness for our internet hook up) knows that yanking an object from a puncture wound can cause internal bleeding, infection, or other hidden damage.  Maybe I should go to the hospital, I thought, remembering the dead baby bike race episode of Grey's when a bike spoke punctures Viper's organs.

Or the one when two people are stuck together by a pole that has gone through both of their abdomens.  The only thing holding their organs in place is the metal tube.  Extraction=eminent death.

Of course I realize that my vital organs are not located in the sole of my foot, but even if my injury wasn't fatal, might I have been facing irreversible damage or even amputation? I did my best to push such images out of my mind and got ready for our drive to Houston.  By the time I picked Rob up, my foot was pink, throbby, and swollen.  Rob was a bit tipsy but did his best to reassure me that this was a minor mishap and I was overreacting. I knew I couldn't admit to my visions of my one-legged life or memories of the show that inspires nothing but eye rolling and guffawing from him.  Plus, our sister-in-law is a doctor and we'd be seeing her the next morning, he reasoned.We could ask for her advice.

The McKays after the baptism

By the baptism Sunday morning, I had to wear a pair of shoes that would accommodate for the new size of my foot.

Our sister-in-law, Nikki, suggested that, yes, I should go get it checked out.  But on a Sunday my doctor's office would be closed.  Urgent Care would cost a pretty penny.

"Can't you just wait until tomorrow?" Rob asked.

Well, I wasn't going to miss school for a puffy foot.  I got to the doctor's office around 3:30 Monday afternoon.  When I told him the story, his eyes widened.

"You stepped on a nail and then you went to Houston!?" He was astounded.  I immediately blamed the advice of my husband, my desire to believe that I'd been over-reacting.  He stung me with a comment about  "common sense" and prescribed two antibiotics for what appeared to be an infection. Thank god my patient file had revealed that the tetanus shot I'd gotten for our honeymoon in India was still current and I could claim I'd remembered that fact.  I scheduled the follow-up that he insisted upon and left the office with my head hanging low but my heart soaring that the subject of amputation hadn't come up.

I share this memory for two reasons.  First, I learned a lesson.  Well, maybe a few.  Timberlands work.  Listen to your gut, not your husband.  When living on a construction site, step with care.

Second, the memory and the scar tissue (that I can still feel) remind me of the dangerous job that the contractors on our site, building our home every day, are doing.  In my next post, I'll share some of the sub-contractors' words of wisdom as they are written (upon my request) on our plywood floors.

Progress, Palabras, and a Pit Stop

Though the last few weeks have been full of meetings, decisions, and hours of searching for the just right (and within budget) lighting and plumbing fixtures, the progress on the construction has been a wee bit slow.  The plumbing has all been roughed in (including an upgrade of copper to the kitchen upon Rob's request!), and the master bathroom shower floor has been reinforced with cement.

 Two of the tubs have been put in and are full of water in order to test that the floor can hold 'em?  I'm not sure, but they're there and they weren't before, so that's good news!

Master bathroom shower... we've got double shower heads!  The clawfoot tub is in storage and will go in later.

The fireplace has arrived (million thanks to Sean and the delivery guy who lugged it from the truck to the living room!) and should be installed sometime soon.

This Direct Vent Napoleon Fireplace is the result of many visits to showrooms, hours of research and consultation of energy efficiency engineers, and the collaboration of Rob and Sean.  Next is to design the door that will go on the front!

This summer, I've been co-teaching a graduate school class for the Heart of Texas Writing Project Summer Institute. We're working with 18 Austin area K-12 teachers on developing their writing and their teaching of writing.  Participating in this institute 5 years ago changed my career in education significantly. It brought me to UT's graduate program, to publish articles and present nationally, and, most importantly, to be more reflective in my teaching practice and in my position as a white teacher of privilege in classrooms with populations of students who have been under-served in our society and by our schools. 

In the writing that I've done this summer, I have thought a lot about our house and the men who are out there on days like today, in 106 degree temperatures, building the home where our family will live and our children will grow up for years to come.  Last week, I bought a bunch of sharpies and wrote a message (below) to the workers that, in short, asks them to please take a marker and write a message, blessing, saying, or just sign their name to demonstrate their work toward this project that means so much to Rob and me.  I've spoken to the plumbers, some framers, and electricians and they are thinking out what their message may be.  Stay tuned!

In the meantime, Steve, a friend and colleague of Rob's, brought a fun opportunity our way. He received news from a producer friend of his that while working on an indie film in Austin, the construction site where several scenes were to be shot had fallen through.  Did Steve have any ideas of where they might be able to film?  A few emails later, the film crew for Pit Stop was scheduled to meet on West Johanna Street to get rolling!


 We couldn't believe how many people arrived!  Somewhere between 20 and 30 people swarmed onto the property and brought a whole new feel to the place!  Rob, Sean, and I each grabbed a koozie and a cold drink, perched on the edge of our newly installed tub, and watched the action!

 Before they left, they wrote us a collage of messages on the floor of a bathroom.  We feel super cool to have been able to be a small part of their work and look forward to hearing about the premiere!

As if fame in film didn't provide enough excitement for a week, we were thrilled to see that the exterior colors we chose look great and to approve the samples.  As seen in the below photos, we'll have a grayish-green main color with a creamy white trim.  The windows have both a clay and a chocolatey brown color. We're also excited about the way the stain for the eaves it looking!  I can hardly wait 'til the day (maybe this week???) when I come around the corner and see the new paint color covering the house!

Lastly, on the baby 'front', I've decided to take part in those popular pregnancy profile pics.  Over the past few days my waistline has taken on a new shape.  What better place to document change than at the house!  So, here I am on the front porch and here we will document both the progress of my baby bump and of the house.  Stay tuned!