Sunday, June 28, 2009

Saturday

I got home this morning to find that Dad had basically finished the painting:


There's still some minor touching up to do, but it shouldn't be anything too major.

After catching a little sleep and some breakfast, we headed out to Ikea to buy the furniture Lauren and I had picked for the den.  We had little trouble finding what we needed, except that some of the items were very tall.  We ended up having to put half of the back set and the front passenger seat down so we can fit the boxes inside the cabin.  That left Dad, who was already tired from all the painting, sitting on the floor of the cargo space of our compact minivan for the drive home:


Once we got back home we set about building the Ikea furniture and otherwise starting to get the den into shape.  I'd say that things are starting to come together.




Not only do we have the new entertainment center and a bookcase built, but we've also anchored them both to the walls so they can't topple over on the little guy who will be joining us here soon.  (I have never previously used those Ikea wall-anchoring devices, butbecoming a father must already be having an effect.)  As you can see, we also have our desk reassembled, and the computer is set up again.  I'm still trying to work out the placement of the cable modem, router, etc. so we have as little visual clutter as possible.  For now, though, I'm just pleased not to be blogging from the floor.

Still lots to do tomorrow before Lauren gets home:  (1) finish touching up the nursery and powder room; (2) purchase a (hopefully) 40-inch TV for the den ("hopefully" because the opening in the new entertainment center appears to be just barely tall enough to fit most 40-inch LCD TV's); (3) move and reorganize all the stuff that we pulled out of the closet in the old office; and (4) generally tidy up the stuff that's basically piled all over the house.  Wish us luck!

Friday, June 26, 2009

Blogging from the floor again

Although I'm blogging from the floor again--
--this is actually a triumph.  The computer is successfully connected to the internet using the connection in the den.  Hooray.  Given our history of trouble with Comcast, I was worried about getting this to work, but apparently there was little cause for concern.  I was even able to tidy up the wires coming into the house, so the junction box looks neater than it ever has.

When I came in from work, this was the scene:

Dad had successfully demolished the poorly built shelf in the nursery closet, and he was getting ready to paint the interior of the closet.  I went downstairs to prep the powder room in the den, so that he won't have to do that tomorrow:

Note the light fixture hanging at an angle.  It is successfully disengaged from the wall, so it can be readily replaced once Lauren and I settle on a new one.  And I even managed to do it while only breaking one light bulb.

Meanwhile, Dad finished the closet--

--and was hard at work on the rest of the nursery:


The only real problem we've encountered today is that we're out of paint for the nursery.  Mom will have to go back to the paint store (for the fourth time in four days) to get more of the blue paint we need, while Dad can get started on the powder room.

Next on my wish list is to get the desk reassembled so that I can post tomorrow in a proper chair.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Day 2

Short post, because I'm exhausted.  And also because I'm literally blogging from the floor.

Painting in the den is complete.  We also started moving the office furniture, books, etc. from the new nursery to the den.  Things are very much in flux, but there is some progress.  Here's a current look at the den:

Minor set back:  the space where I thought our second file cabinet might fit is about an inch-and-a-half too narrow, so we're going to have to do without that file cabinet.
Sadie, of course, is already settling in to the new space.

Here's the current status of the nursery, which still needs some prep work yet before Dad can start painting.

Yes, that's our desktop sitting on the floor, still connected to the internet.  That's how I'm posting this.  Tomorrow, I'm disconnecting and probably won't reconnect until I can get everything hooked up downstairs in the den.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

Day 1 - Improvements in Process

I came home from work tonight to find the first coat of paint up in the den:



So, that's good progress, I think.  The challenging part of painting the den is the small alcove where our stacked washer and dryer reside.  After the flood, the painters apparently had the W/D entirely removed from the alcove, and they painted the entire alcove green.  Thus, we couldn't just leave the alcove unpainted; we had to move the W/D and repaint the green to blue.

After dinner, Dad and I went downstairs to move the W/D.  We expected we'd just move it out of the way, paint the alcove, and then move it back.  Seemed straightforward enough, so we didn't think we needed any kind of contingency plan.

We were wrong.

With some struggle, we managed to get the W/D out of the alcove, but only partway.  We quickly discovered that the space we were trying to move it into was too narrow to maneuver it easily, plus we couldn't readily reach all the water and electrical connections behind it to disconnect it completely and move it all the way out of the alcove.  Oh, and dad was basically caught between the W/D and the (closed) door to the den.

Eventually, we began to formulate our contingency plan:  Dad would slide between the washer and the dryer to join Mom and me in the main part of the room, then we'd angle the W/D unit away from the alcove to create just enough of an opening for him to slide inside the alcove, disconnect everything, and then help me move it out of the way.

Problem Number 1:  We had no tools in the den with us.  Having not perceived the need for a possible contingency plan, we had not planned ahead and brought a toolbox in with us.  And at this point, we had the entire washer/dryer barricading the door to the den, so we couldn't get out to get any tools.  And moving the W/D again didn't seem like an option, given the difficulty we'd had moving it at all.  With no tools, we couldn't disconnect the water lines, so there was no way to get the entire thing disconnected from the wall.

This brought us to the backup contingency plan, which called for Dad to climb into the alcove and just paint the damned thing while standing inside.  Not the easiest thing in the world, but we figured he could do it, and then we'd move the W/D back and touch it up.

Obviously, this was not a part of the painting process I wanted to miss having photographic evidence of for the blog.  But that brings us to Problem Number 2:  Having not planned ahead, I hadn't brought the camera into the den before we barricaded ourselves inside.  Thankfully, Mom had her cell phone, so I can now present to you my father wedged into an alcove behind a washer and dryer, trying to paint three walls:



Problem Number 3:  We were running out of paint.  We had failed to consider the need to bring more of the paint for the den in from the garage, because, well, we hadn't really planned on being barricaded inside the den.

Despite the challenges, Dad did manage to get the entire alcove painted--or at least, everything except the back wall that no one can see because the washer and dryer are in the way.  With that accomplished, he climbed out of the alcove, slide back to the far side of the washer/dryer, and then (surprisingly easily) slid the whole thing back into place.  We still need to touch up some of the corners, but I think we're now mostly good with this part of the room.

Up tomorrow:  a second coat for the entire den, and possibly painting the half bath.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Home Improvements (with Barb and Joe)

I.
We have a nice office at our house:
Except that the office really needs to be the nursery.  So, the office needs to move downstairs, to here:



Doesn't looks so bad, I guess.  Of course, until last weekend, this room was basically storage.  (I'd show you the mess in the garage from all the stuff we moved from this room into there, but I think Lauren would kill me.)  The sectional in the "den" (as we've dubbed it) is new, and Lauren and I are looking forward to lounging there in front of a TV.  And we'll move the office furniture down there, and add an HDTV (now that we have DirecTV hooked up in this room).  But I'm not sold on the color of the walls--it was a quick decision we made a few years ago following the flood in our house, when the insurance was paying to paint this when it was damaged.  We would have probably lived with this color, except that we're going to have to repaint the nursery anyway, so.... 

Enter my mom and dad.  They're down for the week while Lauren's away, so Dad (with a little help from me) is going to paint the rooms for us.  I'm all ready to go--even got us a new ladder for the job:


II.
Mom and Dad got here today.  They brought with them a bunch of painting supplies from a family friend (thanks, Eric and Heather!), so we don't have to get more equipment other than that ladder.  They went out and picked up the paint we're going to use this afternoon.  So after dinner, we could get started prepping the room:



Dad used the painters tape to edge around the door frames, etc.  I tackled the ceilings.  This is my finished outline of the main ceiling area:



Looks sorta okay, I guess.  No actual painting yet, but we're all ready for Dad to get started on it in the morning.  

More pictures tomorrow.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Twenty-Six Weeks

Okay, first of all, I'm freaking the heck out that my third trimester officially starts in a week.  How can that be??  It feels like we still have a bazillion things to do, like, oh, find a pediatrician and take our birthing class and move the office downstairs and set up the entire nursery and fill out hospital pre-admission forms and find a baptism date and take a baptism class and obtain the eleventy million baby items we need before the little guy's arrival.  For some reason, thinking about everything we need to do just makes me want to lie down and take a nap.  And yet it all needs to get done before I'm bigger than a house and have to plan each trip up and down the stairs for maximum efficiency.  

We're doing fairly well with our planning in some respects.  We ordered our nursery furniture over six weeks ago, because all the stores warned us that it would take ten to fourteen weeks to arrive, so that's checked off.  (For those who are into these sorts of things, you can see our furniture here; we got the "lifetime crib" (ha!), six-drawer double dresser, hutch, and nightstand in white).   We also got a navy blue, upholstered glider/recliner, on the advice of multiple mommy friends who insisted that a recliner is the only way to go.  We already have our nursery bedding, stashed away in the guest room closet.  

We finally accomplished the first step toward turning what has been basically a storage room on our first floor into a functional office/den:  We got the TV service hooked up.  The poor DIRECTV guy spent a couple of hours at our place yesterday climbing up and down from the roof, running a new cable line through the space between the first and second floors, and snaking the new line under the carpeting from one side of the room to the other.  We're pretty excited about the new space, actually; we're literally gaining a whole new room downstairs, and the baby and I can hang out with David in the office when he needs to work/pay bills/etc.  

I'm headed down to Georgia to visit the fam for nine days starting this Saturday, and it's entirely possible that both the nursery and the new office/den will be painted when I get home.  David's parents are coming down to stay next week, and his dad is apparently an expert painter.  Heck, it's even possible that I'll come home to find (1) the rooms painted; (2) the new IKEA entertainment center for the office/den purchased and assembled; (3) a new television in said entertainment center; and (4) all of the office furniture and other office trappings moved downstairs.  We'd been holding off on doing any of this until the DIRECTV was hooked up down there, because we feared they'd need to cut through the ceiling or walls to install the new line, and we didn't want to paint or move furniture before that happened.  Now that the TV is hooked up-- and with no holes in the walls or ceiling, to boot--ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE.  And seriously, I cannot overstate the helpfulness of my in-laws.  It's amazing to watch them work.  Once when they were staying here, I awoke to a newly-organized linen closet.  Barb couldn't sleep, so she went to town on it.  I LOVE THIS WOMAN.  As long as no one is going through my bathroom cabinets or underwear drawer, I'll take all the help I can get.

Also in the category of completed tasks, I finally finished my baby registry.  I always thought registering for baby stuff would be so much fun, because registering for our wedding?  Was fun.  But registering for baby stuff was basically a nightmare.  First of all, you're extremely limited in where you can register.  The preferred store for most moms-to-be, I guess, is Babies R Us.  Well, I've been to Babies R Us to buy shower gifts for friends on multiple occasions, and I HATE that place.  I could never find the items from my friends' registries, nor could I find an actual employee-- let alone a HELPFUL employee-- to assist me.  So we went with a smaller chain, which is always stocked to the gills and filled with cheerful, helpful sales clerks, but which lacks locations in David's or my home states.  This, then, necessitated a second registry at Target, whose website is impossible to navigate and made me want to bang my head into the wall.  

Second of all, in registering for wedding items, you're not really worried about little things like SAFETY.  Then, there's the fact that I'd actually used dishes and silverware and pots and pans before I registered for them, but what the heck do I know about bottles and infant carriers and baby bathtubs?  Nothing, is what.  I'm flying sort of blind here, guided only by the wise words of my eighth edition Baby Bargains and the very-welcome advice of my mom friends.  

Plus?  There's the tricky notion that every baby is different, and so we really have no idea what's going to work for our little guy until he gets here.  Will he like the sling I chose?  Will he love or hate a baby swing?  How about a bouncy seat?  I have a gnawing fear of accumulating and then casting aside baby item after baby item as we figure out which contraptions make our lives easier, and which are no help at all.  

But, after much fretting and frustration, I'm done.  I think.  Or at least until my mom friends point out which essential items I'm missing.  

I hope this doesn't sound like a litany of complaints.  Truth is, I'm happy and thrilled and having a great time with the pregnancy, but just getting a tad overwhelmed as I realize that each passing day is one day closer to having-to-care-for-an-infant-twenty-four-hours-a-day-every-day-oh-my-sweet-goodness-can-I-please-have-a-drink.  But we'll get it all done.  

In closing, a grainy photo of the happy-but-freaked-out mom-to-be.


Note the fear in her eyes.

Sunday, June 14, 2009

A Mass of Thanksgiving

For the first time in our Catholic lives, Lauren and I attended a Mass of Thanksgiving today at our parish.  Father Stephen Schultz was ordained yesterday by Bishop Loverde, and because as a seminarian he had been assigned for the summers to St. Rita Parish, he celebrated his first mass, a Mass of Thanksgiving, with us.

For virtually my entire life, I've been skeptical of emotionalism in religious devotion.  Growing up in evangelical churches, I think I often felt that emotional displays substituted for real spiritual depth.  It's only recently that I've come to appreciate the way our emotions in response to God's grace can break through the everdayness of our lives and give us a glimpse of the realities that await us--as when hearing the Proclamation of Christmas and rejoicing that it now, truly, is Christmas.  Such was the case today, when the opening notes sounded on the organ and the brilliantly blue morning light filtered through the stained-glass windows above the alter somehow made it difficult to keep the tears from my eyes.

A priest's first mass is called a Mass of Thanksgiving because he gives thanks for his ordination into the priesthood of Jesus Christ.  But for Lauren and for me, this Mass of Thanksgiving was also a thanksgiving for the tremendous blessing God has bestowed on us in our son.  Even before we married, we told a priest who had spoken to our parish about the need for vocations that we hoped we'd have four or five sons, to increase the odds that one of them would be called to be a priest.  For years we had prayed to God to bless us with children.  At times, we both had tried to bargain with God, that if he would only send us a baby, we would do everything to raise him to be faithful and to someday (perhaps) become a priest.  We were overjoyed to learn that our baby was boy, largely because we knew that it opened the possibility that he could someday be called to the priesthood.  So celebrating a Mass of Thanksgiving today, while we are expecting our own son, left us both with an overwhelming gratitude to God for his blessings to us.

Because this was the first time we had been present for a Mass of Thanksgiving, we did not know the ancient custom of the church involving the manutergium.  A manutergium is used to wipe the excess chrism off the hands of each newly-ordained priest.  The newly ordained then gives his manutergium to his mother at his first Mass.  She is to be buried with it.  When she goes to her judgment, Our Lord will ask her, "What have you done for me and for my Church?"  Presenting the manutergium to Jesus, she will reply, "My Lord, I have loved you and loved your Church.  Throughout my life, I was a loving daughter, wife and mother.  I have been faithful to you and your Law, and I gave my son as a priest."

With Father Schultz, we give thanks for his calling to the priesthood.  And we give thanks to God for great goodness to us.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

Unhinged

We had a pretty scary half hour or so on our first Saturday night at the condo in Harbor Springs.  We'd arrived around 7:00 or so, just in time for David to discover that the television (thankfully!) carried the "Versus" channel, on which the Stanley Cup playoff games were being broadcast.  We'd eaten dinner on the road, so we settled in to watch the Penguins kick the crap out of the Carolina Hurricanes.  

It had been a long day of travel for all of us, though, so right after the game was over, we headed to our respective rooms for the night.  David and I stay on the first floor, in a huge bedroom I like to call "The Cave."  The condo is built sort of like our townhouse, in that it's built into a slope.  The front door is at ground level, but the back of the entry level is basically underground and windowless.  I cannot overstate the awesomeness of the sleep we get in The Cave, with no bright morning sun to wake us.  Our bedroom at home has two east-facing windows, and sleeping in without some sort of sleep mask is nearly impossible.

The lack of windows, though, also means that there's only one way into and out of The Cave.  David and I got into the room, and he pushed the door so that it was closed most of the way.  I got changed into my pajamas and turned to walk over into the bathroom when I noticed that the door was partly closed in the frame, but not actually latched.  So I just pushed it the rest of the way closed, pressing my hand against the door itself and not even touching the knob.  I noticed that it seemed to stick a little bit-- which is probably why it hadn't closed all the way when David closed it-- but I didn't think anything of it; all of the bedroom doors in our house swell and stick depending on the temperature and humidity.

As I unloaded my toiletries in the bathroom, I remembered that we'd need a glass from the kitchen so that I could take my vitamins.  I played the pregnancy card and asked David to please go up to the second level to grab a glass for us to use.  He said he'd go in just a minute, and I started to brush my teeth.  It wasn't until I was partway through brushing that I noticed that David was tugging on the door, but hadn't been able to get out of the room.

David is a big guy:  He's six feet tall and weighs easily twice what I do-- oh, and he's not pregnant-- and yet my first thought was, "I'd better put down the toothbrush and get out there to unstick the door myself.  David must be doing something wrong."  Why the heck do most of us initially presume that we can solve the problem that our spouses can't seem to fix?

So, um, my puny upper-body strength was, unsurprisingly, no match for the door, either.  As we quickly figured out the real problem, though, I started to get a little worried.  The door was not actually stuck at all.  Rather, when we tried to turn the knob from the inside, nothing happened.  The knob would turn every which way, but the bolt remained stubbornly in place.

For a very brief moment, I considered just going to bed anyway and worrying about it in the morning.  After all, we had a bathroom in The Cave, and I was tired, and did it really matter right this instant that we couldn't get out of the room?  I could just stick my mouth under the sink faucet to take my vitamin and then move directly into the sleeping part of the program.

Almost immediately, though, a hint of panic overcame the exhaustion of the day, and we started to knock on the bedroom door.  We were timid about it at first; Arwen and Camilla were already in bed, and we didn't want to wake them.  (Bryan told us later that he'd wondered what kind of joke we were pulling by knocking on the door.  He couldn't figure out what we were doing.)  When Bryan didn't come down, though, we got a lot more insistent, and also started yelling for Bryan, who eventually came downstairs.

"We're stuck in here!" we told him.

Needless to say, he didn't believe us at first.  I mean, who gets stuck in their bedroom?  Um, we do, I guess.  But he soon realized that the knob on his side wouldn't turn the bolt, either.   

Okay, remember when I said a minute ago that I'd begun to worry a little when I realized we couldn't open the door from our side?  I think that wasn't actually true.  Because I'd honestly thought that Bryan would be able to open it for us from the outside.  When we found out he couldn't, I think that's when I really started to panic.

The doorknob had no keyhole.  It had no visible screws on either side to take it apart.  (We later discovered a tiny button that popped off the plate against the door and revealed the screws, but it turns out that wouldn't have helped us in any event.)

The hinges were, of course, on David's and my side of the door, and there was only a small gap of space between the bottom of the door and the floor.  I frantically started looking around the room for something to wedge under the hinge pins to pry them out, but let's be honest-- my hairbrushes, tweezers, and shoes really weren't going to be much help.  The laundry room was well-stocked with detergent and dryer sheets, and the bathroom had plenty of extra soap and cleaning supplies, but there was nothing tool-like to be found anywhere.

Bryan retrieved the toolbox from the owners' closet in the hallway and began rummaging through to search for something small enough to slide under the door.  He finally found what may be the world's tiniest and most adorable screwdriver, which he wedged under the door.

(Confidential to Bryan:  I literally realized just as I began to write this post that we could have dropped any tools we'd wanted down the laundry chute into the laundry room.  Oh, how I wish we'd thought of that in the moment!)  

Honestly, I looked at that screwdriver and thought, there's no way this is going to work.  I was fully convinced by that point that we were going to have to call the fire department to come break down the door or something.  I mean, this screwdriver wasn't much longer than my index finger.  The handle was thinner than my pinky, and the metal portion was perhaps the diameter of a lollipop stick.

Still, David set to work wedging the tiny screwdriver under the upper hinge pin and pushed with all his might.  The upper pin, which hadn't been pushed all the way into the hinge to begin with, actually gave fairly easily.

The lower pin, though, was more of a problem.  David wasn't able to get the same leverage, because it was so close to the floor, and the lower pin was fully engaged in the hinge.  Somehow, though, after much straining, he managed to pop the pin out.

Success!  We're saved!-- or so I thought.  Even with the pins removed and with Bryan pushing from the other side, though, the door remained stubbornly in place.  

We yelled to Bryan that he was going to have to push harder.  At this point, David was literally telling me to stand back, so I retreated to the bathroom to watch from a safe distance.  I kind of wish we'd been able to see Bryan throwing himself against the outside of the door, but even as we heard the nice thunk of his body hitting wood, the hinges refused to budge.  Normally I'd praise such high-quality craftsmanship, but give me a break.  

Bryan switched tactics held a towel up by the hinges, and tried to shake the door loose by pounding it with a hammer.  When the door still didn't move, I may or may not have begun to cry inside a little.  I'd had enough time to dwell on our situation by now that I was envisioning the condo catching fire with David and me trapped in The Cave in the small space of time it would have taken us to give up on the door and call the fire department.  

When it seemed the hinges were never going to budge, David dropped to his knees again beside the knob to try to wiggle it loose.  Bryan must have started doing the same thing from the outside, because they quickly discovered that, even though the door wouldn't move on its hinges back and forth, it would actually move a little bit side to side within the door jamb.  Bryan called out excitedly that he thought he might be able to sort of "walk" the door off the hinges by wiggling it side to side, instead of trying to push it forward into the room.

It worked!  We were free!  David caught the door and the guys leaned it against the wall and we all stood around and shook our heads at the absurdity of the situation.  The guys eventually figured out how to take out the doorknob.  (Even once David had the entire knob out, the bolt still wouldn't move.  He had to push it out from the inside of the knob hole, which is how we figured out we would've still been stuck even if we'd been able to remove the knob right away.)  They put the door back on its hinges but left it knobless, which is how it remained for a few days.

Bryan called his parents the next morning to fill them in on the saga.  It turns out they'd had three doors replaced recently in the condo, including the door to The Cave.  They'd already figured out that one of the knobs on the main level had been re-installed incorrectly, and had fixed it, but they hadn't thought to look at the other two.  

For the rest of the week, I refused to shut the door to The Cave or the bathroom without first testing the knob to make sure it was still functional.  I'm just so relieved that I wasn't trapped in the room alone-- who knows whether I'd have been able to get the hinge pins out?-- and that it was David and me who got trapped, instead of, say, Camilla.  And, hey, we have a good story to tell, right.

But check your knobs, people.  That's all I'm sayin'.  

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

They're just better.

So, we're probably about 99% sure at this point that we're going to use cloth diapers for the baby.  I've been reading about several bloggers who have switched over from disposables this year, and I was pretty convinced that I'd want to give them a try.  I was less convinced, though, that David would be comfortable with the idea.  I was curious to see what he would think of the cloth diapers that Arwen and Bryan use on Camilla and Blaise, given that he'd get to see them in a fairly up-close-and-personal manner over the course of a week during our vacation.  

(No, David did not change his first diaper while we were away last week.  Then again, I didn't change any diapers on vacation, either.  But I've changed plenty of diapers in my day, including quite a few when I worked in a day care center the summer before I left for college.)

I thought David might end the week feeling perfectly agreeable about the cloth, but not particularly enthused.  Instead, the comment I heard at least half a dozen times over the course of the week was:

They just seem BETTER.

If there's one thing my dear husband recognizes, it's good quality.  He's forever having to talk me into buying the more expensive but totally worth it shoes that I resist, like the Cole Haan Mary Janes with the Nike Air Soles that I practically live in.  He'd rather buy something nice that will last, rather than spending money over and over again on cheap crap that falls apart after a few uses.  

So I shouldn't have been surprised that he was quite taken with the bumGenius 3.0s that swaddled our friends' tots' tushes.  They're soft.  They're plush.  And, frankly, they're adorable.  I'll be honest:  I've always kind of hated seeing kids running around in only a diaper, and now I realize that it's probably because papery white disposables with silly cartoons printed on them are just ugly.  A kid wearing nothing but a plush, brightly-colored, high-tech cloth diaper, though?  Cute as a button.  

Arwen and Bryan put the kids in disposables a couple of times during our trip, during a long-ish drive to another town for lunch, and during the car trips to and from Harbor Springs (carrying multiple dirty cloth diapers with you is admittedly a drawback of the cloth, but easily remedied by keeping a few disposables on hand for extended outings).  Each time David saw one of the disposables, he'd wrinkle up his nose and shake his head, muttering, "The cloth ones are just better."

Arwen and Bryan rave about the diapers-- the ease of use, the newfound absence of up-the-back blowouts, and the darned cuteness of their kids' little plush heinies.  

Even the kids preferred them.  (Well, the kid who can talk expressed a preference.  We're just presuming Blaise agrees.)  Ask Camilla whether she wants a cloth diaper or a disposable, and she'll ask for the cloth every time.  We weren't surprised:  Who wants to walk around with her butt covered in paper?

I'm still going to buy some disposables for the first few weeks at home:  I figure they may be all I can handle right off the bat, and I don't want to invest in teeny newborn cloth diapers for such a short amount of time.  The diapers are actually pretty pricey, and the savings only accumulate as you use them for an extended period of time.  I'm excited, though, that David is totally on board with this decision, to the point of actual enthusiasm.  

In other news, we're receiving the first delivery from our CSA this week:  Strawberries, kale, spring onions, and asparagus.  We're totally jazzed.  Between the cloth diapers and the CSA, you may think we're turning into tree-hugging hippies or something.  The conservationist in me is happy about both developments, yes.  But I can already envision David biting into a fresh-from-the-farm strawberry, closing his eyes, mentally comparing it to the ones the grocery store ships in from California, and proclaiming that the local berry is just better.  

And he'll be right.