Christmas Morning Peel Out

Test drive in PJ's....woo hoo! Maybe Christmas morning was not to be as painful as I feared? The weeks leading up to this day were almost obsessive in my fears of How will it be? How will they be? Will my mom be ok? Will it feel so, so empty without him? Can it really be just another day? Please? The last few weeks of this semi-naseousness yuck in my stomach, my constant panging headache that advil won't calm, and just that sad, lost and empty plain ol sickness for my dad. My heart, my brain, my memories won't let me squint away the image of him standing in my parents hallway on Christmas morning so happy we had finally arrived, then bending down to hug my kids and tell them that "Santa came to their house too!" This dark cloud, it was getting constant again, just when I thought I was maybe getting a sunny cloud-free forecast. The for no reason pissed-offness at the sheer mention of, well, anything. The lip quivering, heart aching just wanting to fall down in a heap in the middle of a crowded Safeway and cry my little eyeballs out and scream "You Suck Christmas!" while happy couples read their grocery lists shooing off their their childlike clutching the cart why I am here first year husbands to look for kosher salt "do you know where that is honey?" tra-la-la's the perfectly put together Strawberry-but-so-badly-wanting-to-be Tiburon gal. She's all laced up in Tory Burch snow boots and a faux rabbit fur vest although it is 60 fucking degrees outside. Do I sound bitter? This is not new news. It is my new year's resolution to work on this. But maybe on this Christmas morning we happened upon something to jump start this New Years Resolution of mine: a fast ride in the chill of morning in our shiny red BMW! We sailed down our street in our jammies: registration-less, insurance-less, seatbelt-less, and yes, windshield-less "Whatdaya think???" CJ yelled. "It is freeeeeeeeeeeeezing, but soooooooooo fun" I shouted back. Before we got going, he did the requisite turning over of her cold, un-used engine. When we heard her rev up, we all threw on our flip flops, grabbed the camera and ran out front. She turned over and over, but the engine did not catch. CJ made that sound that we hear often these days of car restoring; it's kind of a combination that sounds like "herrrrgh-what-the-hell-now-herrrrrghhh....." Then the hood was up. "Back inside kids," I herded them, and my mom looked at me like, "how long is this gonna take?" We'll give him 10 minutes and then we'll have to bag it. And guess what? He did it! The Red Bird revved out to the driveway, shiny and proud. I hopped in feeling 16 years old, and off we sped burnin a little rubber as we went. I am sure we pissed off some neighbors, but hey it ain't everyday that a girl wakes up to 4 tires under the Christmas tree, hubcaps shiny silver with new BMW emblems in the middle. That just begs TEST DRIVE!!! We made it to the top of our street before we heard, and unfortunately, felt "Thud, thud, thud, thud" Back home we went, takin it real slow. Back up on jack stands we stare at her, knowing what she feels like to drive even for a second. A kid goes racing by on a new dirtbike. Hell, who cares who we pissed off. It is just that kind of a morning. 2010, here we come. Not a moment too soon.

Too much information

We are a little behind in the blog-o-sphereum. To think, we were feeling relieved at the time of my last entry about Cian. We had a solid diagnosis, and we were ready to deal with whatever we needed to in order to get him well. Little did we know, the worst was yet to come. When we researched this evil HSP disease, many of the internet sites the pediatric hospitalist told us not to google said "symptoms can include: vomiting, joint pain, abdominal pain, hives, diarrhea, nausea and swollen testicles." We weren't prepared for the fact that in Cian's case - symptoms will include vomiting, joint pain, abdominal pain, hives, diarrhea, nausea and swollen testicles. C'mon....the kid hasn't been through enough? He has to go get swollen balls on top of looking like he has leprosy? We hauled him to the E/R again in a state of panic and were again stuck with another lively neighbor in the next bed over. This poor ol guy sounded like he died, like, five years ago and was somehow living again and currently drowning in his own mucus. He kept bellowing "owwwwwwwww, you're hurting me!" and the RN would say "David, I haven't done anything yet. Can you stop squeezing my hand and just hold the side of the bed?" and then another "owwwwwwwww, you're hurting me!!!" You get the jist. We tried hard to occupy Cian when ol David next door was informed he was getting a catheter. As you can imagine, David took this information well. We were bracing for impact when a nurse informed us we were going to the second floor. Cian was delighted to hear the news that he'd be traveling in his bed. You could almost see in his eyes the moment he realized THIS RIG ROLLS! And we were all relieved to be away from poor ol dead-five-years-ago-David. What Cian didn't know was that he was headed to the second floor for a thorough ultrasounding of his "boys." The first few minutes of this experience, he was wide-eyed and cracking up. But for the next 20 minutes or so he just stared at me in dis-belief like, how could you let this strange woman manhandle my junk mom?!? Post-ultrasound all seemed to be in order, again just the illness "running it's course." Relief again. I thought CJ was going either pass out or burst out laughing when Ms. Zero Personality Ultrasounding Lady (in the worst outfit I have ever seen concocted) asked CJ "does his left testicle usually hang lower than his right?" He mustered a straight face, and said to her "you know, I honestly don't know." Is that bad? Should you know these things? Is it like not knowing your kid has a birthmark? Well, at least now we know...I guess. To look on the bright side, when I consult my new online "doctor" via the 500 internet sites I surf on this topic, Cian has now gone through - almost in order- all the symptoms this disease brings with it. I have stopped reading about it for now, sometimes too much information can just be scary. I lay in bed at night and worry endlessly. Was his pee brown? Does he have a fever? Is the rash getting worse? What if they are wrong, and it is something else? We have started getting him out again, going to the park. We just tell parents that stare at him "he doesn't have chicken pox...he is not contagious" or give them the stink eye and say loudly "Cian, we have get you home and put you back in your bubble," depending on our mood.

CJ took a big chunk of time off from work to make sure Cian could stay home and get rest, and it has given him a few more opportunities to keep the Red Bird coming along. CJ was able to put the tail panel back together with tail lights and some trim. He finished straightening the grills and painted the light buckets and then reinstalled them. The much-discussed paint job took me a week and a half to be able to see her in the light of day, and she looks beautiful. What CJ was able to do on the side yard of our house that people typically pay thousands for is pretty amazing. I was worried our neighbors would be upset with the green and lopsided E-Z-Up encroaching into their yard covering our car, then the loving-hands-at-home viscoine tent erected around the E-Z-Up. How middle america can you get? But they didn't care one bit - Rich next door was actually sorry it came down because he was contemplating painting his old Fiat sitting in his garage. We've already broken in the new paint job when the ghetto E-Z-Up collapsed on top of the car after a big rainstorm and scratched the trunk. Then when CJ reinstalled the grills he scratched it again. Those were a couple of "tense" evenings. You cannot even see them, but CJ knows they are there. He pressure washed the rims to see how bad they were, at this point everything is about recycling and cleaning up what we have. We did drop a what seemed like a bunch of dough on weatherstripping and gaskets. I hate spending money on the stuff you "can't see" like this. It is like remodeling a house. A foundation? Do we really need it? I was hoping for a hot tub!

We also spent a ridiculous amount of money on Christmas presents for the kids. It is likely an even bigger waste of money since Cian's favorite toy right now is a small piece of rope that has kept him busy for about 3 days. And Hannah wrote a letter to Santa to simply tell him he was the "best man ever" and didn't ask for anything. Don't get me wrong, my kids are wanton hoarders of plastic, battery-operated everything, but they discard that crap in moments to play with the boxes from my midnight online shopping for days. They decorate them, drag them around the house. I should have just bought each of them a case of copy paper from Office Depot and called it a day. Then we could buy stuff for the car we need - like headliner, door panels and getting the seats reupholstered! Kids. Everyone tells you they drain your bank accounts and your emotions. But you don't believe them til it happens to you. Again, a lot like remodeling a house. You will spend twice as much, and it will take twice as long. Been there, done that. And everyone told me it would happen, and we still walked straight into the fire.

So, CJ is at home for two weeks with the kids for the winter break. The progress on the Red Bird will likely slow. His intake of Red Stripe will likely increase. Day one of the hostage takeover begins tomorrow. I will pray for you Colin. I will pray for you safely from my desk.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Who knew peeing in a cup could be so fun?

Just a warning...we are low on car deets this entry. We went to LA to visit good friends this weekend, and to see how the Malibu set live. Not our speed, but some damn fine beaches. Malibu is a strange hybrid of Bolinas and the Hamptons - there is the token wacked out dread-head on the side of the road selling Buddha candles next to a Tory Burch boutique. CJ does not share my celebrity obsession, and barely turned his head when Cindy Crawford walked by. He said he likes "looking at me better", awwwwwww. Wait! Did he say that? Ok, maybe I made that up. Even though this was a quick trip, we don't have much luck traveling as a family. Historically, the kids have waited until the bags are packed, house is cleaned and I am leaving a note for my mom that if the dog dies "don't call us" to say they feel like barfing. Or on the way out, we feel their feverish, sweaty head....or most recently noticed a strange unidentifiable rash surrounding Cian's ankles. Yep, bags packed, jackets on - what's this rash? The "all new Tempa-Cheer" on his socks-yep, that's gotta be it! "Let's go!" At the airport, strange mystery rash is, er, growing. Chicken pox? But he was vaccinated?? He is still pinching his sister, belly laughing uncontrollably when she blows spit bubbles and begging for stuffed animals that say I heart Oakland Airport. Business as usual. CJ and I tell ourselves that maybe he has chicken pox, although vaccinated, and this is how it shows it gnarly head. Sunday morning, we arise feeling as though a small rodent crawled in our mouth and died there, heavy headed and seriously hungover after our little Malibu celebration and trying to sleep through Cian and our friend's kids ramming each other with chairs and shooting one another with nerf darts. The rash seems to have faded, and we have started to forget about it. We get home (finally, it was a lot of "bonding time" with the kids) and I am changing Cian into his jammies and see the rash has grown considerably. And what is that - a bruise? I asked him if he bumped his leg. He said yes, he hung upside down from his bunk bed and a snake fell from the ceiling and he landed on his nightstand trying to escape the snake (a little bit of "living in fantasy land" is going on). I almost vomit in my own mouth to say this, but my favorite show on TV is "Extreme Home Makeover". I urge you not to judge. Sometimes a girl just needs a reason to see how fucked other people are and feel real, real bad for them and have a good, shoulder-shaking cry alone on the couch for an hour. But last week, a boy on the show had leukemia. They realized something was wrong when his mom found a bunch of bruises on his legs (swallow). Then I saw another one, and another one. These were not just bruises, but deep blue/purple bruise-like eruptions, one coming after the other almost before our eyes. I did a freakish spinning in circles crying, hyperventilating thing in the bathroom while CJ surfed the Internet, pale. I threw a jacket on the kid, I could not wait until our pediatrician appointment in the morning. Penguin slippers and all, we hit Marin General at 9:30 at night. He chatted away in the back seat about all the pretty Christmas lights, and I pretended this was just a normal outing with mom. "Yeah, buddy - aren't they pretty?" All the while, in my mind, my guts, my heart silently praying "oh, please god make this be nothing" over and over and over. Once at the E/R, I specifically avoided the spot my mom and I sat while waiting to hear about my dad. It just didn't exist, don't look "over there". I went straight to the fish tank with Cian and waited. Cain? Quinn? A nurse called. I am used to this, so is he. It is "keee-an" I said, wanting to knee this woman in the gut. "Uh, ok" she said - knowing she was instantly throwing me in a "Marin mom" bucket along with every other "Amiee, Brooklynne and Madisinne" in the county. She took one look at the rash and said, "let me see if I can get you a bed." Oh, god. That has never happened. Expedited service at MGH? Not a good sign. Then, we waited. San Rafael Fire came rolling in with a homeless guy and proceeded to set up camp the next curtain over. I couldn't see him, but he kept barking "don't have a house, ya get no respect!" and then started uncontrollably coughing and slurred "I am in payyyyyne!" The nurse said, "Sir, how often do you drink?" He said "Why do you need to know that? Are you the poh-lise?" She said, "sir, I am a nurse, how often do you drink?" He slurred "three beers once a month." Wow, wildly specific for being wasted, delirious and his shoulder flopping off to the side, dis-located. The gal in charge said "street drugs?" and he said "what about em?" she sighed, "sir, do - you - take - street - drugs?" slow n' steady as a nursery school teacher. "No, ma'am I don't." Yeah, and I am the queen of freaking England. They ran off after trying to situate him, and he immediately starts ringing his call bell and slurring "Heeeeelp, I am in payyyyyne! Heeeelp" No one came. I tried to keep Cian amused listening to this guy, he thought he was awesome. Hobo in bed 6 then says, "hello - next door? hello?" I couldn't ignore him, and I came from behind the curtain holding Cian and said "do you want me to get you someone?" Clearly he just wanted someone to talk to. He brightened and said "hi, little fella! Are you gettin operated on today?" I turned away as fast as possible without looking too freaked out, and said nervously "nah, none of that for us." He then started incoherently ranting about how many times he's been "cut open." I went the nurses station and asked if we could possibly be moved, explaining that hearing a homeless dudes blow by blow recount of having his face put back together after a fight was interesting, but I was busy having a nervous breakdown. About 5 doctors later, each of them saying "can you pull your pants down buddy so we can see your legs" and then "hmmmmmm" they said they didn't want to freak me out but had called a "pediatric hospitalizer" to come look at him, and in the meantime would take some of Cian's blood to test. I felt like I was going to pass out. I said to the doc, I was in fact freaking out and then summoned the courage to ask what was whirling over and over in my head as steadlily as I could "do you think he has leukemia?" He said "I doubt it, but we'll do a blood test and leave no stone unturned. Plus, freaking out does no good." Oh, thanks doc. Now I feel much better, asshole. The "pediatric hospitalizer" comes in, and sits right down on a chair across the room and folds his hands. I couldn't decide if he had the bedside manner of a piece of crushed hospital ice, or they had conferred and deduced that Cian had leprosy and they weren't telling us just yet. "So, what's up?" he asks, non-chalant. As if we were just hanging out, nowhere to go, all the time in the world. Then he took one look at Cian (still across the room) and said very matter-of-factly that he has "Henoch Shone-lein purpura" disease. And then just stared at me. I don't know about you, but aside from the common cold, I am no doctor. Was that english or the medical version of turrets? Was I supposed to know what that was? As a rule, multiple unpronounceable words including hyphens in a hospital setting are, well, just no good. He told me it was an immune system disease caused by a viral infection. He told me not to run home and google it (which is exactly what I did) because it can be pretty scary. "well, without googling it, it still sounds scary" I panted, feeling totally out of breath. He said it can cause arthritis, kidney disorder, vomiting, bloody stool and hospitalization. But, just keep an eye on him, keep him hydrated and take him to see his peditatrician in the morning. Ok, I guess if we are working backward from the possibility of leukemia, this somehow seems - manageable? But then he threw in the zinger "of course leukemia is possible given his symptoms, but lets see how his blood work comes out." Oh god, oh god, oh god. I will go to church. I will stop saying I am an atheist. I will believe in you dear lord up above for real, please just do me this one teeny, tiny little favor. Make this child ok. Then cold as a freezing artic eskimos arse Mr. Pediatric Hospitalizer returns and was, thankfully, right. Henoch sch....you know, that condition I wrote about above, was our diagnosis. What does this mean? Much to Cian's delight, he gets to pee in a cup once a month for the next year to monitor his kidneys. (He has been saying "pee in a cup!" and then belly laughing all morning). He gets to stay home for a week. He gets juice after 5pm, or anytime we can get any type of beverage down his gullet. He gets devoted, unequivocal attention from his parents 24/7. From a five year old's perspective, a pretty radical time indeed. For us? We got the single biggest scare of our adult lives. We thought for a short time our child's life was indeed in imminent danger. We cried when the kids weren't looking, hugged each other and stayed up all night, sick with worry until we could hear our pediatrician confirm the diagnosis. We are slowly starting to shake off the horrible feeling in our stomachs and hearts, and are reminded again that we have so much to be thankful for. Even after a year where we lost someone that meant everything to us - we recognize what we have and thank god, the dalai lama - (is Ghandi still alive?) that they are ok.

Orange Peels & Moth Wings

Whoa, nelly! What the hell happened to November? I know, like an old warped record I keep singing the same ol song, and it goes like this "please, oh please, let this year end." Ok, maybe not a song...a diddy? Certainly, it ain't no jingle. Jingle is waaaay too happy a description for this downright miserable, kleenex-filled mental mind melt of a year. So, poised and ready to kick 2009 to the curb, the days seemingly go on forever. Slowly, they loll by, some worse than others. Now back at a "real job," our family has adjusted yet again to new schedules and we have had to hit the gas together. Our week days merge into one long menagerie of buses, day care, making toast while brushing teeth and splitting up wars over whose freaking eraser is whose. The last month in particular was an extreme vapor speed burn out of 30 days - add to that an immediate double-digit-decline of the turkey population and an instant double-digit-incline of body fat, and it is downright head spinning. It seems though the restoration of "red bird" has ramped up, matching our breakneck pace of the last couple of months....and I am not complaining! If you have followed the last few entries, you are up to speed on the painting "negotiations" at our house. Not a big surprise that CJ and those big brown eyes and his awww, shucks earnestness have won me over, again. How do you think I had kid #2? No one gives birth twice without some serious coercion. The guy even brought visual aids to the table. Storage box diving in the basement for photos of previous vehicles and his painting ability all lined up like a P.I. chronicling a crime, he made his case. He could do this. Ok, all joking aside I truly believe in this person "more than anyone in the whole, entire millionth, gagillionth universe of all humans" as Hannah would say. So.....viscoine tent? Constructed! Curious/doubtful/eye rolling neighbors taking pre-paint tours? Completed! Hundreds of dollars dropped at Hawley's Paint? Yep, er, maybe not dropped - but diverted for a while! So, I came home on painting day #1, eagerly shook off my bag and coat, anxious to see the results. CJ was mumbling something about "how hard it is to paint in the dark." I stopped dead in my tracks, preparing for a new game of "bowling for husbands" with any large inanimate household object I could lay my hands on. He quickly assured me everything was fine while cracking a beer, swallowing hard and avoiding eye contact......never a good sign. And, the first day was no easy road. The lights in combination with the compressor was too much of a load and tripped the circuit breaker and cut off the power. So, yes, CJ was indeed in the dark. And with the compressor off, it caused low pressure and some serious orange peel on the drivers side that had to be re-done. And despite the home made tent, a lot of bugs have to be sanded out. But, I must say our little "red bird" is shining bright red again like a polished cherry plucked straight off a tree. She almost looks proud... perched up on a dais saying "yo, check me out." CJ went from continually saying to me that this was going to be "no show car," to saying that "verona red has never looked so good." I have to agree. She looks brand-spanking, much like the day Owner #1 found her. Recently, I received a note back from Owner #1 (I tracked him down from his name scrawled in the original owners manual and dropped him a line). He said that he stayed local, and still walks by the auto repair shop that was the original site of the BMW dealership in Mill Valley in '73 where he bought Red. He wrote that selling Red was one of those moves/mistakes under "What was I thinking?" It turns out that Owner #1 and I shared the same ultimate dream car - a 1973 BMW 3.0 CSI...actually, that was until tonight. Now my dream car is safely tented up, nestled next to the house under shimmering holiday lights, waiting patiently until she can be set free.

Loathing Lego's

I hate legos. At home with a cold the other day, I am unable to just lie in bed. Kid free, alone in the house. I can literally count on one hand the number of times this has happened to me. The day looms large, cabinets are just yearning to be organized, internet sites to surf, kids clothes to sort and ohhhhh goodness, lifetime movies to watch! But Christmas is coming, and we are on kid crap overload, and should be more preparing for the "more kid crap" overload coming soon. So, nose clogged, chest feeling like it is filled with lead, I tackle the toy boxes in our playroom. 'Cause you see I pretty much ping pong between a laissez faire "just throw it anywhere so it is outta sight" attitude or an amp'ed out P-Touching-OCD-organizer universe. I don't own a P -Touch, and am not on a first name basis with the people at the Container Store, but I admit it. I strive one day to be like this. I am a serious binger of all "crap" in the house to the extent that CJ threatened therapy. So, I try to play it cool, and not be too excited that I am alone, a box of hefty saks in hand and the hours stretched before me. I tackle the lego's first, knowing there will be a day when I am able to reach organizational lego nirvana. I can beat this. There are other reviled kid things that I have learned to live in harmony with: do-it-yourself beading kits, moon sand, play doh, lincoln logs.....the list goes on. But legos... Here is why I cannot make peace with this brand: you purchase a box set of "City Racers" or "Mission to Mars" and once constructed and ohhhhh'ed and ahhhhh'ed upon it gets destroyed and thrown in a big ol bin. The little step by step brochure? In the big ol bin too. But it will never be constructed again. The ol bin is just a mess of teeny tiny little pieces mixed in with dog hair, and dried bits of play doh . We've ziplocked and sorted within an inch of our life - we've even dedicated a shelf in the closet, but nothing will ever resurrect Indiana Jones and the Tomb Raider to it's original state. It just ain't happenin'. And now there's the BMW. All torn to bits, parts shoved everywhere, looking like a rejected Speed Racer set. But this little project of ours needs thousands of dollars in parts to make it a set again. When Colin shows me pictures of his progress, I feel that same uneasy heartbeat and itchy armpit that signals I am really worried. But forward we go, and I have no doubt Colin will make our little "Red Bird" whole again. He worked as a mechanic years ago many places, but namely for Paul Heynneman to make some money while he was a reserve fire fighter waiting to get hired permanently. These were the days when I basically lived in Japan and left notes for CJ on the fridge, reminding him I loved him. I don't know if Paul realizes it, but the chap kept us going, filling in the blanks on mortgage payments and funding emergency reunions in Hawaii to remember why we married each other. CJ went to see him after we bought the car, and Paul told him he had a lot of 2002 parts still. Coincidentally, Paul is an alumni of the same Autozentrum in San Rafael where our little "Red Bird" had her service appointments. He told CJ he used to take the cars being serviced on test drives up our street. The "Red Bird" probably was test driven past our house many times decades before we lived here. So, a very long parts list to Paul later to supply us with all the window seal weatherstripping and body gaskets we need, CJ kept going with what he could get done part-free. He fixed the clock which he was super excited about. He re-soldered the bad ground wire and it now makes that faint ticking sound you should hear in a car like this. He took out the rear window and got more rust (damn rust!) out of the A & C pillars. He finished most of the body work and finished priming it for paint. Apparently, Paul also owns a set of BBS wheels cut specifically for a 2002 that CJ is coveting. The current wheels tend to rub a little bit, and I laughed when CJ told me that they rub the way my first car in high school (one of the boxy VW Jettas) rubbed when I had people (CJ was one of the "people") in the back. I bought that car from my brother, who then wrecked it about a week later avoiding a deer. Come to think of it, I also had a another tire rubbing car when I lived in the Caribbean. Some guy on the island called "Muff the Diver" (yes, for real) kept plowing his Ford Laser into the drainage ditch near the pub where we drank too much and played trivial pursuit. Muff the Diver had no business operating a motor vehicle or owning a dive operation, but he was remarkably talented in doing everything with a cigarette and beer in his hand. So, when ol Muff went off to Ft Lauderdale for an alcohol treatment stint (yeah, that was successful when we all lived in the Caribbean) I bought the Ford Laser for $150 bucks from his brother Kim. The car was seemingly great, until I picked up a rather large local woman on the side of the road to give her a lift to town. The tires rubbed so badly I smelled smoke. I surveyed the damage and could see I needed a new set of tires badly. I worked on a sailboat and went off on charter for about a week, and left the car with my parents while they were visiting with explicit instructions to put no one in the back seat or the tires would be toast. I returned to a car with two flats and my dad said it "just like that" right after I left. Riiiiight. That is why a 250 lb local lady bought him two Jagermeisters and thanked him for the ride home when we were sitting at the pub. Another $150 bucks gone, and carless again. Oh well, I had heard some guy had a VW Gurgel (like a Thing) on the other side of the island he was trying to offload for $50 bucks. He'd make it a custom marine plywood top for $75. It just didn't have keys. Now that I think about it, we just left that Ford Laser sitting in a dirt lot where my dad was unable to go further. I wonder if it is still there? I love you and miss you Dad. I wish you were here with us. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

The Red Bird

I received an email today from owner #2 Robbie - of Andy and Robbie. I was happy to hear that she was enjoying the blog, and not sticking pins in a little voo doo doll doppelganger of me. When you incorporate people into stories, good or bad, it always makes me feel a little devious that they are unknowingly going into my invisible basket of material for a later date. Maybe that is why I can never start my book. I will piss too people many off. Anyway, Robbie wrote to me about the "Red Bird," and how she used to shine in her day. This is not a picture of our car, but I what I envision she will look like when her day to shine returns. The painting of the car has been a hot topic in our house. CJ has done a lot of research, found great green tips for painting and being environmentally conscious, figured out how many coats of paint and clear coat are needed...and you see where this is going? He is campaigning to do this himself. Now, if you've read past entries or know CJ personally, you know that he is meticulous in everything he does. Packing for a roadtrip is like watching molasses drip slowly off a spool....he takes his time in ensuring everything is "just so". Thankfully, I have learned to dump everything in the driveway and let him configure it all in the truck to his hearts content. CJ is a calm person. He doesn't get his feathers ruffled easily. When the truck is finally packed, and the kids are being buckled up, what he doesn't want to hear is "can I have my American Girl doll from the back daddy?" Everyone's got a breaking point, and boy, this is his. But she is daddy's girl, and the whole big brown eyes, wide toothy smile thing gets him every time. "You need it now Hannah?" he implores. She just nods sweetly, as if she hasn't been sitting on the top step of the stairs watching this entire process go down. It is almost amusing to watch: he grits his teeth, rolls his eyes, makes some indistinguishable sound and painfully tears up his little rubix cube of bags and fishing poles in the back in search of one doll. He is the dishwasher loader in the house. Probably fits about 20 more things in there than I do. He even re-loads what I have just loaded. Maddening. When he folds laundry, he actually buttons the buttons and zips the zippers of every pair of pants in our family before folding. Who does that besides Alice from the Brady Bunch??? But, painting. Hmmmmmm, how do I say this since he will invariably be reading this??? Painting is just not his strength. He gets pissed at the roller and talks to it even though it can't talk back, tries to break some sort of invisible ticking timer and emerge as "SPEED PAINTER OF SAN RAFAEL!" And what's that? You say you want to go on holiday??? Come on over! Holidays are ALL OVER our walls! So, as we get closer to the "paint job" for the car, let's just say it's becoming an "animated conversation." We kind of stare each other down in the driveway, car between us, and change the subject rapidly before we start to look like the in-the-driveway-screaming-couple-from-across-the-street. I, of course, am gunning for a pro painter. I do recognize I am the one that lives in a world wanting certain things, and don't connect until after the fact that these things cost money. I accept this. But, as more things get stripped and primed, we are closer and closer to an inevitable showdown. Last night, a neighbor got wind of the "red bird". You know how it is in suburbia. He stopped by while walking his dog. Turns out, he used to have a car restoration business. He said "he's gonna paint it?? here??? Wow." And he did that thing guys do. You know, the incredulous chuckle while nodding and not making eye contact. I went inside, closed the door, ignored my kids desperate plea's for food and immediately rang CJ at the firehouse. Not home, answering machine. It is now 14 hours later. No call back. Maybe it was my message. Maybe I sounded too desperate to talk. Or maybe, just maybe, he somehow knew the subject.

It All Started with a Stove

A couple months ago, Colin's mom was over and we were cooking dinner, crammed in the kitchen talking. We really should have "before" pics of our kitchen (afters not available yet...or ever, probably). No joke - it is the ugliest kitchen in existence today. I know it is all relative. If you walked into a car showroom in 1973 and saw the new flesh-colored Datsun 510 wagon my mom used to drive you'd say it was "to the max!" back then. Same goes for 1956, when our house was built, and this heinous design-suicide of a kitchen was dreamt up. Certainly, if you ran in the same circle as the Murgatroyd's (previous owner of said kitchen) you'd be maybe even be envious? (Their last name really was Murgatroyd...as in "Heavens to Murgatroyd!" Those kids must have had it rough in school). Anyway, standing up against our ugly cabinets, watching CJ cook, the conversation almost always leads to, "what are you guys going to do with the kitchen???" Translation: "this is so god-awful, do something...soon!" Our stove is as big as our new 2002 tii, and is a lovely shade of puce (not puke, puce - which, evidently looks a lot like puke). It has some sort of massive dashboard situation with an enormous clock and shelf, which I am sure was revolutionary in '56, but today serves only as a time-out timer for Cian and a place to hold Colin's various symbolic rocks and spice jars. You get the picture, it ain't pretty. The rest of the kitchen is just as charming- tortoise and chocolate colored linoleum, a beige dishwasher that smokes, melts anything plastic and sounds running Pinto when switched on. The best thing going in this kitchen is the cabinet hardware - and that came that from our last god-awful kitchen after we remodeled it. So, Colin's mom delicately suggests that we give her friends a buzz because they have a Viking stove they are trying to get rid of. My eyes light up and I said to Colin - "Call them!! Now!!" So, Colin gives them a ring a few days later and leaves the following message: "Hey, Andy heard you got a stove you need a home for, if you are still looking to get rid of it - call us. More importantly, if you still have your 2002, we'd love to buy that! Ha ha." So, since you know what's on jack stands in our side yard now, I guess you figured it out: stove, not available. So, the kitchen took a backseat and now we are 100% car-restoration focused. Colin seems to have moved on from his daily kitchen-hating angst, to a serious wish-we-had-a-garage angst. We have been married for almost 10 years, and in that 10 years this is our 4th house. We started in Petaluma, fixed up and sold. Moved to San Rafael, fixed up and sold. Moved to Tiburon, fixed up, freaked out and sold. And here we are. Back in San Rafael, and garage-less. Each home we've lived in had a "must have a garage" criteria, and CJ always went right to work happily setting up his workshop before anything else. This house, like many from the 50's, has a converted garage that is lovingly/hatingly referred to as our "toy room." Before we moved in we said, "that room is going back to being a garage!" But as soon as we started unloading the moving truck, we quickly realized we were attempting to shove 2500 sq feet of furniture into 1800 square feet, and also had two VERY "energetic" kids that needed all the room they can get. So, once the rains came last week, the "why-don't-we-have-a-garage" rumble resumed, and CJ is down on the side yard under our beach "easy up" that he erected over our newly rust-free car trying desperately to keep her dry. Scrubbing seats clean with a toothbrush, cutting out little cardboard shapes to make replacement parts and removing trim is all done while earnestly wishing for a space to work his magic. So, there he is, crouched under this ghetto contraption of a shelter in the misting rain and fog pulling out the weatherstripping and quarter windows. When he stripped the interior of the car, the carpet was not salvageable, but the rest of the interior was stored in the basement for a rainy day so he could check out what shape they were in. We are fairly certain the backseat had never seen the likes of children - no crayon marks, bubble gum or slurpee stains - it actually looked like it had never seen a passenger of any kind. My Pathfinder hides all kinds of disgusting stuff on a daily basis - little villages of dried booger collections under car seats being the most palatable. Yesterday, we were unloading the car after a day of errands, and a baby lizard poked it's head out of the bags in the back staring back at us. That was a first. So, we were pretty stoked the back seats are in such great shape. They just need to be re-stuffed with foam as the horsehair is falling out at the bottom from age. Soon we'll start searching local salvage yards for front seats and front door panels as we didn't get so lucky there - they are toast. CJ has some sunny days ahead to finish his custom air dam meant to cover the valance which has a huge hole in it....the culprit? Rust. Damn rust. The man is an artist though, and this is the kind of opportunity that gives him a chance to express himself. It amazes me what he can do with what seems like nothing. When I had my store, he took some metal rug arms out and instead of trashing them, we now have a custom fireplace screen and a bbq stand! So, while there are only a few thousand tii's of this year out there in the nation, ours will stand out from the rest with that special CJ stamp on it that makes it ours.

A True Mill Valley Native

I love classics - books, furnishings, clothes...and of course, cars. A true classic is timeless, and looks good on anyone. Take for example Converse. You may think a strange example, but I love that my five year old has a pair of navy Chuck's, and in the same day I can sit next to a 35-year-old guy commuting on the ferry and he is sporting the same pair. He doesn't look idiotic like, say, if he were wearing my five year old's bat man jammies with removeable cape. They are not classics - they are just cheap polyester $9.99 licensed crap from Target. Adults and kids alike can wear the exact same pair of shoes - and they both look cool. Real classics span generations - like Levi's, an old Rolex and our little 2002 tii. Many people have wistfully commented on yearning for this car when they were younger, wishing they had one now or smiling with the memory of having owned one in the past. Like many classics, this car has history. And her history was in a waterlogged manila folder that overflowed with articles and service receipts. I took the folder back to bed with me one Saturday morning and leafed through the yellowed, moldy pages to learn where our car had been, and what had been done to her. A chap from Larkspur originally purchased the car brand-new from Mill Valley Imports on 489 Miller Ave across from the 2am Club(a true Mill Valley native)on January 29, 1973. He meticulously logged all of his service appointments between Mill Valley Imports and BMW Autozentrum in San Rafael up to 64,000 miles in 1977. The service manual was so slim, so simple. It was not mind-bendingly complicated and huge with glossy, expensive photography like we have today. Just a very simple little manual that exuded it West German roots: here is your car, here is what you will do to take car of your car, now write your name in the upper left hand corner and do as we say! Done. Easy! This car was number 2,644 of 4,522 built between 1972 and 1973 for the United States. The second owner purchased the car from West Bay Bavarian in San Rafael, and then we purchased the car from them with an amazing 135,000 original miles (they live in Paris for six months every year). In the last five years that they owned the car they put just under 500 miles in the car which is amazing, but also meant she sat alone a lot, unused. Owners #2 are a wonderful Berkeley couple (we are biased since they are close family friends, but we think they are doubly amazing for letting us buy this car from them), and even though the car just sat a lot, they remained diligent about keeping her mechanically pristine. They also kept excellent records and great clippings about 2002's from over the decades. I almost wish they hadn't because it is here that I found a BMW 2002 tii that is the most fantastic, blue green peacock teal color I have ever seen. It is called agave green. Agaaaaave, it just oozes killer color. If that was not torture enough, it had the richest, perfect-shade-of-honey camel interior seats I have ever laid my eyes upon. Colin responded to my finding with "It looks like we'll have to get another." Ahh, the man knows me too well. Most of the articles they kept were written by people like me - remembering these classic cars - the smell of the interior, the shifting of gears and the fantasy of being able to drive one. A 1983 article deemed the 2002 the most practical car for lugging "kids and groceries around town and still provide great motoring on the open road." Our definition of that today? Range Rovers, Suburbans. Oh, my stomach turns. It is not that I have not fallen into the keeping-up-with-the-Jones-and-their-black-Range-Rover, I just gave it up when the town I lived in looked like a President was visiting at all times with the amount of black luxury SUVs traversing the single road in and out of town to simply get kids from school, to soccer and then home again. It is too much, too big and put so much in perspective for me. It was a time in our lives when we had worked really hard to get more, more, more. Thankfully, like an asteroid falling from the sky on top of our heads we got the message. Less is more. Park the SUV, lower the mortage, eat in, spend time together. So, here we are. Another week gone by, and lots more work under our belt. Colin has inherited a perpetual cough from the rhino liner and fiber glass he used to repair the spare tire well that had also rusted through (damn rust!). He completed the repair on the drivers side floor pan and got the accelerator pedal back in - always helpful for driving! He has started removing trim and doing body work in preparation for paint. This was exciting - until he found a whole lot more rust in doing so (damn rust!). So, the front lower valance and the lower front fenders where they meet the rocker panels will have to be un-rusted before we can move forward and do the pretty stuff. But you know what? It feels good. Making something old new again. Giving a classic what she deserves.

Gnarly Rust

Cian still talks about sitting in the front seat of the "B in W" as I followed behind watching them chug across the Richmond San Rafael bridge - willing that little car with all my energy to just make it to the other side. Since this was her maiden voyage and he was about as excited as a five-year-old boy could be, I "overlooked" the fact that the registration was two years out of date, that the car had been sitting for years without being driven and just prayed that my precious little cargo would make it home safely. Little did I know just how unsafe the car was. The next day, on Colin's first official mission to get this little baby rust free, he tackled the drivers side first. When he removed the carpet - the gas pedal came with it. Yes, the carpet was holding the gas pedal in place. Jeeeeeeee-sus! My stomach lurched. I let my baby sit in this thing? He drove 18 miles and across a bridge in this rat trap?? Suddenly, my bare bones model Nissan Pathfinder didn't seem so bad - it felt luxurious, safe and RELIABLE. I questioned our decision for a about a day. We don't just have 5 g's hanging off our money tree to be spending on 35 year-old cars. We also don't have a lot of free time - our weeks are jam-packed as it is. It is not like CJ is kicking around looking for full time projects when he is not working. Somehow though, he made steady progress in between getting kids to school, unscheduled dentist appointments for an emergency toothache, doing laundry, waiting at the hellacious Walgreens pharmacy on Third st. for medicine for emergency toothache (definitly need to yelp about that place when finished writing blog) , picking up other kid, making snacks, making dinner, making peace and cleaning up after these little mongrels....we decided our life during the week is indeed just one long, run-on sentence. After removing the center consul, the remaining carpet and cardboard sound insulation and asphalt floor pan sealer he started mocking up the floor pan patch panels from cardboard. He got the passenger side completed just a few days later. I know nothing about the mechanics of cars, but I do know what the floor pans looked like before and how they look now - and I know I am a little biased but it looks like a craftsman's work. He could have purchased the floor pans on the internet for $500, but opted for the "loving hands at home" approach - he bought sheet metal, rust converter and paint for just $42 bucks! Good thing, because I happened to find his latest "wish list," and I can just feel the credit card debt heating up! On the needs list - carpet kit, floor mats, door panels, front seat upholstery & foam, rear seat foam, shift knob, vinyl repair kit, driver side seat belt, rear center seat belt and interior trunk light. Ouch. But, after a few long (and hot) days of work he is still grinning from ear to ear, covered in grease and loving every second of this. It is pretty awesome. We have plans today on this sunny California Sunday and car repairs will have to take a back seat. But I must say I have somewhat of a transformed husband - listen up ladies! All it takes is a vintage car, a few thousand bucks and steady stream of Longboard Lager to make a really happy guy.

Get Started!

So, Cj got right to business this morning ripping out old disgusting carpet and just sussing out the "situation." He was really nervous about the extent of the rust - but he was pretty surprised that it was not as bad as he thought. So, there it is, a starting point! PHASE 1 - stop the rust. Then, move on to the mechanical part. Thankfully, the previous owners weren't scared to throw down some cash to keep the car in pretty good mechanical shape, so according to Colin he doesn't think this portion of our "little project" will be so bad. My perspective? When he kept muttering "somethings loose" and then urrrrrghhhh - I got a little nervous. Then I got a lot nervous when he scratched his head and said, "Annie - get a pen. We're making a little list of what we'll need right off the bat." Ok - ready! I started sweating early into our little dictation session - Kragen Auto Parts - look out for this man! He is coming for: front brake calipers, lower and inner control arm bushings, sway bar end link and bushings, front struts, lower ball joints, front wheel bearing seals, rear shocks, rear wheel cylinders, rear sway bar end link bushings, rear sway bar bushings, front sway bar bushings, a temperature gauge sending unit, exhaust hangers, fuel filters, air filter oil filters, fuses, oil, headlight and heater hose. Then he looked at me, and said "what??? it's the labor that costs money honey, not this stuff." Uh, yeah. I will check back on that one tomorrow. I feel an internal budget meeting coming on.

Bringing home "our" new project

We have not had a good year. No one has. We are looking forward to closing this year, and starting a new one in 2010. We don't have many people that mean the entire world to us, and my father was one of them. We started 2009 with the tragic and very sudden loss of him, and all of us have spent the months that have followed, well, lost ourselves. Shifting into a new, and very looooow gear of adjusting to life without him we have struggled with every single day since. We learned the hard way that we need to stop paying lip service to the casually over-used adage that "life is too short." Because it is so, so painfully true. We talk and cry about him nearly everyday, and one thing we saw clearly - once we started seeing clearly: make every day count. Stop living on borrowed money, pay off credit cards, love our kids up and certainly put a stop to the god-forsaken, never-ending car payments on these cargo carrying, 0-60 in three minutes, metal-traps-of-nothingness. Thus, our car search began.

My husband and I are a lot a like, and the one thing we have always shared is a love of cars. We aren't old (according to us, not our kids). We're hovering a little too close for our liking to 40. We have owned probably 30+ cars between us. Many of them fast, old, interesting and most important - really fun to drive. Then we had kids. Something happens to people when they have kids. Of course we want to keep them safe - but somewhere along the way it becomes acceptable to find a big ol' car in some un-interesting color that you throw in "D" and drift down the highway in a, yes - I will say it - "a family car." We have succumbed to this phenomenon, and like a bagde of shame I tool about in my cloth-interiored big ol' boring SUV...and I have the extreme pleasure of paying $329 hard-earned bucks for it every, single 30 days. No more! Yesterday we brought home (a paid for! Half-cash, half-check - it is really, really ours!) a 1973 BMW 2002 tii. Like every 35 year-old car that has been sitting, rotting in a driveway under an old oak tree for that last few years - it needs a lot of work.

She has already proven to be a little on the high-maintenance side. Within the first hour of owning her we have run out of gas (not her fault - ours) and CJ was promptly pulled over (which Cian LOVED) for really, really expired registration. To Colin's delight, it seemed the cop merely wanted to share his love of cars, ask a bunch of questions about the car and send him on his way with an ominous "good luck." So, after taking the kids (separately, so they can sit in the front seat) around the block about 50 times each, she is now retired to jack stands in our driveway. Hell, we live in suburbia with houses about 2 inches apart from one another and our neighbor has plastic toys in her front yard - so to be the only person on our block with an old car in the driveway on jack stands is somewhat astonishing. Starting today, we have exactly 12 months - almost to the day - to get this baby road (and family) ready! We will share with you our (ok - Colin's) progress as we go - and I am sure we will have our share of "stories" along the way!