Do You Realize?

More Green Reviews: Water Conservation Stuff, Part 1

Those of you who spend any time here probably remember that we've recently been having some renovations done to our upstairs. I had reached the point at which I refused to walk barefoot on our carpets, which I was afraid harbored MRSA or possibly a hantavirus (even though I've never seen a rodent upstairs... that's why they're called irrational phobias, people). We'd also been sharing one shower (the five of us) off and on for two three years because we were too  lazy  indecisive  overwhelmed with daily crazy  busy with other things to repair the master shower's multitude of leaky problems. And so, we ripped up the carpet, tore out both showers and bathtubs and toilets and realeased West Nile Virus and black mold spores and replaced it all with new shit (and shitters). Kohler's brand-spanking-new Persuade toilets with Dual-Flush technology, to be precise. These were purchased, along with their also-brand-spanking-new Forte 1.75 gpm handheld shower heads, as part of our attempt to reduce our water usage a little (since we're kind of stuck with that damned money-and-water-sucking pool for now). Oh, and I got a new energy-and-water-efficient washer and dryer, since our old ones were older than our youngest teenager and were randomly and unpredictably leaving holes and rust spots in our clothing and using approximately 300 gallons of water per washload. Even so, we found someone at hubby's work who took them off our hands, so they didn't go to the landfill.

With all of this water conserving doody in our house, I reckon that damned cement pond in our backyard is now truly justified, right?  </sarcasm>

The toilets and showers we had in the upstairs bathrooms were water hogs. In the second bath upstairs, the one we had to share for a couple of a few years, the water diverter on the faucet didn't fully function, and so water poured from both the shower head and the faucet for the duration of one's shower. This would have been ideal if we'd had a small leprechaun needing to bathe each time we stepped in the shower or a sailor bailing water out of the tub as if we were a sinking ship. Alas, we had neither, and so we wasted copious amounts of water in the shower. For a good while, I kept a 3-gallon bucket under the faucet to catch water & then used it to mop floors or water gardens. Unfortunately, I was the only one who would remember to use it, and I already take the shortest showers in the household (except for Youngest, who simply doesn't shower more than once a week, brave water conservationist that he is). As for the toilets, I don't know how to tell how many gallons they used per flush, but if I had to guess, it would be in the neighborhood of thirty-four. Seriously, after seeing these new ones, it seems quite ridiculous.

Since I've blathered on incessantly and not ever gotten to the point here, and this post is already exceeding my pissant-sized attention span, I will cover each of our new water-savvy appliances separately, in separate posts, on separate days.

Dual-flush toilets, it seems, are nothing new in Australia and Europe, where they seem to understand the whole conservation issue a little more intuitively than we wasteful Americans. Here, stateside, however, dual-flush toilets are still "new-fangled." There are two flush options: 1.6 gallons for sizable solids, and 0.8 gallons for liquid or smaller loads. (Or, for those who prefer more directive, one button for pee and one button for poop.) The toilet looks differently, mounts differently, and flushes differently than traditional toilets. I most love that there are no screws and caps on the base around which boy piss accumulates and requires toothbrush scrubbing to clean. It's amazing.

One would think that, given the tiny amount of water in the bowl, that there would be more clogs or would be harder to keep clean than other toilets. I was skeptical myself. However, we've tested both flushing options multiple times by now, and I haven't had any complaints. Apparently, the flushing mechanism for this type of toilet lends itself to less clogs than traditional American toilets.

As a related aside, here's an interesting fact that I found on several plumbing websites. Because of the differences in plumbing technologies in various countries, a European or Asian toilet often has a brush next to it as a matter of course, to take care of "skid marks," which Europeans and Asians find normal and acceptable, but which we North Americans find disgusting. However, North American toilets often have a plunger next to it, which Europeans and Asians find distasteful. When I think about it in those terms, I most definitely would rather take care of a skid mark or two than a toilet boiling over with shit and toilet paper, yo.

Some people have mentioned that the bowls are harder to keep clean, but... how can I put this delicately... this one must be designed by geniuses who conducted many embarrassing experiments based on anatomy, because somehow, even though there are only about three teaspoonfuls of water in the bowl, the poop seems to be attracted to it like a tranny to a shoe sale. When flushed, the water pressure has almost always been enough to wash away any stuck bits. And, if you have to flush a second time, it still doesn't waste as much water as a typical American 3.5 gallon flush. (Admittedly, we haven't gone to eat all-you-can-eat Chinese or the local greaseburgers-with-a-side-of-greasefries joint in a while, so I might change my review a little then.)

Stay tuned for my review of LG's Tromm Steamwasher and matching dryer, as well as Kohler's brand-spanking-new Forte 1.75 gpm handheld shower heads.

Manic Monday--Residential Treatment

As I mentioned the other day, we are now shopping around for a residential treatment facility for Youngest. For the uninitiated, residential treatment facilities are part hospital, part boarding school for those who, for whatever reason, find it impossible to live at home, usually for six months to a year. Some of these are for drug & alcohol rehabilitation, some are for trouble-making youth, some are for patients with mood or personality disorders, and some treat all of the above.

The problem with residential treatment is that it is expensive. So expensive, in fact, that I've read reports from parents taking a second mortgage on their homes. Also, more and more parents who don't have the money have had to rely on a very tricky method of getting help for their child. These parents have to wait for their underage child to do something illegal, something dangerous enough for a judge to mandate residential treatment, but, hopefully, not dangerous enough to hurt themselves or someone else. Sounds fun, huh?

I've located residential treatment facilities online. I've only been brave enough to call one so far. Their estimate was... are you ready... $400 to $475 per day, depending upon the individual situation. Yes, you read that right. Per motherfluffing day! Six months in this place would cost almost the same as four years' college tuition. We would have to live in a cardboard box or I would have to start selling my body on a street corner for that sort of money! Okay, so I might not even be able to bring that sort of cash any more; maybe I could sell a kidney on the black market instead. Needless to say, we're still looking.

I've also discovered that residential treatment facilities employ an astounding array of techniques. Some use equine therapy, some have each child take care of a golden retriever of their own. Some use behavior modification, some employ something called Positive Peer Culture to exact change. I've even found one where the incentive for personal changes is aviation lessons! How the hell are we supposed to navigate this landscape of options? Pick one that sounds like fun, because I'm totally digging the flight lessons thing? Their websites all generously invite us to visit their campus, but by the time we did that, we could have paid for, like, a whole week at the first place we called.

It's often said that money can't buy happiness. I guess we are supposed to believe it can buy sanity instead. At $400 a day, though, I'm not buying it.

News

Youngest's psychiatrist told us yesterday that she believes that very few of the meds he is on are having any effect whatsoever. He's still cycling, regardless of the lithium, and a lot of his behaviors now are behavioral in nature. Residential treatment is next.

So that's where I've been... dealing with daily chaos and crazy. Don't give up on me. I'm like the Terminator.

The Night of The Dark Knight

In an effort to forget that I still have various and sundry strangers banging, hanging, installing, caulking, grouting, and crowding in my house; that I still have a surly bipolar teenager who just started a new medication; that I still have no plane ticket to anywhere for next week; and that I am about to go mad (yes, indeed), I thought I'd throw out a mindless post celebrating the opening of The Dark Knight tonight. I am indescribably excited about seeing what some have deemed Heath Ledger's Oscar-worthy performance (not to mention eye candy Christian Bale).

I do love superhero movies. Testosterone-driven blow-'em-ups with manly men and damsels in distress (or kick-ass dames and men in distress, whatev). Comic-book based, if at all possible.* Truly talented actors optional; eye candy mandatory. I didn't really realize the extent of this strange love of mine until I was sitting in the theater the other night watching Wanted (James McAvoy, Angelina Jolie... see what I mean about eye candy?) sans husband, who mainly avoids such cinematic trash.

To further my point, here are thirteen (count 'em) superhero-heavy, comic-based movies that I have seen (and secretly loved):

1. Superman. Oh, that Christopher Reeve was handsome, wasn't he? His Clark Kent was one of the first times I remember equating "geeky" with "really hot."

2. Batman. All of them. It's terribly hard to decide which Bruce Wayne was sexier... George Clooney, Val Kilmer, or Christian Bale... they all have such valid selling points. My favorite villain? Jim Carey's Riddler, but possibly only for another couple of days, until I see Heath Ledger in all his psychotic Joker glory.

3. The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I sort of adored this ridiculous excuse of a movie.

4. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Each and every terrific terrapin had his own special place in my heart, but Splinter was just totally tubular, dude!

5. X-Men. Times three. There is no contest as to my favorite mutant. Hugh Jackman's Wolverine wears adamantium and sarcasm both very well.

6. Spiderman. First two. More sexy geekdom.

7. Ghost Rider. Nicholas Cage. On a motorcycle. Do you really need another reason?

8. Iron Man. There really must be something in a rulebook somewhere that states that all comic book superheroes be incredibly delicious to behold. And, for once, Robert Downey, Jr., is following all the rules. It should be illegal for a single person to be so undeniably attractive.

9. Hulk. I thought this was rather stupid, but I included it because I want to pay good money to drool over Edward Norton soon in The Hulk.

10. The Crow. I only saw the first one, as I've heard (and tend to believe) that no one can ever touch Brandon Lee's incredible dark performance. Seeing the others seems a little like sacrilege to me.

11. Hellboy. Okay, so he's not sexy by normal standards. But he's beautiful on the inside. And, as I loved what Guillermo del Toro did with the first Hellboy and especially Pan's Labyrinth, I intend to see Hellboy 2: The Golden Army as well.

12. Men in Black. I saw both of them, but the first one is by far the gold standard.

13. Wanted. Pardon me while I wipe James McAvoy-inspired drool from my chin. Can I also just say I was totally astounded to learn that Youngest's (female) shrink had seen this movie? Pleasantly so, but still. 

*Disclaimer: I have a personal grudge against comic books in general. Something about a lazy-ass, possibly undiagnosed mentally ill, unemployable ex-husband with thousands of dollars worth of comics but refusing to sell any of them to, you know, put food on the table in lieu of actual work.

Thirty-five...

...feels just like thirty-four did, which, lately, is kind of like sixty must feel... tired! And what did I do for my birthday? I drove. And I let myself be talked into going to the Mecca of gaudy home decor and questionable cinema... Graceland! However, that's another post for another day; I'm still a little too scarred and vulnerable to share.

Should I stay or should I go?

"If I go there will be trouble, and if I go it will be double." Boy, The Clash hit it right on the head. I'll get to my major indecision momentarily.

In the meantime, I interrupt this regular blog post to report that the remodel is lumbering slowly and painfully forward. The carpet is gone; the hardwood is in place everywhere except the stairs, which will happen tomorrow. Both bathtubs, both toilets, and varying useless accessories are here, but not installed yet. Useless, you ask? Let's see. The supply elbow and the mounting bracket and the shower hoses have all come in, but the actual low-flow handheld showerheads? No. The temperature-adjusting-on-off-handle-thingy for the kids' bath has arrived, but the faucet itself? Nope. The temperature-adjusting-on-off-handle-thingy for the master shower? Uh-uh. All of this is a long way of reporting that we have no bathing facilities for at least two days, possibly until late Monday. Today I showered at a friend's house; thanks, Kelly! Other days, we'll snag one at Anytime Fitness, but because if I did that, I would feel obligated to, you know, work out first, I'm almost glad I'm about to drive to Memphis to pick up the teenagers. Hotel rooms have showers, yo.

Now. About that prophetic Clash song. My husband has been strongly encouraging (read: nagging) me to take a week and go somewhere, anywhere, just for myself, to reset my sanity. He knows that, between spending all day every with Youngest, physically moving all of our belongings from room to room in a seemingly endless circle, and dealing with the noise and anxious decisions accompanying this remodel, I am physically and mentally spent. He said that it was probably the best birthday and anniversary gift he could give me. Time away from everyone and everything. I've been resisting, both because we're hemorrhaging money for this remodel, and because sometimes I'm uncomfortable being alone, with just myself for company.

He told me last night that I could even go back to Italy if I wanted. Italy. That's playing dirty. Hardball. You see, ever since we went to Italy for our anniversary in 2002, I've had a restless, barely containable urge to go back, particularly to the tiny, medieval town of Varenna, on Lake Como. It's an ache: visceral, almost gut-wrenching. Have you ever felt that way about a place? It's the perfect place to go and do nothing for a week. Just me and my writing and my camera. And yet.

And yet, there's that nagging unrest and doubt in my head. Will I enjoy my own company, or will I collapse with loneliness?  Should I go back to Italy, which I really think of as our place, at the risk of it becoming my place? Or should I go back to Hawaii, which I also loved, just not as deeply and irresistibly? Can I leave my responsibilities to everyone else here and fulfill my obligations to myself for a change?

Manic Monday: Reality and Authority

One of the most frustrating things about youngest's illness is his uneasy relationship with reality. Oftentimes, dealing with his rageful rants would be funny, if it weren't really happening, and happening to me. For those just tuning in, my youngest son has been diagnosed with Early Onset Bipolar Disorder, Oppositional Defiant Disorder, Attention Deficit/Hyperactivity Disorder, and an anxiety disorder; his combination of disorders makes life here interesting and uncomfortable on good days and a downright miserable existence on bad ones. Anyway, back to his view of reality. When his frontal lobe is lit up like a Christmas tree, firing neurons that rarely get fired in a normal person's brain, he can see some of the most innocuous situations as conspiracy or neglect or abuse or hate; his paranoia runs higher than a Formula One tachometer. For example, my not dropping everything I'm doing to come unlock the cabinets or the fridge (where we have to keep high-calorie, high-fat, high-carb foods, which is another post altogether) rightnowbecauseI'mstarvingtodeathrightnow means that we are depriving him of food and starving our child and worthy of a call to 911. This view might be humorous. If he were four. He's thirteen. Not funny. Any more.

His tenuous grasp of reality causes an incredible amount of parenting anxiety, not the least of which revolves around authority. Hubby & I have always wanted to raise children who could think for themselves, who could respectfully question authority, who didn't have to bend to authority simply for authority's sake. (I don't necessarily expect them to respect the authority of a seventh-grade reading teacher, for example, who does not know the pronunciation of the the word rendezvous and who cannot reliably execute cause and effect examples, simply because she is a Reading Teacher. This teacher is not may or may not be hypothetical.) Wielding Authority sometimes only requires a Job Title or a College Degree; neither of these things guarantees one an inalienable right to be respected, in my opinion.

However, and it is a large and confounding however, Youngest's poor reality testing makes this teaching impossible for him; he would simply question and reject all authority, regardless of whether said authority warranted questioning. Much as we have altered our discipline to suit each child's personality, we've also found ourselves having to alter our teaching of ideas and principles, teaching Youngest some that are not ones we particularly ascribe to, simply because he lacks the executive functioning to ask the right questions to make situation-based moral decisions. Rarely do I think that "always" and "never" are the correct choices to make. (See? Even in that sentence, I said that I rarely think that, not never.) Often, though, Youngest is capable of only such black & white philosophies that "always" and "never" creep into our teaching more than which I am comfortable. Anxiety and doubt ensue, both of which are banes of my existence.

And so, even as he barrels unwaveringly toward adolescence, we're still making stuff up on the fly. Life lessons have to be slid slyly and hastily into cracks and crevices where they would never come up with normally functioning children. Adjustments to our parenting have to be made constantly, our teachings sometimes shifting like desert sands, whether we agree with them or not. And we live with the anxiety and doubt that surely ensues.

Photo Hunt Saturday--Pointed

When I was looking for a photo for this week's theme, Pointed, I was looking for a photo of someone with a pointed finger. I found one, sort of. This felllow is colorfully and artfully painted on a building in Austin, Texas, along with other graffiti less bloody but equally artistic.

Home renovation and insomnia...

... do NOT go together like peanut butter & jelly. I should know. I'm currently experiencing both, enjoying neither.

Recently, the time finally presented itself that we had enough money to tackle some of the renovations we've been so desperately needing. Tops on the list were both upstairs bathrooms & carpeting.

Our carpeting, throughout the upstairs and on the stairs themselves, had reached a state of such squalor I was afraid to walk on it barefoot for fear of catching some rare and exotic bacterial infection. With 4 vomiting cats, 3 food-and-beverage-spilling kids, and 2 occasionally incontinent dogs, beige carpet was quite possibly the worst of all possible floor coverings for this family. It had to go. Somewhere but here. Unfortunately, that somewhere is a landfill.

It's possibly been two years since we've had two fully functioning upstairs bathrooms. First, the kids' bath developed an enormous leak which rather quickly led to a hole in the downstairs ceiling just below. We discontinued shower use in there and shared the master shower with the kids. We did this for a couple of months half a year while life generally got in the way of calling a plumber to check it out. Then our shower developed a leak which rather quickly led to a ginormous water stain on the downstairs ceiling just below. We finally called a plumber (since the kids' toilet had also begun to clog rather quickly and easily), whom we paid generously to tell us there was nothing wrong with the plumbing that would cause these leaks and for whom the toilet refused to clog. Another month or two passed of self-plumbing and sharing a shower amongst five people. A different plumber was summoned, who diagnosed and fixed the toilet problem. (Who, by the way, flushes a damn Popsicle stick, people? Really. Only in this family.) Unfortunately, he confirmed (after enlargening the hole in the downstairs ceiling) that the pipes seemed to be in working order, and that he believed the leaks to be water leaking through holes in the shower grout. So we bought some grout and effectively slapped a band-aid on an arterial bleed. Two showers again. For a very short while. Until the shower head broke behind our shower wall. Needless to say, the bathroom situation has been screaming to be rectified for a little while. Since the house was built in the eighties, when carpet and wallpaper in a bathroom and "garden/jacuzzi tubs" (deep, oval, and ugly with built-in steps) were all considered good ideas, new "stuff" was required of this remodel.

Since we wanted to leave as little environmental impact as possible, we I did a lot of research, which yielded mixed results.

Reclaimed hardwood floors offered neither the look nor the price we desired. Bamboo flooring wasn't sturdy enough for pet toenails and general furniture scraping. Eventually I came up with FSC-certified Brazilian cherry from EcoTimber. Our flooring guy was very helpful in getting this for us. We decided to use the engineered version, as it uses less overall wood. The usual worry with engineered hardwood flooring is that there is such a thin layer of finished hardwood, the floors cannot be refinished. This particular wood, however, has the thickest "working layer" he'd ever seen, though, and should take at least one refinishing, if necessary.

We wanted recycled glass tile to re-tile the showers. Until we discovered it was about $100 per square foot, installed. Even just the tile itself from another distributor was $75-$95. Instead we chose to use tile of non-recycled glass from a company that at least has some good environmental practices, like recycling of its rejected tile, its fly ash, and its water. I think I remember (at 5:14 a.m., after being up since 2:00) it also uses renewable resources for its plant's electricity. This tile was $14 per square foot.

We paid extra for Kohler fixtures, including their brand-newest handheld 1.75 gpm showerheads and sleek European dual-flush toilets. Bowing to the possible demands of any future buyers of the house, we got the BubbleMassage option on the bathtub, though we eschewed ugly jacuzzi-type whirlpool jets. I don't want my bathtub to look like a damn space ship.

That's everything going into this phase (I hope I get to squeeze a painter out of this, too, for walls & cabinets). Next we tackle countertops and sinks. We I want renewable resources used: Paperstone for the kids' bath, Vetrazzo recycled glass countertops in ours. Unfortunately, they, too, are ridiculously expensive. ($2000 freaking dollars for a not-even-five-foot countertop in the kids' bath? Between $2500 & $4000 for ours?) I'm debating waiting until we have the money for that, or going for US-sourced granite (since granite sourced from third world countries is quarried with abominable worker conditions). I know. It's non-renewable. It is one reason I agonize. It's what I do.

In two-and-a-half hours, the contractors are returning to make copious amounts of hideous noise, so that I won't be able to take a nap. I tossed and turned from 2:00-4:00, then got up to take an Ativan and write this. I'm just now getting a little sleepy, I think. Perfect timing, since I need to be up an hour before the contractors get here, don't you think?