New Space

Y'all know I like to make lemonade out of lemons.

Our basement was like rotten squishy moldy lemons that may have even dried out.

In an effort to make our home more marketable, and to get a few toys out of the upstairs, Greg and I took on the task of finishing up a room in our basement. I told him it would only cost $150.

I went a little over (but not too terribly much--price breakdown at the end).

A little determination was all it took to get a fantastic new space (that, subsequently one day after finishing, my parents moved into).

Here's what we were dealing with in the "before" stage:

• painted concrete floors
• primed wood paneling covered in sticky tack (previous owner hung some of his hundreds of license plates on the walls)
• a hole in the paneling about the size of a dinner plate from when Greg checked a few years ago for a water leak
• mismatched crown molding and base trim
• seriously dirty stairs
• horrible lighting from two rickety, falling apart lights from 1982
• oh, and this room used to flood with heavy rains until we fixed the drainage issue two years ago

Dark, dirty, blah. And no daylight! We had our work cut out.

So, here's what we did:

• painted walls a fun robin's egg blue (cost: free--it was an unopened extra can of paint from a bedroom that I purchased four years ago; I just took it to Home Depot to have it shaken for free)
• put in four new can lights to make the room feel less like a dungeon basement (cost: $90--and labor was free; glad I married an engineer!)
• painted all the doors and trim, and the stairs, and added new door knobs to the two doors (cost: $61--$17 for trim paint and $14 for door hardware, $30 for porch and patio paint on the stairs)
• laid what is essentially a giant wall-to-wall area rug, with carpet off the big roll at Home Depot--no pad underneath, but soft enough for Reid to crawl around on (cost: $199. I won't go into the detail about how Greg and I laid that carpet down like a bunch of idiots who had never done home improvement before...but in our defense, the entire house is hardwood!)
• hung curtains to frame a mini "art gallery," which also conveniently covers that hole in the paneling (cost: $35 for curtains and hardware at Ikea)
• moved the upstairs play room down to the basement--all the cute furniture, easel, train table, art supplies, etc. (cost: free!)
• Total: $385

We have a few things left to do, namely hang the family guitars on the wall (Greg's idea) and move the cubby storage down there for the bins of toys (which are currently just under the train table). 

As I said before, we finished this project last Sunday, and my mom and stepdad moved in with us temporarily but indefinitely the next day. The futon is down there, and there is still tons of space for them and their three dogs, and Will and Reid to go down and play. Money well spent. 

My favorite part is the little art gallery--those curtains are so fun! It's such a cheery room now! 

Be Kind

Across the state of Ohio this morning, sharpened pencils and thick test booklets were handed out; stock rose in bulk sales of mints and pocket sized kleenex; granola bars were consumed in the thousands; principals joked that we had, in fact, reached "Def Con 1."

State testing began.

But this is not a blog post about the unfair money-making biased teach-to-the-test schemes of big government testing.

This is about a girl.

Since I am not a "core" teacher (math, science, social studies, language arts), I am generally given a small group of students to administer the state tests to: kids that need extra time, the test read to them, etc.

This year I was given one student.

Eighth grade girl, pale, freckly, should be a red head but she prefers jet black.

Loves bling-y jewelry and her hot pink cell phone.

Tall, slim, with an affinity for glitter-fied or sequined clothes.

Currently in the foster care system.

Be kind; for everyone you meet is fighting a battle.

This has been my mantra for her all semester.

She talks back, she murmurs unkind things, she is demanding, unreasonable, and she doesn't give a flying pie about French, let alone math or reading or history or anything outside her immediate need to feel loved, accepted, and to survive.

But she's fighting a battle. A life I know so little about.

During the practice state test about a month ago, when she was finished, I asked her about her life.

The details she gave were painful, and although I'm not sure they were all true, even if only moderately embellished, my heart still broke.

I thought maybe I'd softened a little.

And then she pulled out her old antics and I felt myself grow rigid.

She does more than just tap dance across her teachers' patience--she stomps on us.

This morning she walked into my room, and even though it was just me and her and two and a half hours of quiet, it turned into a little more.

My maternal instinct took over, and I spent those two and a half hours nurturing.

The heat was turned off this morning, so our students tested in classrooms that were about forty-five to fifty degrees.

I got her a blanket.

Her hands were getting numb.

I heated up hot water for her to wrap around a mug.

She looked at me half way through and said, "I don't want to do this anymore."

So we took a walk. She ate some fruit snacks.

And back to work.

When she finished the test, she did a few missing assignments for me, which didn't go far in the gradebook because she hasn't turned in anything this quarter.

And then, one hour left, no academic work to be done. What to do?

We talked.

And talked.

I asked her about food she loves, and her face lit up like a sunny day as she described what she was good at making (fish sticks and chicken nuggets).

I learned she just tried shrimp for the first time--pan fried without the breading--and she loved it. If she wanted to eat cheap she'd go to Steak-n-Shake, and if she wants a really fancy meal she would go to Red Lobster.

I discovered she loves steak and mac-n-cheese, and triple chocolate cake, but she doesn't care for rice, unless it's plain white rice with ranch dressing poured on top.

"My grandma taught me to eat rice that way."

A rare familial connection.

My heart didn't just soften; it melted completely, to watch one child full of so much anger and pain forget for a moment and beam. I think, for a brief moment, her face expressed a joy I haven't seen in the  four months I've known her.

I think, in that moment, she felt accepted, and loved, and cared for. All of her basic needs met.

At least, this is how I hope she felt.

The little assignment she did for me after testing was finished?

A rising sun.

She is my constant reminder to be kind.