I tend to obsess. Not, like OCD obsess, where it’s compulsive. More like, get really, really, ridiculously into something until I figure it out.
When we found this house, I scoured the intertubes for information– sale dates, tax history, nearby comps, schools. After we’d been to look at it and take measurements, I built a 3D model of it in SketchUp. Poured over Houzz and Pinterest for renovation inspiration. Worked out a new kitchen design. Then another. Then a different layout for the kids’ bathroom. Before we were even in contract, I lined up contractors to come through and give us rough estimates for some of the immediate projects so we knew what we were getting into. After the 5th time, I’m pretty sure the listing agent hated when I would call to set up another walkthrough with another contractor. Obsessed.
It was fairly easy to do all that because I was a stay at home dad, and Foster was just a cooing, stationary, little blob. We could hold him in our laps while he slept or plop him down with some toys and he was good for long enough to get stuff done. Then he started rolling over. Then crawling slowly. Then crawling at mach 3. Then walking. Now running at what I’m pretty sure is a meaningful percentage of the speed of light. See?
Oh, and talking. Always talking. It’s amazing to watch him develop. To become more confident in his ability to manipulate his surroundings. To become more adventurous. Last week I caught him on the kitchen table: he’d pulled a chair out, used it as a ladder, squirmed to the tabletop, and was sitting happily, eating a chocolate chip cookie from the cookie jar. He wanted a cookie, knew where they were, and got one for himself. And he did it in about 30 seconds while Read More…