Accessible Home: Planning

Recently, we have been gearing up for some home improvement projects.  While being surprisingly handicap accessible for a 100 year-old home, our old gal needs a little bit of tweaking to be ideal for Buddy B.  The two top projects are: (1) Bertrand's first floor bathroom and (2) wheelchair ramps.

Bertrand has been using the potty at school every single day for over 3 weeks!  This magnificent milestone has accelerated our need to remodel his first floor bathroom.  And, the wheelchair ramps are simply overdue.

Now I will admit, accessible design is becoming a bit of a soapbox topic for me.  Why does so much of it have to be so ugly? So institutional?!  People with disabilities are just like any other human being--they can appreciate beauty.  In fact, I'd say Bertrand deserves it.

For over a year now, I have been researching, examining, asking nosy questions, and thinking about accessible design non-stop.  My conclusion is that beautiful accessible design is possible! BUT it takes more planning and thought than is typically given to these sorts of things.

For the bathroom, I don't believe that attractive accessible design will necessarily cost anymore than typical bathroom design.  However, I am finding that attractive, durable, well-integrated wheelchair ramps may cost a pretty penny--especially with the weather conditions we have in Utah.  So, out of necessity, the ramps will be coupled with a landscape overhaul.

While we are still in the planning stage, I ask you, my knowledgable and wonderful blog readers: what are your thoughts on accessible design?  Are there any resources you'd recommend?  Thank you.  :)

PS - For the curious, here are my pinterest boards for the bathroom and the landscape/ramps.

What counts?

This evening, Matthew and I watched the sunset from our house.  The sky was brilliant with orange and purple above the sparkling city below.  We watched the capitol building glow and the twinkling lights of downtown come alive.

The city view from our bedroom will soon be partially obscured by the leaves of a 150 year-old Elm in our front yard.  I love watching and listening to the birds in that tree as much, if not more than, the views of the city.

Last Friday, we met with a realtor to discuss finding a new, more accessible home.  Bertrand is only getting bigger and the cost to rehabilitate our current home for his (and our backs') benefit is substantial.  Before we make a major and costly decision, we're thoroughly evaluating all the options from various ways of fixing our current home to moving.

There are many factors to consider.  The ones that we and perhaps most people tend to focus on are the ones which are easily quantified, such as the cost of a commute (cost of a new car, hours in a car, maintenance, gas, parking passes, etc.).  Then there are related variables (opportunity costs) such as "extra time spent away from family".  How do you value that?

Or how about being only 3 minutes away from the main children's hospital?  ...especially when you have a child like Bertrand?  In even ONE emergency situation, how much would that be worth?

How do you value the joy of your very first home?  Your children's first home?  Your memories?  Your dreams?

Tonight, as I looked down at the sparkling city and spied swollen leaf buds on the Elm, my suspicion was that these intangibles are undervalued.

"Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts."

ASSIST Community Design Center

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Bertrand is nearing 50lbs.  It's a growing challenge getting him in and out of the house, up and down stairs, and using the bathroom.  Safety is a huge issue.  I fell down the stairs carrying him when I was 6 months pregnant with Victoria, and Bertrand was just 40lbs then.  I am forever grateful that only I got hurt that time.

So, I was excited to get in contact with the folks over at ASSIST today. ASSIST Inc is a nonprofit Community Design Center founded in 1969. ASSIST provides architectural design, community planning and development assistance to nonprofit and community groups, and housing and accessibility design assistance to low income households or persons with disabilities.

We have an appointment in three weeks (on February 1st) for property inspection and measurement.  Then in approximately 2-3 weeks, an ASSIST representative will be back with architectural plans and cost estimates, so we can start saving and budgeting for the remodel.  They also have a list of contractors we can contact for any project we choose to undertake.

We're looking to improve the accessibility to the back of our home (think: ramps) and remodel our first floor bathroom so Bertrand can use it.  (It would be nice to give him a shower or bath and not almost break my back or knees in the process.)  Those new kitchen counters will just have to wait.



The first floor playroom is morphing into his big boy bedroom.

The last few months, my heart has been heavy with the dawning realization that Bertrand's bedroom would have to be moved downstairs.  It's silly, but decorating Bertrand's first bedroom was symbolic for me.  At the time he had a projected 18 more months to live, but by setting up his room I was signaling to everyone, especially myself, that he was here to stay.

It was a monument to my love for him, and to the boyhood I believe he deserves.

And a wholehearted acceptance of the vulnerability that by nature is required to love him.

I am sad that he'll no longer be in his beautiful room.  And I am sad that (despite video baby monitors) he will be on a different floor from the rest of the family at night.  I don't want him to ever feel different or less loved.  It hurts me that this is his reality.

But, I know Bertrand will be fine.  We'll find a way to make his new room wonderful.  And Victoria can sleep over as often as she wants--same goes for Penny, his best furry friend.  (And his Mama too.)  And I know he'll enjoy less-achey parents.  He'll be happy.  He always is.

*Sigh*  I guess even hearts can have growing pains.