I just got the second best call I could have received!! (The first being a decision - one way or the other - on our home. Sorry, Claudia.) BUT, that aside, Claudia just called me to say that she and her wonderful family are on their way out this week!!
Ben & Claudia were our Wonderful Neighbors when we lived in Arizona. More than that, they were also our best friends, and have remained among our dearest and most cherished over the years. I don't know how many months of sleep we lost from late nights in the kitchen talking religion, politics, and other taboo subjects. And yes, all four of us packed into a one-butt apartment kitchen - that'll tell you how close we are, eh? We had the same midwife, the same naturopath. We shopped at the same gun shop, and they were among the few people we are comfortable shooting with. Claudia and I stayed home with the little ones, and the guys were in school together. They are Our Kind of Weird.
Ben is the guy who made the comment that has endeared me to him permanently: "If I thought you were really screwing up raising the boys, Charles and I would have it out in the parking lot before we'd ever call CPS." Now, that, my friends, is a good friend: one who loves you no matter what, will tell you when you're wrong, puts your children's good ahead of his own, and knows that it's all about the people not the government.
Claudia didn't think I was weird when I made a BUNDUHT, Bundit, Bunth... a cake for a celebration. She even put flowers in the middle, and we laughed ourselves silly while the guys looked askance and silently vowed never to let us go to the movies by ourselves again. She and I have prayed together, grown together, tried to work out together (we end up laughing too hard and it hurts to move, so that hasn't ever really worked out well), and have encouraged one another over the years.
We've missed their little Samster (the one John stalked with the paper towel tube/pirate's telescope) and have never held their little David. John wasn't speaking English the last time they saw him, and James was still a fat little toddler. There is going to be a whole lot of goofy oogling of the babies all around! The boys will be thrilled. They miss Mr. Ben and Miss Claudia. They love talking to Sam on the phone, and are still somewhat convinced Baby David is a mythological creature.
I'm just so excited. We'll have three days to show them around and hope that they fall as deeply in love with Huntsville as we have... because this is a recon trip for a possible move out here! WOOHOO!! They've promised to ignore the "hot 'n sticky", so I think there's a chance.
Anyhow, this is also going to help take my mind of the absolutely brain-disolving tension of waiting, waiting, waiting for a decision on the Forever Home. *whew* Thankful for that, too! So, if you had three days to extol the virtues of Huntsville, what would you do?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
If you don't mind the construction dust, come on in. The coffee's hot, the food's good, and the door is open...
Friday, August 5
Happy Retirement!
It's my retirement party? I'll do the BBQ, if someone else will make the cake!
The boys had their second swim class yesterday. We have spent every day at the pool, and they've done wonderfully. John spends most of his time underwater playing games (rock, paper, scissors; ring around the rosie; watch me sink). James still can't get his skinny little frame to float on his back, but he can lay back, sink about a foot and a half underwater and swim 20 feet like a crawdad. They love it. We are there over an hour each day. They motor all over the pool without floaties or assistance.
So why, WHY, I ask, does John go into psycho panic mode when he's in class? *sigh* I stayed home with Smidge last night while Zorak took the boys. He called to let me know they were heading home and mentioned that John started a mutiny. Evidently hysterical crying is somewhat contagious (who knew?) and he managed to undermine the confidence of darn near the entire class. By the end of the hour, most of them were crying. Including James, who was still teary-eyed when they got back about having to jump into the four foot end. Ahhh, that's my boy. Poor kid. Poor other kids. Poor instructor. I don't get it, and I don't know how to help him get over this, considering he doesn't do it at the pool with me. I do know that next time, we'll hit the pool earlier in the day (*whine*) and then I'll see if I can get John to be still long enough to nap. Lessons do come so late in the day, and I'm sure he's pretty pooped, which isn't helping.
Oooh! Ooh! I'm not sure how correct this is, but I've heard tell that there are only a few more weeks left of this heat! Part of me is afraid to call the lady back and confirm that I heard her right. :-) I'll just live with the dream, thank you.
After talking with LB, who gave herself a funky short haircut and loves it (and who mentioned that in addition to helping to deal with the heat and humidity, it also makes tick checks infinitely easier!), I've been so tempted to follow her lead. I broached the subject with Zorak last night, who looked at me with the saddest expression on his face and said, "I will let it be cold again someday." *snort* OK, thanks, honey, I'll keep that in mind. I don't think I'll be able to pull it off this summer, but next spring, the Easter Barber is going to make a visit to my house!
And really, that's about all there is here. I can't share the conversations that have taken place in our home surrounding the search for a backup property if our Forever Home can't get financing. They are either way too weird for public consideration or... well, let's just stick with that, shall we? Zorak is realizing he married a g-i-r-l, and I am learning to embrace the unique qualities of having married an e-n-g-i-n-e-e-r. It's a learning process for everybody involved. But even at it's most bizarre, it's good.
I'm off to enjoy some blogrunning (the only kind of running endorsed by some joint association, I'm sure!) and coffee before the boys are up.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The boys had their second swim class yesterday. We have spent every day at the pool, and they've done wonderfully. John spends most of his time underwater playing games (rock, paper, scissors; ring around the rosie; watch me sink). James still can't get his skinny little frame to float on his back, but he can lay back, sink about a foot and a half underwater and swim 20 feet like a crawdad. They love it. We are there over an hour each day. They motor all over the pool without floaties or assistance.
So why, WHY, I ask, does John go into psycho panic mode when he's in class? *sigh* I stayed home with Smidge last night while Zorak took the boys. He called to let me know they were heading home and mentioned that John started a mutiny. Evidently hysterical crying is somewhat contagious (who knew?) and he managed to undermine the confidence of darn near the entire class. By the end of the hour, most of them were crying. Including James, who was still teary-eyed when they got back about having to jump into the four foot end. Ahhh, that's my boy. Poor kid. Poor other kids. Poor instructor. I don't get it, and I don't know how to help him get over this, considering he doesn't do it at the pool with me. I do know that next time, we'll hit the pool earlier in the day (*whine*) and then I'll see if I can get John to be still long enough to nap. Lessons do come so late in the day, and I'm sure he's pretty pooped, which isn't helping.
Oooh! Ooh! I'm not sure how correct this is, but I've heard tell that there are only a few more weeks left of this heat! Part of me is afraid to call the lady back and confirm that I heard her right. :-) I'll just live with the dream, thank you.
After talking with LB, who gave herself a funky short haircut and loves it (and who mentioned that in addition to helping to deal with the heat and humidity, it also makes tick checks infinitely easier!), I've been so tempted to follow her lead. I broached the subject with Zorak last night, who looked at me with the saddest expression on his face and said, "I will let it be cold again someday." *snort* OK, thanks, honey, I'll keep that in mind. I don't think I'll be able to pull it off this summer, but next spring, the Easter Barber is going to make a visit to my house!
And really, that's about all there is here. I can't share the conversations that have taken place in our home surrounding the search for a backup property if our Forever Home can't get financing. They are either way too weird for public consideration or... well, let's just stick with that, shall we? Zorak is realizing he married a g-i-r-l, and I am learning to embrace the unique qualities of having married an e-n-g-i-n-e-e-r. It's a learning process for everybody involved. But even at it's most bizarre, it's good.
I'm off to enjoy some blogrunning (the only kind of running endorsed by some joint association, I'm sure!) and coffee before the boys are up.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, August 3
There is NO WAY it's only Wednesday
I'm Friday-tired! By Friday, I'll be ready for retirement. Wow. That went fast. And yet I still don't feel a day over 32...
The boys swam and swam and swam today. For two hours, they swam. They played underwater games. They burned up energy they'd been saving for Christmas. They had a great time.
Today was evidently Negligent Parent Day at the pool. All around the pool and on floating islands in the deep end were oiled women basking with their eyes closed, while over in the shallow end, there was me and seven children, only three of which were mine. The only ones over the ripe old age of four were my oldest two. My arms hurt. My back hurts. But mostly, my heart hurts. It shouldn't be some strange lady whose name you don't know who cheers you on when you get the diving stick. It shouldn't be a total stranger who catches your trusting little body as you jump into the big pool. And if you can't swim, your parents should, at the very least, have their eyes open while you're in the water. (I would say they should be IN the water, but at this point, I'd be happy with a little recognition that these little people are somehow your responsibility!! Come on, people!)
One little guy, in particular, just really tugged at my heartstrings. He was so enthusiastic and ready to do anything Smidge was doing. He jumped over and over and over again, and we motored all around the shallow end. He retrieved the ball for Smidge when it got too far away. He is three. He was very tired (too tired to be in the water anymore), and would try with all his might to swim over to his mother's floating island to get her attention. His head would dip under and water filled his mouth. You could see him focusing on her, trying not to panic, but unable to get anything out, to call for help. More than once I lifted him up so he could catch his breath and then he asked to come back with us to the edge of the pool rather than going back to the middle to his mother. I set him on the edge and helped him relax a bit. I love children, and as long as they aren't endangering my children, I'm willing to welcome any child to join us in play. But that's not what this is about - this woman is going to spend this child's 15th year wondering what happened to "the sweet little boy" she didn't have time for, and it's going to be ugly. The only contact she responded to was once, when Smidge threw a fit (it was naptime, and we were almost ready to go), she screamed at her boy, demanding to know what he was doing over there and to leave us alone. *groan*
As much as I wanted to say something, that really would not have made things better for those kids, or probably - considering the language that was flying when these women weren't angry - for mine, either. While a poolside catfight might inspire some folks, it's not going to encourage anyone to make positive parenting changes. So what do you do? You let the kids laugh with you and you share with them the words of encouragement you share with your children. You catch them when they jump, and pick them up when they sink. And when you're home again, with just your children, you pull your own children closer and hug them just a little tighter, and hope...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The boys swam and swam and swam today. For two hours, they swam. They played underwater games. They burned up energy they'd been saving for Christmas. They had a great time.
Today was evidently Negligent Parent Day at the pool. All around the pool and on floating islands in the deep end were oiled women basking with their eyes closed, while over in the shallow end, there was me and seven children, only three of which were mine. The only ones over the ripe old age of four were my oldest two. My arms hurt. My back hurts. But mostly, my heart hurts. It shouldn't be some strange lady whose name you don't know who cheers you on when you get the diving stick. It shouldn't be a total stranger who catches your trusting little body as you jump into the big pool. And if you can't swim, your parents should, at the very least, have their eyes open while you're in the water. (I would say they should be IN the water, but at this point, I'd be happy with a little recognition that these little people are somehow your responsibility!! Come on, people!)
One little guy, in particular, just really tugged at my heartstrings. He was so enthusiastic and ready to do anything Smidge was doing. He jumped over and over and over again, and we motored all around the shallow end. He retrieved the ball for Smidge when it got too far away. He is three. He was very tired (too tired to be in the water anymore), and would try with all his might to swim over to his mother's floating island to get her attention. His head would dip under and water filled his mouth. You could see him focusing on her, trying not to panic, but unable to get anything out, to call for help. More than once I lifted him up so he could catch his breath and then he asked to come back with us to the edge of the pool rather than going back to the middle to his mother. I set him on the edge and helped him relax a bit. I love children, and as long as they aren't endangering my children, I'm willing to welcome any child to join us in play. But that's not what this is about - this woman is going to spend this child's 15th year wondering what happened to "the sweet little boy" she didn't have time for, and it's going to be ugly. The only contact she responded to was once, when Smidge threw a fit (it was naptime, and we were almost ready to go), she screamed at her boy, demanding to know what he was doing over there and to leave us alone. *groan*
As much as I wanted to say something, that really would not have made things better for those kids, or probably - considering the language that was flying when these women weren't angry - for mine, either. While a poolside catfight might inspire some folks, it's not going to encourage anyone to make positive parenting changes. So what do you do? You let the kids laugh with you and you share with them the words of encouragement you share with your children. You catch them when they jump, and pick them up when they sink. And when you're home again, with just your children, you pull your own children closer and hug them just a little tighter, and hope...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Just a general blog entry
Zorak and I have accepted that there are two ways the loan application can go: we'll get it, or we won't. I know, Rocket Science. The nice part is that we're okay either way. We've been oogling some really funky properties for around $20K that we could buy and fix up. And we know we could get a loan for them! *ha ha ha*
Um, yes. We are insane. But we're insane together, so we don't really notice it much.
The boys started their class swim lessons today. I think the only drawback is that it's just two days a week, but otherwise, we're really tickled with the class, the structure, and the instruction. They were both so proud of their participation and progress in class today. It's worth hauling everyone to the pool each day -- worth it a thousand times over, just for the smiles and enthusiasm.
I don't know what the high was today, but on the way back from swim (around six-thirty), the readout on the doctor's sign by the house (which is actually in the shade) read "99'" EWWWWW!! Thankfully, the humidity had dropped below 90%, so it almost felt like a dry heat. Have I mentioned that this place is going to be gorgeous in the fall?
Oh, and if any of you happen to know which box I put the MUS blocks in, I'd love a hint.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Um, yes. We are insane. But we're insane together, so we don't really notice it much.
The boys started their class swim lessons today. I think the only drawback is that it's just two days a week, but otherwise, we're really tickled with the class, the structure, and the instruction. They were both so proud of their participation and progress in class today. It's worth hauling everyone to the pool each day -- worth it a thousand times over, just for the smiles and enthusiasm.
I don't know what the high was today, but on the way back from swim (around six-thirty), the readout on the doctor's sign by the house (which is actually in the shade) read "99'" EWWWWW!! Thankfully, the humidity had dropped below 90%, so it almost felt like a dry heat. Have I mentioned that this place is going to be gorgeous in the fall?
Oh, and if any of you happen to know which box I put the MUS blocks in, I'd love a hint.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, August 2
Taking a Break
I'd planned to submerge myself and my small appendages in the pool today, to float and feel weightless and silly. But we wrangled an unexpected meeting with the Land Bank Guy at one.
We lugged our packet (for the record, Zorak's security clearance applications weren't this thick!) and nervously crept into his office to drop off the package, ask a million questions, and then slink back out. The boys sat at a large mahogany desk, doing word puzzles and quietly telling each other jokes. I didn't hear parts of the meeting because I was really engrossed in just watching the boys. Well, I've been praying to keep my priorities in line, and once that folder left my hot little hands, there was nothing left for me to do. So I enjoyed my boys. Tremendously. They were so sweet!
We tried to get a temporary pass for me so that I could drop off Zorak once in a while and have transportation. That didn't happen. The lady at the pass office is, oh, what is the term? Oh, yes, "disgruntled federal employee". Whoever thought she needed to be dealing with the public doesn't like people! After repeatedly shouting at Zorak, "SECURITY OFFICER! SECURITY OFFICER!!" (instructing him to talk to his security officer, not calling for one, thankfully) she turned on me and, in true Soup Nazi style, informed me that if (AND ONLY IF!) I somehow miraculously get approved for a pass, I can only drop him off and leave. I'd better not ever get out of the car. Ever. Or NO PASS FOR YOU! Oooooookay...
We went to the Security Officer, who fails miserably at being the terrifying ogre the pass lady wants her to be, and she explained the whole process to us while the boys played with her Zen Garden and the little rubber dog with the peppercorn "poop" strewn around the garden. (Engineers have warped humor... that's all I can say.) The Pass Nazi was not only excessively loud, but she was wrong. The Security Officer does not issue spousal passes. She was right, in that they aren't the same friendly, "come see our MWR, play on our beaches, and enjoy our parks" kind of passes that PAX offered, but still, the process wasn't as scary as all that. Silly Pass Nazi.
We came home. The boys watched a movie and/or napped. I slept like the dead for two hours, until Zorak came in to ask, "Honey, do you know a Jean?" OH! JEAN! Yes, we loaded up and headed down to Cracker Barrel to have a late-late dinner with the traveling Jean in Wisc. and her children. Wow. Her children are so pleasant. She is so sweet and funny. I wish we'd had a couple of days at our leisure. As it was, we had a late dinner and although they must have all been exhausted, we really enjoyed being able to meet with them. For the record, if we ever have a daughter, I want Jean's parenting tips, in hardbound copy with margin notes. Jean in Wisc. and Melissa in VA need to co-author a book on raising daughters. Pretty please???
Smidge and John were out cold and drooling by the time we got home. James was awake only through concerted effort not to stop talking. After he had some snuggle time, he was also off to dreamland.
So we'll take the day off tomorrow: today was worth being there for. Definitely.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We lugged our packet (for the record, Zorak's security clearance applications weren't this thick!) and nervously crept into his office to drop off the package, ask a million questions, and then slink back out. The boys sat at a large mahogany desk, doing word puzzles and quietly telling each other jokes. I didn't hear parts of the meeting because I was really engrossed in just watching the boys. Well, I've been praying to keep my priorities in line, and once that folder left my hot little hands, there was nothing left for me to do. So I enjoyed my boys. Tremendously. They were so sweet!
We tried to get a temporary pass for me so that I could drop off Zorak once in a while and have transportation. That didn't happen. The lady at the pass office is, oh, what is the term? Oh, yes, "disgruntled federal employee". Whoever thought she needed to be dealing with the public doesn't like people! After repeatedly shouting at Zorak, "SECURITY OFFICER! SECURITY OFFICER!!" (instructing him to talk to his security officer, not calling for one, thankfully) she turned on me and, in true Soup Nazi style, informed me that if (AND ONLY IF!) I somehow miraculously get approved for a pass, I can only drop him off and leave. I'd better not ever get out of the car. Ever. Or NO PASS FOR YOU! Oooooookay...
We went to the Security Officer, who fails miserably at being the terrifying ogre the pass lady wants her to be, and she explained the whole process to us while the boys played with her Zen Garden and the little rubber dog with the peppercorn "poop" strewn around the garden. (Engineers have warped humor... that's all I can say.) The Pass Nazi was not only excessively loud, but she was wrong. The Security Officer does not issue spousal passes. She was right, in that they aren't the same friendly, "come see our MWR, play on our beaches, and enjoy our parks" kind of passes that PAX offered, but still, the process wasn't as scary as all that. Silly Pass Nazi.
We came home. The boys watched a movie and/or napped. I slept like the dead for two hours, until Zorak came in to ask, "Honey, do you know a Jean?" OH! JEAN! Yes, we loaded up and headed down to Cracker Barrel to have a late-late dinner with the traveling Jean in Wisc. and her children. Wow. Her children are so pleasant. She is so sweet and funny. I wish we'd had a couple of days at our leisure. As it was, we had a late dinner and although they must have all been exhausted, we really enjoyed being able to meet with them. For the record, if we ever have a daughter, I want Jean's parenting tips, in hardbound copy with margin notes. Jean in Wisc. and Melissa in VA need to co-author a book on raising daughters. Pretty please???
Smidge and John were out cold and drooling by the time we got home. James was awake only through concerted effort not to stop talking. After he had some snuggle time, he was also off to dreamland.
So we'll take the day off tomorrow: today was worth being there for. Definitely.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, August 1
What Makes You Laugh?
Our humor standards are admitedly pretty low around here. If you want a guaranteed laugh out of four of the five of us, just ask a question - any question - and then fart as the answer. It's shameful, I know. (If it helps my reputation any, I willingly point out that Smidge laughs at these things, not me. He's the fourth gunman.) The boys make us laugh. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes just by being themselves. It's fun to watch them become aware of the intricacies of humor and how it works, too.
Since just about anything is funny, there is a LOT of laughter in our home. It isn't all along the base quality of bodily functions, although those do seem innately part of the territory when you have a house full of boys. (I swear, nobody taught them to high-five each other when one of them does something loudly, or uniquely, or spontaneously.) Also, puns and word plays are huge hits here. We try to steer dinner table conversation toward the more cerebral humor, which sometimes works, sometimes not. The boys really enjoy rhyming games, made-up stories, and riddles. Zorak and I really enjoy watching the boys enjoy these things.
Tonight, Smidge came to the table covered in black and blue woolen Indian blanket lint. I didn't know they had lint, nor did I know it would stick to a toddler. It seems that if the toddler is first coated in whistle-pop drool and then wrapped in the blanket, he comes out looking a little like a bruised, mangy teddy bear. The boys found this hilarious. Smidge found their good humor infectous. "Why did he do that, Dad?" Well, that's just what babies do...
Then they wanted to know what funny things they'd done when they were Smidge's age...
So we told them "when you were Smidge's age" stories, and oh, how they laughed. John's stealth attack on the pinata head; the year and a half he spent with the Toddler Inquisition - just walking into a room with his hands outstretched, "Where'd it GO? I don't know!" and roaming out again, still talking to himself (we never did find out what he was looking for); his tendency to flush just one sock from each pair down the commode and how we could not figure out where all his socks were going; the way he would leap into a doorway, shout "Buggah!" and then disappear...
They laughed and giggled.
James' household redecoration project comprised mainly of a Costco-sized sqeeze bottle of mustard; his first (and only) failed gas joke; his Kermit-Must-Die campaign the Christmas of 2000; the time he stacked everything on Miss Heather's counter into her toilet and flushed (thankfully, only the contact lenses could get down the drain)...
the boys howled with laughter.
John laughed so hard he choked.
James had tears streaming down his face.
Smidge laughed and squealed, until it got too loud for his taste. Then he stood on the couch, pointing and growling, and doing a priceless imitation of my Mom when she was irritated but not willing to let you in on why. He had us doubled up with laughter.
It wasn't so much the stories themselves (some were simply not humorous at the time they occurred), but the connections the boys saw between themselves (who they generally view as rational and intelligent beings) and Smidge (who can be completely alien sometimes), and the realization that we all do silly things from time to time. It's refreshing to know that it's ok, and we get out in one piece, and in the end, we really can laugh about it later. I think the boys enjoyed knowing that, remembering that.
By the time we'd cleared the table and put everyone to bed, things were quieter. Occasionally we'd hear a wee little voice from the bedroom whisper, "Buggah!" and fits of stiffled giggles ensued, but thankfully Zorak and I were on the porch, where the boys couldn't hear us.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Since just about anything is funny, there is a LOT of laughter in our home. It isn't all along the base quality of bodily functions, although those do seem innately part of the territory when you have a house full of boys. (I swear, nobody taught them to high-five each other when one of them does something loudly, or uniquely, or spontaneously.) Also, puns and word plays are huge hits here. We try to steer dinner table conversation toward the more cerebral humor, which sometimes works, sometimes not. The boys really enjoy rhyming games, made-up stories, and riddles. Zorak and I really enjoy watching the boys enjoy these things.
Tonight, Smidge came to the table covered in black and blue woolen Indian blanket lint. I didn't know they had lint, nor did I know it would stick to a toddler. It seems that if the toddler is first coated in whistle-pop drool and then wrapped in the blanket, he comes out looking a little like a bruised, mangy teddy bear. The boys found this hilarious. Smidge found their good humor infectous. "Why did he do that, Dad?" Well, that's just what babies do...
Then they wanted to know what funny things they'd done when they were Smidge's age...
So we told them "when you were Smidge's age" stories, and oh, how they laughed. John's stealth attack on the pinata head; the year and a half he spent with the Toddler Inquisition - just walking into a room with his hands outstretched, "Where'd it GO? I don't know!" and roaming out again, still talking to himself (we never did find out what he was looking for); his tendency to flush just one sock from each pair down the commode and how we could not figure out where all his socks were going; the way he would leap into a doorway, shout "Buggah!" and then disappear...
They laughed and giggled.
James' household redecoration project comprised mainly of a Costco-sized sqeeze bottle of mustard; his first (and only) failed gas joke; his Kermit-Must-Die campaign the Christmas of 2000; the time he stacked everything on Miss Heather's counter into her toilet and flushed (thankfully, only the contact lenses could get down the drain)...
the boys howled with laughter.
John laughed so hard he choked.
James had tears streaming down his face.
Smidge laughed and squealed, until it got too loud for his taste. Then he stood on the couch, pointing and growling, and doing a priceless imitation of my Mom when she was irritated but not willing to let you in on why. He had us doubled up with laughter.
It wasn't so much the stories themselves (some were simply not humorous at the time they occurred), but the connections the boys saw between themselves (who they generally view as rational and intelligent beings) and Smidge (who can be completely alien sometimes), and the realization that we all do silly things from time to time. It's refreshing to know that it's ok, and we get out in one piece, and in the end, we really can laugh about it later. I think the boys enjoyed knowing that, remembering that.
By the time we'd cleared the table and put everyone to bed, things were quieter. Occasionally we'd hear a wee little voice from the bedroom whisper, "Buggah!" and fits of stiffled giggles ensued, but thankfully Zorak and I were on the porch, where the boys couldn't hear us.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, July 31
Deep thoughts out of left field
I started out to answer Jo's bit about what she'd like to see more of on my blog. But it's almost three in the morning, and it morphed. It morphed in a BIG WAY, because who I am now is due to all the things that brought me here, and the mother I am now is nowhere near the mother I hope and pray to be in five or ten years. I could just spit out platitudes and hope I don't sound trite, but well, with the chores done, the coffee hot, and the house quiet, this blog entry just sort of took off.
Jo, I didn't answer your question very well, and I apologize for that. I'll get around to it, but it seems my answer is buried under a lot of junk. This is going to take a couple of entries.
She wrote:
I... Uh... Hmmm.
Well, ok, I really do enjoy my children. They're the best and finest surprises I've ever received in my life. Smidge was a bit more of a shocker than the first two, but equally welcome and just as cherished. I'm not the best mother in the world. I blow it. I get overwhelmed. I have had to look my children in the eyes and apologize for making a rash or bad decision more than I care to admit. I look back daily and see things I could have done better or should have done differently. Sometimes I drive myself batty with the Monday Morning Quarterbacking. But in general, there is something to cherish in these kids every day. Life. Now, please know I don't throw that out there lightly. Life isn't something I have always cherished. It's not even something I liked at one point. To go from animosity and contempt to utter gratitude and treasured thankfulness isn't a flippant thing.
So I guess I will start there. My first thought when I read her request was that I really can't answer this. I think she has the wrong person. I do NOT have unending amounts of patience. I don't. I'm not even really a very gracious, forgiving, or lenient person. It's been a long, long road of learning these things, and I'm still painfully new at it. I didn't know them growing up. I most certainly didn't learn them in my first marriage. And I can (use your best Justin Wilson voice here) gaaaaaraauuuunteeee I didn't pick any of those traits up during my newly-divorced-recovery period. That leaves me with only about ten years of experience in learning about the good things in life.
It's funny, because as we anticipate the addition of our fourth child to the family, we are so very excited about it. Yet in response to the news, my sister sent me an email letting me know she thinks it's a huge cosmic joke God is playing on me as "payback". She can't believe the "girl who hated being part of a family would go on to have four kids". What she doesn't understand is that not only am I not the "girl" to whom she refers (I've lived in my own home for 15 years and she has been in my home once - and that was only because Mom refused to take her diamond stash to Denny's to be divided up among us kids - this isn't a woman who knows me from Adam at all), but also that I didn't hate being part of a family. I just knew mine was pretty messed up and I wouldn't have wished it on anyone, let alone brought a life into it.
And I didn't want children then. Not because I didn't want a home and a family. I actually yearned for those things with all my heart, but dared not even hope to have them because I was terrified I would be a really, really bad mother. I didn't believe I could be a nice person. I wasn't a forgiving person. I wasn't the kind of person you would describe as "nurturing" or "gentle" even in your most generous of moments. And I knew it, and that terrified me.
But then, by the grace of God, and I mean that literally, things began to change in big ways that I, a) did not welcome, b) did not know how to handle, c) had to handle anyway. The changes are still coming (at least I hope so - I have a long way to go!), but they were jump started by a series of crisis/lesson combos that crystallized any positive change in me to the mother of today from the black-and-white, bitter, angry woman I was. (I'm not saying you are, just that I was, in a big way.)
When I realized Zorak trusted me to be the mother to his children, it was huge. HUGE. Me. With all my faults and flaws and quirks. My temper. My gypsy instability. My stubbornness. My cynicism.
Trust is an amazing, healing, powerful sensation. It makes the recipient want to be worthy of that trust. It's similar to the urging of the Holy Spirit - once we grasp that He trusts us to follow Him, it's easier to let go and do just that. Because suddenly you know someone actually thinks you can do it, and do it beautifully. So you want to. God used Zorak to help me look beyond the walls I'd erected to protect myself and see the potential God had for me. I still didn't think I could do it, but He did. And I don't have to do it perfectly - none of us can, and He knows that, too. It's pretty amazing. And what's more amazing is that for the first time in my life I began to realize I didn't have to do it "all by myself", which I'd always thought was a given. (Duh!) I have my faith to lean on spiritually, and my husband to lean on physically, and all the wonderful people who have come into my life to guide me, chastise me, help me, trust me, and even, when necessary, mock me. Life is GOOD!
So for me, on a daily basis, I am really aware that I don't deserve this. That sensation most people joke about, "who thought we could be parents?" Well, for me that's still a funny joke, but it's not entirely a joke. It's huge. God has trusted me with a husband, and they have both trusted me to be "the Mommy". I get choked up just thinking about what an honor that is.
When I wake up in the morning to toes poking my abdomen and somebody laying on my hair, and a warm, groggy boy asking for food, I want to wrap my arms around them all and just stay. right. there. Forever. But they just keep getting hungrier if you don't feed them, so we get up and get going on our day.
Not before I've had my reminder, though, that someone trusts me to do right by these amazing little lives. Someone trusts me to keep them safe, to make them know they are precious, and to guide them in their growing. It's like God's little post-it note for me. You know, in case I forget.
Seriously, kiss those babies! They're huge, and they need us.
I'll write more tomorrow. I'm never going to stay away during church as it is, but maybe I can get a little rest so I can make it through Sunday School.
~Dy
Jo, I didn't answer your question very well, and I apologize for that. I'll get around to it, but it seems my answer is buried under a lot of junk. This is going to take a couple of entries.
She wrote:
I need you to help me figure out how I can also take so much pleasure in my children. I read your blog and I need your secrets. You seem to have unending amounts of patience and the ability to adore your children at all times. I need that. Share?
I... Uh... Hmmm.
Well, ok, I really do enjoy my children. They're the best and finest surprises I've ever received in my life. Smidge was a bit more of a shocker than the first two, but equally welcome and just as cherished. I'm not the best mother in the world. I blow it. I get overwhelmed. I have had to look my children in the eyes and apologize for making a rash or bad decision more than I care to admit. I look back daily and see things I could have done better or should have done differently. Sometimes I drive myself batty with the Monday Morning Quarterbacking. But in general, there is something to cherish in these kids every day. Life. Now, please know I don't throw that out there lightly. Life isn't something I have always cherished. It's not even something I liked at one point. To go from animosity and contempt to utter gratitude and treasured thankfulness isn't a flippant thing.
So I guess I will start there. My first thought when I read her request was that I really can't answer this. I think she has the wrong person. I do NOT have unending amounts of patience. I don't. I'm not even really a very gracious, forgiving, or lenient person. It's been a long, long road of learning these things, and I'm still painfully new at it. I didn't know them growing up. I most certainly didn't learn them in my first marriage. And I can (use your best Justin Wilson voice here) gaaaaaraauuuunteeee I didn't pick any of those traits up during my newly-divorced-recovery period. That leaves me with only about ten years of experience in learning about the good things in life.
It's funny, because as we anticipate the addition of our fourth child to the family, we are so very excited about it. Yet in response to the news, my sister sent me an email letting me know she thinks it's a huge cosmic joke God is playing on me as "payback". She can't believe the "girl who hated being part of a family would go on to have four kids". What she doesn't understand is that not only am I not the "girl" to whom she refers (I've lived in my own home for 15 years and she has been in my home once - and that was only because Mom refused to take her diamond stash to Denny's to be divided up among us kids - this isn't a woman who knows me from Adam at all), but also that I didn't hate being part of a family. I just knew mine was pretty messed up and I wouldn't have wished it on anyone, let alone brought a life into it.
And I didn't want children then. Not because I didn't want a home and a family. I actually yearned for those things with all my heart, but dared not even hope to have them because I was terrified I would be a really, really bad mother. I didn't believe I could be a nice person. I wasn't a forgiving person. I wasn't the kind of person you would describe as "nurturing" or "gentle" even in your most generous of moments. And I knew it, and that terrified me.
But then, by the grace of God, and I mean that literally, things began to change in big ways that I, a) did not welcome, b) did not know how to handle, c) had to handle anyway. The changes are still coming (at least I hope so - I have a long way to go!), but they were jump started by a series of crisis/lesson combos that crystallized any positive change in me to the mother of today from the black-and-white, bitter, angry woman I was. (I'm not saying you are, just that I was, in a big way.)
When I realized Zorak trusted me to be the mother to his children, it was huge. HUGE. Me. With all my faults and flaws and quirks. My temper. My gypsy instability. My stubbornness. My cynicism.
Trust is an amazing, healing, powerful sensation. It makes the recipient want to be worthy of that trust. It's similar to the urging of the Holy Spirit - once we grasp that He trusts us to follow Him, it's easier to let go and do just that. Because suddenly you know someone actually thinks you can do it, and do it beautifully. So you want to. God used Zorak to help me look beyond the walls I'd erected to protect myself and see the potential God had for me. I still didn't think I could do it, but He did. And I don't have to do it perfectly - none of us can, and He knows that, too. It's pretty amazing. And what's more amazing is that for the first time in my life I began to realize I didn't have to do it "all by myself", which I'd always thought was a given. (Duh!) I have my faith to lean on spiritually, and my husband to lean on physically, and all the wonderful people who have come into my life to guide me, chastise me, help me, trust me, and even, when necessary, mock me. Life is GOOD!
So for me, on a daily basis, I am really aware that I don't deserve this. That sensation most people joke about, "who thought we could be parents?" Well, for me that's still a funny joke, but it's not entirely a joke. It's huge. God has trusted me with a husband, and they have both trusted me to be "the Mommy". I get choked up just thinking about what an honor that is.
When I wake up in the morning to toes poking my abdomen and somebody laying on my hair, and a warm, groggy boy asking for food, I want to wrap my arms around them all and just stay. right. there. Forever. But they just keep getting hungrier if you don't feed them, so we get up and get going on our day.
Not before I've had my reminder, though, that someone trusts me to do right by these amazing little lives. Someone trusts me to keep them safe, to make them know they are precious, and to guide them in their growing. It's like God's little post-it note for me. You know, in case I forget.
Seriously, kiss those babies! They're huge, and they need us.
I'll write more tomorrow. I'm never going to stay away during church as it is, but maybe I can get a little rest so I can make it through Sunday School.
~Dy
Saturday, July 30
Good Saturday Morning!
Today is a day without endless phone calls or negotiations. I am excited about it. We might take the kids to Southern Adventures (I have to check on today's expected high, first!) Or we might go swimming. Whatever we do, it'll be together, as a family, and I'm excited about that.
We have pulled money from stray body parts. We have stood on our heads to get different angles. We thought, for a second, that we'd found an option that might work, but then it came back with an exorbitant interest rate (there is value in doing "outside-the-box properties", as he said, and ours is outside the box, but we couldn't afford his value-added benefits!) Laney even graciously shared her mortgage guy's name, and we talked with him. He can do mortgages here, but not farm properties. However, if anyone needs a loan up in the NE, check that guy out. He got on the horn and got back to me and was very nice about the whole thing! No wonder she likes him. So today we drop off one last Hail Mary package and then there is nothing to be done until next week. I'm glad. My hair hurts.
Costco has clementines!!! WOOHOO! Those are the only oranges we've ever found that are consistently sweet and juicy. They don't go bad, and since they come in a box, there's no stress for me trying to figure out just by osmosis which ones are going to be good. (I'm really bad at picking out good citrus.) So that's what we're having for breakfast. *contented sigh* I love Costco.
I'm not, however, eager to tackle the laundry. If another loan avenue came about that might pan out, I'd drop the wash in a heartbeat and get back on the phone. So, I guess it certainly could be worse, eh? *grin*
What are you guys doing this weekend? I wanna hear about YOU!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We have pulled money from stray body parts. We have stood on our heads to get different angles. We thought, for a second, that we'd found an option that might work, but then it came back with an exorbitant interest rate (there is value in doing "outside-the-box properties", as he said, and ours is outside the box, but we couldn't afford his value-added benefits!) Laney even graciously shared her mortgage guy's name, and we talked with him. He can do mortgages here, but not farm properties. However, if anyone needs a loan up in the NE, check that guy out. He got on the horn and got back to me and was very nice about the whole thing! No wonder she likes him. So today we drop off one last Hail Mary package and then there is nothing to be done until next week. I'm glad. My hair hurts.
Costco has clementines!!! WOOHOO! Those are the only oranges we've ever found that are consistently sweet and juicy. They don't go bad, and since they come in a box, there's no stress for me trying to figure out just by osmosis which ones are going to be good. (I'm really bad at picking out good citrus.) So that's what we're having for breakfast. *contented sigh* I love Costco.
I'm not, however, eager to tackle the laundry. If another loan avenue came about that might pan out, I'd drop the wash in a heartbeat and get back on the phone. So, I guess it certainly could be worse, eh? *grin*
What are you guys doing this weekend? I wanna hear about YOU!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, July 29
Friday's Update
I am not sure what part of "Can you do loans in Alabama?" translates to, "We're in Lincoln County, Tennessee," but evidently I have a scrambler in my larynx that causes this confusion. Probably ought to have a doctor look at that.
So, this leaves us with the best bet so far now unable to help us. He directed us to another guy we talked to previously, who this guy says "can" do the same thing (although it's interesting that he didn't mention that in our conversations... would've been handy).
Zorak has been talking to a lady in Birmingham who he is excited about. I talked to her briefly and realized that while I still talk too fast for the local folks, I have definitely slowed down a bit and three minutes on the phone with this woman were enough for me to happily let Zorak handle that one. Ugh. How strange.
On the plus side, I did find a termite and bug place that I love. These folks were wonderful and didn't insist on wrangling a trip to the site before giving me any information at all about their process or products. What a relief!
OK, I'm off to recalibrate, eat some lunch, and dive back in.
This will be ok. This will be ok. This will be ok. It would also be nice if it didn't kill me in the process, but this will be ok.
So, this leaves us with the best bet so far now unable to help us. He directed us to another guy we talked to previously, who this guy says "can" do the same thing (although it's interesting that he didn't mention that in our conversations... would've been handy).
Zorak has been talking to a lady in Birmingham who he is excited about. I talked to her briefly and realized that while I still talk too fast for the local folks, I have definitely slowed down a bit and three minutes on the phone with this woman were enough for me to happily let Zorak handle that one. Ugh. How strange.
On the plus side, I did find a termite and bug place that I love. These folks were wonderful and didn't insist on wrangling a trip to the site before giving me any information at all about their process or products. What a relief!
OK, I'm off to recalibrate, eat some lunch, and dive back in.
This will be ok. This will be ok. This will be ok. It would also be nice if it didn't kill me in the process, but this will be ok.
I cannot get sick.
I refuse.
Yet, it's one-thirty and I'm up. I can't get comfortable enough to sleep.
I've been laid up on the couch, puking, moaning and shivering since shortly after my last phone call of the day. This feels like the flu, but with some kind of beating on top of it.
Zorak brought me a crackers and water, made me a "sick jug", rubbed my aching legs and feet, and made fun of me.
I've been on the phone so much today, trying to find someone to do this, that I have run down the batteries on both cell phones and our land phone. All three - dead. Both cells phones were charged, run down, fully recharged and run back down to empty. That is, my friends, a long time on the phone.
But was it worth it, you ask? I don't know. I'd like to think so. I'd like to think there is a law of averages for every "no" that brings us just that much closer to the one "yes" we need. And I am going to cling to that thought with the desperate hope Leo didn't show in Titanic. OK, I might take the dive if I was getting paid that much to do it, but still... it was the best I could come up with in my current condition.
I'm working on an upbeat post. Well, two, actually. The first one I'd like to post will probably include graphics of various people in states of ecstasy - leaping, weeping, and kissing strangers. They might be actual pictures of me, accosting total stranger with my joy over getting a loan. BUT, the back up post includes the funny things that have happened along the way. There have been smiles, there has been laughter that isn't creepy. It's all still good, even right now in the dark of the night with what feels like the result of letting an accupuncturist in the lower 2% of his class practice for finals... and I will share them with you when the fog clears.
Oh, guys, it's not the little things. Not the details. Not the laundry or the broken dishes or the planning. Those things do need attention, but not an inordinate amount of attention. Tomorrow morning, we have to hit the mortgage pavement bright 'n early, get just a little farther down the path. Then it will be out of our hands for a while, and we are going to grab those babies and love on them like they're heading off to college tomorrow. We're going to just soak up the giggles and snuggles, and even take the boundary testing with a grain of salt and a teaspoon of sugar (or perhaps an alcoholic-based tincture, but hey, it's a teaspoon). We are going to spend the day reminding ourselves why we're even attempting this project.
Kiss those babies!
Dy
Yet, it's one-thirty and I'm up. I can't get comfortable enough to sleep.
I've been laid up on the couch, puking, moaning and shivering since shortly after my last phone call of the day. This feels like the flu, but with some kind of beating on top of it.
Zorak brought me a crackers and water, made me a "sick jug", rubbed my aching legs and feet, and made fun of me.
I've been on the phone so much today, trying to find someone to do this, that I have run down the batteries on both cell phones and our land phone. All three - dead. Both cells phones were charged, run down, fully recharged and run back down to empty. That is, my friends, a long time on the phone.
But was it worth it, you ask? I don't know. I'd like to think so. I'd like to think there is a law of averages for every "no" that brings us just that much closer to the one "yes" we need. And I am going to cling to that thought with the desperate hope Leo didn't show in Titanic. OK, I might take the dive if I was getting paid that much to do it, but still... it was the best I could come up with in my current condition.
I'm working on an upbeat post. Well, two, actually. The first one I'd like to post will probably include graphics of various people in states of ecstasy - leaping, weeping, and kissing strangers. They might be actual pictures of me, accosting total stranger with my joy over getting a loan. BUT, the back up post includes the funny things that have happened along the way. There have been smiles, there has been laughter that isn't creepy. It's all still good, even right now in the dark of the night with what feels like the result of letting an accupuncturist in the lower 2% of his class practice for finals... and I will share them with you when the fog clears.
Oh, guys, it's not the little things. Not the details. Not the laundry or the broken dishes or the planning. Those things do need attention, but not an inordinate amount of attention. Tomorrow morning, we have to hit the mortgage pavement bright 'n early, get just a little farther down the path. Then it will be out of our hands for a while, and we are going to grab those babies and love on them like they're heading off to college tomorrow. We're going to just soak up the giggles and snuggles, and even take the boundary testing with a grain of salt and a teaspoon of sugar (or perhaps an alcoholic-based tincture, but hey, it's a teaspoon). We are going to spend the day reminding ourselves why we're even attempting this project.
Kiss those babies!
Dy
Thursday, July 28
Coming Clean for Donna's Sake
Ok, so Donna doesn't feel bad, I'll come clean about this, too.
We're not married. Not according to the State of New Mexico, anyway. Not according to the First Church of the Nazarene, either (I called today - the pastor didn't even record it in the church's log - thanks, Buddy!). Also checked with PAX, and they didn't make copies, so although they saw the certificate, they cannot verify that they saw it.
Funny, isn't it. For the record, I will think horrible thoughts on the first person to ask what else can happen! So just - don't say it! I don't want to know what else could happen. Just do not want to know. *shhhhhh*
Um, on the upside, we do have photographs from both the wedding and the reception. Some are a little compromising, but that's fine. Allow me to apologize to all of the groomsmen in advance: sorry, guys. And, if we absolutely have to, we can lock the kids on the patio with water and beef jerkey to keep them out of the way while we open every. single. box. in storage to find our marriage certificate.*
We still feel married. That counts, doesn't it?
On the home front, the sellers have countered, but we can't reply until we hear back. Mtg. Guy 1 said at ten this morning that he'd know for sure "in fifteen minutes". It's 12:40 now... and he's stopped answering his phone. That's probably not a good sign.
I'm now offering a side of beef from our first cow to any mortgage lender who can get this through! Any takers? Any mortgage lenders out there reading inane blogs on their lunch hour? Hey, stranger things have happened!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
*of course I'm joking!*
We're not married. Not according to the State of New Mexico, anyway. Not according to the First Church of the Nazarene, either (I called today - the pastor didn't even record it in the church's log - thanks, Buddy!). Also checked with PAX, and they didn't make copies, so although they saw the certificate, they cannot verify that they saw it.
Funny, isn't it. For the record, I will think horrible thoughts on the first person to ask what else can happen! So just - don't say it! I don't want to know what else could happen. Just do not want to know. *shhhhhh*
Um, on the upside, we do have photographs from both the wedding and the reception. Some are a little compromising, but that's fine. Allow me to apologize to all of the groomsmen in advance: sorry, guys. And, if we absolutely have to, we can lock the kids on the patio with water and beef jerkey to keep them out of the way while we open every. single. box. in storage to find our marriage certificate.*
We still feel married. That counts, doesn't it?
On the home front, the sellers have countered, but we can't reply until we hear back. Mtg. Guy 1 said at ten this morning that he'd know for sure "in fifteen minutes". It's 12:40 now... and he's stopped answering his phone. That's probably not a good sign.
I'm now offering a side of beef from our first cow to any mortgage lender who can get this through! Any takers? Any mortgage lenders out there reading inane blogs on their lunch hour? Hey, stranger things have happened!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
*of course I'm joking!*
The longest 24 hours so far
Well, as of last night at nine-thirty, the heirs still had not given the realtor an answer. She called us just to let us know she wasn't ignoring us. She'd spoken to a wife at four thirty who said they would call her after six. When she called us that evening, she'd also left two later messages with them, since they had 24 hours to reply.
However, we aren't planning to have a fit because we would sure like to find out what's going on with the financing issues. So, in its weird way, I suppose this is a good thing. This is what we might call, "Mixed blessings..." you know, in a sick, self-defeating sort of way...
But boy, this has been a long36 24 hours!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
However, we aren't planning to have a fit because we would sure like to find out what's going on with the financing issues. So, in its weird way, I suppose this is a good thing. This is what we might call, "Mixed blessings..." you know, in a sick, self-defeating sort of way...
But boy, this has been a long
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, July 27
Why not? (House stuff)
Well, remember that I wrote yesterday that we were approved for a loan on the Forever Home? Yeah. Strike that. I mean, we're still approved. We're good-to-go. But not on that property. Or, rather, not that much property. They won't do a mortgage at X-amount for the full acreage, but might do it for the same money on a third of the acreage... I'm not sure where the hold up is or what is to be done about it. To be honest, I don't see the logic in this process and neither do any of the loan officers I've spoken with today.
My morning began with this phone call:
Mtg. Guy 2: Hi, Mrs. E. I need to get more information from you about this property. I don't know why, but it seems we can't do 84 acres. We can do 30, if the owners will gift you the remaining acreage...
Me: What?
Mtg. Guy 2: Well, it seems we just can't do a mortgage for a house with that much land on it.
Me: Not even for a farm loan?
Mtg. Guy 2: No. It's too much land. I really don't know what the problem is.
Me: Well, that's ok. I appreciate your call, but Mtg. Guy 1 at Company A said we can do it, so we'll go with them.
Mtg. Guy 2: Um, that's who told me we can't.
Me: Guy 1?!?
Mtg. Guy 2: No, some other guy, from the Birmingham office of Company A. He's in charge of what we can do, and he's the one who said that 30 acres is the best we can do on this.
Me: Um... let me call Mtg. Guy 1 and see if he knows anything about this. I'll get back with you.
The next five hours are a series of phone calls to Company A, Companies C through Q, realtor, Jess, the pastor, and Zorak. There was a half hour hyperventilation break in there somewhere.
I finally tracked Mtg. Guy 1 down somewhere in Tennessee, on his cell phone. He's baffled. He has no clue why they wouldn't do it, either. They didn't tell him it can't be done when he submitted it yesterday.
As of four thirty, Mtg. Guy 1 was going to make some phone calls and get back with me. (Still waiting on that, but the business day is over.) Mtg. Guy 2 is waiting to hear back from me what happens with this. Mtg. Guy 3 has three messages on his voice mail. Mtg. Guy 4 has two messages.
Meanwhile, the realtor is supposed to call us tonight with the reply from the heirs about our offer. WEEEEEEEE!!!
As a business decision, this is a no-brainer. Consider the following:
* The property appraises at approximately 12% over the asking loan value. So, there's equity right off the bat, just for carrying the note.
* There's no money in the loan for capital improvements; all improvements are to be paid by the buyer, cash out of our pocket (which has been verified to actually exist). Again, capital improvements with no investment by the bank. Another bonus.
* In three months, that house will appraise at approximately 2/3 more than its current value. (We believe we can double the value, but we can actually guarantee 2/3 increase from the work we will put into it.)
* our credit rating is strong
* Zorak's income more than qualifies to cover the payments. (And on a morbid note, if he dies, he's insured.)
* This is a long-term investment by people who have a 20 year plan; people who have already achieved a seven-year plan in six years. We aren't talking slackers, here.
This is a win-win business deal for the bank. So where is the bank that will take this money-maker and run with it? Anyone? Anyone?
Ugh. So I guess my job now is to find The Guy Who Makes These Decisions and talk with him. In person.
Kiss those babies, and pass the Rescue Remedy.
Dy
My morning began with this phone call:
Mtg. Guy 2: Hi, Mrs. E. I need to get more information from you about this property. I don't know why, but it seems we can't do 84 acres. We can do 30, if the owners will gift you the remaining acreage...
Me: What?
Mtg. Guy 2: Well, it seems we just can't do a mortgage for a house with that much land on it.
Me: Not even for a farm loan?
Mtg. Guy 2: No. It's too much land. I really don't know what the problem is.
Me: Well, that's ok. I appreciate your call, but Mtg. Guy 1 at Company A said we can do it, so we'll go with them.
Mtg. Guy 2: Um, that's who told me we can't.
Me: Guy 1?!?
Mtg. Guy 2: No, some other guy, from the Birmingham office of Company A. He's in charge of what we can do, and he's the one who said that 30 acres is the best we can do on this.
Me: Um... let me call Mtg. Guy 1 and see if he knows anything about this. I'll get back with you.
The next five hours are a series of phone calls to Company A, Companies C through Q, realtor, Jess, the pastor, and Zorak. There was a half hour hyperventilation break in there somewhere.
I finally tracked Mtg. Guy 1 down somewhere in Tennessee, on his cell phone. He's baffled. He has no clue why they wouldn't do it, either. They didn't tell him it can't be done when he submitted it yesterday.
As of four thirty, Mtg. Guy 1 was going to make some phone calls and get back with me. (Still waiting on that, but the business day is over.) Mtg. Guy 2 is waiting to hear back from me what happens with this. Mtg. Guy 3 has three messages on his voice mail. Mtg. Guy 4 has two messages.
Meanwhile, the realtor is supposed to call us tonight with the reply from the heirs about our offer. WEEEEEEEE!!!
As a business decision, this is a no-brainer. Consider the following:
* The property appraises at approximately 12% over the asking loan value. So, there's equity right off the bat, just for carrying the note.
* There's no money in the loan for capital improvements; all improvements are to be paid by the buyer, cash out of our pocket (which has been verified to actually exist). Again, capital improvements with no investment by the bank. Another bonus.
* In three months, that house will appraise at approximately 2/3 more than its current value. (We believe we can double the value, but we can actually guarantee 2/3 increase from the work we will put into it.)
* our credit rating is strong
* Zorak's income more than qualifies to cover the payments. (And on a morbid note, if he dies, he's insured.)
* This is a long-term investment by people who have a 20 year plan; people who have already achieved a seven-year plan in six years. We aren't talking slackers, here.
This is a win-win business deal for the bank. So where is the bank that will take this money-maker and run with it? Anyone? Anyone?
Ugh. So I guess my job now is to find The Guy Who Makes These Decisions and talk with him. In person.
Kiss those babies, and pass the Rescue Remedy.
Dy
Tuesday, July 26
Overdue House Hunting Yarn
Have a seat, kids, and let me tell you the tale of the House Hunt of '05. It's a tale of big adjustments, bad timing, and strange characters. I'll leave it up to you to decide what's what...
Oh, nevermind. I'll just cut to the chase. Things have been cruising along and progress has been made, but truthfully, it's been at a painfully uninteresting pace. Nothing like blog entry after blog entry along the lines of,
Or, increasingly as of late, they'd look like this:
Mostly, other than tripling the mileage on our vehicle while we stalk the county roads, it's been a lot of calling, emailing, and waiting. "Did you find the missing well yet?" That's been a common theme. And then there's the ever popular, "So are you actually going to send us a plat? Would you like us to just come get it? We can come get it. Honest."
Through all of this, though, one property has been "the one". Zorak knew it, and I knew it, but neither of us was willing to admit it just yet. Zorak, because it's a mighty big leap that will leave us with a very small parachute. He wanted to be certain he was thinking properly and not just trying to smush us all into some way for him to live out his post-apocalyptic fantasies. Me, because... because this property scares the living snot out of me. It's the property with the "not just no, but he-- no" house on it. You remember, the one that would be condemned in most third world countries as unfit for habitation? That one.
But, over the weekend, upon viewing the last six properties on the market short of moving into town, we had our epiphany. This is probably the one. It's the best bet for what we want to do. It has no chance of being annexed into any city in the next fifty years. It is less than an hour's drive for Zorak, and it already has fencing. Housing? We don' need no stinkin' housing! We got a reciprocating saw and plumber's tape, man.
We've finagled and figured (and kinda swore a little, here and there) and came to the conclusion that we could live in the apartment for a month while we rehabilitated the house to make it safe enough to put a family in. We aren't shooting for pretty yet, just safe. It's gonna be hot, and it's gonna be scary, but it can be done. And we decided we're the ones juststupid enough er, equipped to do it.
So today we finalized the loan approval and put in an offer. It was a good offer. They'd have jumped on it a month ago. Unfortunately, one of the heirs just had the property reappraised and it came in about 27K over the list price. (The DEA really needs to check up on that appraiser...) One of the heirs has now forgotten that this property has sat, idle, for a year and a half; that the house needs to be set on fire or filmed for a nature documentary on the ecosystem of insects, fungi, and wild dogs; that everyone who is involved with maintaining the property is on disability for "back problems" and nobody's taking care of it... all that heir sees now is dollar signs and he wants to raise the list price. One of the others wants to take the offer and be done with it. The third is willing to take the offer, but is being swayed by the entrepreneur of the bunch to counter. They've got until tomorrow afternoon to decide how they'll respond.
This may be the longest 24 hours of our lives. Hopefully, the real adventure will begin soon! I'll let ya know what happens.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Oh, nevermind. I'll just cut to the chase. Things have been cruising along and progress has been made, but truthfully, it's been at a painfully uninteresting pace. Nothing like blog entry after blog entry along the lines of,
"Saw eighteen properties tonight. Five with the headlights on high-beam, and the folks at Game and Fish may be getting suspicious. Down payment or bond money? Only time will tell. Boys slept in the car. Smidge goes longer between diaper changes on these excursions than any child we've ever seen, yet his skin is quite healthy. It must be the slime from sweat and oil that coats us daily. Still nothing that screams, 'Buy Me!'. Or at least not to both of us at the same time. Will try again Friday."
Or, increasingly as of late, they'd look like this:
Kill me now. Dear God, please just make it end.
Mostly, other than tripling the mileage on our vehicle while we stalk the county roads, it's been a lot of calling, emailing, and waiting. "Did you find the missing well yet?" That's been a common theme. And then there's the ever popular, "So are you actually going to send us a plat? Would you like us to just come get it? We can come get it. Honest."
Through all of this, though, one property has been "the one". Zorak knew it, and I knew it, but neither of us was willing to admit it just yet. Zorak, because it's a mighty big leap that will leave us with a very small parachute. He wanted to be certain he was thinking properly and not just trying to smush us all into some way for him to live out his post-apocalyptic fantasies. Me, because... because this property scares the living snot out of me. It's the property with the "not just no, but he-- no" house on it. You remember, the one that would be condemned in most third world countries as unfit for habitation? That one.
But, over the weekend, upon viewing the last six properties on the market short of moving into town, we had our epiphany. This is probably the one. It's the best bet for what we want to do. It has no chance of being annexed into any city in the next fifty years. It is less than an hour's drive for Zorak, and it already has fencing. Housing? We don' need no stinkin' housing! We got a reciprocating saw and plumber's tape, man.
We've finagled and figured (and kinda swore a little, here and there) and came to the conclusion that we could live in the apartment for a month while we rehabilitated the house to make it safe enough to put a family in. We aren't shooting for pretty yet, just safe. It's gonna be hot, and it's gonna be scary, but it can be done. And we decided we're the ones just
So today we finalized the loan approval and put in an offer. It was a good offer. They'd have jumped on it a month ago. Unfortunately, one of the heirs just had the property reappraised and it came in about 27K over the list price. (The DEA really needs to check up on that appraiser...) One of the heirs has now forgotten that this property has sat, idle, for a year and a half; that the house needs to be set on fire or filmed for a nature documentary on the ecosystem of insects, fungi, and wild dogs; that everyone who is involved with maintaining the property is on disability for "back problems" and nobody's taking care of it... all that heir sees now is dollar signs and he wants to raise the list price. One of the others wants to take the offer and be done with it. The third is willing to take the offer, but is being swayed by the entrepreneur of the bunch to counter. They've got until tomorrow afternoon to decide how they'll respond.
This may be the longest 24 hours of our lives. Hopefully, the real adventure will begin soon! I'll let ya know what happens.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, July 25
Well, hi there!
Zorak gave me the computer last night when he finished his stuff, but the couch had already sucked me into its vortex. There was no moving.
We did a marathon househunting run yesterday, 6 properties, all after four PM. Poor kids. It went fairly well, and we did find two potential "back-up" properties I need to call on today. However, I think we are pretty much decided to put in an offer and see what happens on one of the places we've looked at before.
This week should be interesting. Zorak voluntarily offered to "really try to communicate during this..." Oh? What brought that on, Love? "Well, you know," he said. "This is the kind of thing that really has potential. I mean, bodies disappear during projects like this. So, I want you to know I'll actually really try to communicate with you on this process."
I'm encouraged, and yet...
The boys are doing the basic three with school: math, reading/writing, Latin. (I know, that looks like four, but not the way we do it.) Then it's off to the pool each day. Lessons begin on August 2nd! WooHoo! This is as close to enjoying summer as it's gonna get, folks. Here we go!
Wish us luck, and happy thoughts! We're going to need it this week!
And always kiss those babies!
~Dy
We did a marathon househunting run yesterday, 6 properties, all after four PM. Poor kids. It went fairly well, and we did find two potential "back-up" properties I need to call on today. However, I think we are pretty much decided to put in an offer and see what happens on one of the places we've looked at before.
This week should be interesting. Zorak voluntarily offered to "really try to communicate during this..." Oh? What brought that on, Love? "Well, you know," he said. "This is the kind of thing that really has potential. I mean, bodies disappear during projects like this. So, I want you to know I'll actually really try to communicate with you on this process."
I'm encouraged, and yet...
The boys are doing the basic three with school: math, reading/writing, Latin. (I know, that looks like four, but not the way we do it.) Then it's off to the pool each day. Lessons begin on August 2nd! WooHoo! This is as close to enjoying summer as it's gonna get, folks. Here we go!
Wish us luck, and happy thoughts! We're going to need it this week!
And always kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, July 24
Tigger is Dangerous, but Life is Good
At least if he's on a Zebco kids' fishing combo. Turns out they used lead paint on the ones sold from some time in 2001 until "March 2005"... um, wasn't lead paint determined to be dangerous... and not a good choice for children's products... oh, a looooong time ago? Huh. I wonder who forgot to tell the guys who got the contract for that job? Anyway, Zebco is voluntarily recalling the poles and we've joined in our first child-related recall. Not bad, considering we're on child number four in seven years, really.
It was 100'F today. I haven't had the fortitude to peek at the humidity. Let's just say, we stayed in. The boys made cards. We played with the pipes and legos. We ate chili dogs and watched a movie together. I napped on the couch with a warm, snuggly Smidge - and then Zorak napped on the floor with a warm, snuggly John (aka - the 50 pound electric blanket). It was just nice.
I have to confess, we feel like we're getting away with something here. We get so much out of watching the boys conspire to save the world, from holding those tiny (and growing) hands to say grace before a meal, from sharing jokes all around between bites, and hearing the boys ask to hear about this-or-that: how does this work, what is that for, is there such a thing as... Sitting cross-legged on the floor, piles of children everywhere, eating popcorn and taking turns telling or reading stories... Zorak and I look at one another and giggle like teenagers with inside jokes. How did we get so lucky? Not all days are full-to-the-brim with things like that, but if we take the time to look, we see that every day has at least one of those things. Most days have more than one. Then days like today are just one after another until we want to go roll in the grass like happy dogs, with that full-body wiggle that denotes utter happiness.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
It was 100'F today. I haven't had the fortitude to peek at the humidity. Let's just say, we stayed in. The boys made cards. We played with the pipes and legos. We ate chili dogs and watched a movie together. I napped on the couch with a warm, snuggly Smidge - and then Zorak napped on the floor with a warm, snuggly John (aka - the 50 pound electric blanket). It was just nice.
I have to confess, we feel like we're getting away with something here. We get so much out of watching the boys conspire to save the world, from holding those tiny (and growing) hands to say grace before a meal, from sharing jokes all around between bites, and hearing the boys ask to hear about this-or-that: how does this work, what is that for, is there such a thing as... Sitting cross-legged on the floor, piles of children everywhere, eating popcorn and taking turns telling or reading stories... Zorak and I look at one another and giggle like teenagers with inside jokes. How did we get so lucky? Not all days are full-to-the-brim with things like that, but if we take the time to look, we see that every day has at least one of those things. Most days have more than one. Then days like today are just one after another until we want to go roll in the grass like happy dogs, with that full-body wiggle that denotes utter happiness.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, July 22
The 9 o'clock news, broadcast from our porch.
Rumors are flying right now amidst allegations that the Zorak clan has found a groove. Independent sources are claiming that it's actually more of a rut, but the spokesman for the household went on record as saying, "You say to-may-to... eh, who cares?" We'll update as more information comes available.
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY to Melissa and Race!! Our staff is anxiously awaiting the anniversary where she posts that they've been together (or even in the same state) for more anniversaries than they have been apart. In the meantime, here's a toast to you and Race for keeping it together for fifteen years, keeping it strong, and loving one another through it! Congratulations, guys!
Somewhere in Northern Alabama, an *ahem* unidentified woman was heard to mutter into her cell phone, "Tell me this 'six' thing does not extend past the seventh birthday." The recipient's reply was drowned by the unidentified woman's wailing and the distinct sound of tearing sackcloth. We repeat, this woman has no identifying marks, is completely indistinguishable from every other mother of six year old children everywhere. Analysts without children tried to comment, but were beaten from their podiums by an angry mob of analysts with children. No charges have been filed.
Zorak has announced, "He just won't shut up!" Yes, folks, he's hit John Galt's 39-page monologue in Atlas Shrugged (page count has been confirmed by independent sources, not affiliated with any political party or persuasion). It seems Mr. Galt had a lot to say to make up for his absence in the first 98% of the story.
Mr. Incredible is quoted as saying, in response to Zorak's outburst, that he, "Could have escaped by now..."
In today's health and family, "Small Children Fry Quickly". This is not a recipe. It is a warning: don't change swim suit styles on your toddler mid-way through swim season. Thank you.
And since I just had to go and have a birthday while Zorak was gone, he bestowed me with a belated birthday gift upon his return. That's all the news worth sharing, folks. I am off to enjoy the calgonesque effects of reading with tonight's selections: Alexander Hamilton: A Biography (Forrestt McDonald) and my new birthday book, It Takes A Family (Rick Santorum).
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY to Melissa and Race!! Our staff is anxiously awaiting the anniversary where she posts that they've been together (or even in the same state) for more anniversaries than they have been apart. In the meantime, here's a toast to you and Race for keeping it together for fifteen years, keeping it strong, and loving one another through it! Congratulations, guys!
Somewhere in Northern Alabama, an *ahem* unidentified woman was heard to mutter into her cell phone, "Tell me this 'six' thing does not extend past the seventh birthday." The recipient's reply was drowned by the unidentified woman's wailing and the distinct sound of tearing sackcloth. We repeat, this woman has no identifying marks, is completely indistinguishable from every other mother of six year old children everywhere. Analysts without children tried to comment, but were beaten from their podiums by an angry mob of analysts with children. No charges have been filed.
Zorak has announced, "He just won't shut up!" Yes, folks, he's hit John Galt's 39-page monologue in Atlas Shrugged (page count has been confirmed by independent sources, not affiliated with any political party or persuasion). It seems Mr. Galt had a lot to say to make up for his absence in the first 98% of the story.
Mr. Incredible is quoted as saying, in response to Zorak's outburst, that he, "Could have escaped by now..."
In today's health and family, "Small Children Fry Quickly". This is not a recipe. It is a warning: don't change swim suit styles on your toddler mid-way through swim season. Thank you.
And since I just had to go and have a birthday while Zorak was gone, he bestowed me with a belated birthday gift upon his return. That's all the news worth sharing, folks. I am off to enjoy the calgonesque effects of reading with tonight's selections: Alexander Hamilton: A Biography (Forrestt McDonald) and my new birthday book, It Takes A Family (Rick Santorum).
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, July 21
That went quickly!
Hi. It's Thursday. Zorak arrived safely. The boys and I had a great week. I am officially useless after about seven, though, and it was nice to have him back today.
Yesterday we lost power yesterday and the phone line died, too. There was a cable cut somewhere down the road and I guess they caught e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g with whatever large digging implement they had on hand. We had power back within half an hour, but the phone line just never came back on. When I called, the nice Phone Guy said they should have it back up by Monday. (YIKES!) I guess, contractually, they have five days to make repairs. Weird. I gave him the "small children in the house" bit and he put me on the imaginary list that makes callers feel better. As if they could or would miraculously restore phone service to just my apartment rather than the entire complex, I know - and as if there aren't small children in all four complexes down this road, yes. I know. But you know, it does work, and "the caller" does feel better having been told they're on the "priority list". So I'm mentally frail at this point and a panacea actually works - I'm good with that.
The boys had their swim lesson tonight. I am thankful the instructor is so kind and diligent, and I'm even more thankful it's not on my shoulders anymore. Well, not solely on my shoulders. I've changed the plan for our weeks: we'll do lessons, go swim as a family, come home and hide from the hot 'n sticky afternoons. Then when Zorak comes home, I'll take one boy each evening down to the pool for some one-on-one interaction. I figure I'm not gettin' any smaller this summer, so any extra time in the bliss of less gravitational force is a bonus for me. The individual time with each of the boys will be fun. And... they really, really need it. Other than that, I'm just going to reiterate that I am. so. thankful. to have this man teach them this process. It was painful just to watch from the hallway. Ugh.
That's about all here. I had some thoughts brewing on motherhood and family the other day, but they're going to have to ferment a bit longer. I cheated and read the last chapter of Doctor Zhivago this afternoon, and now I've got to finish reading so I can find out how they got from here to there. Happy reading!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Yesterday we lost power yesterday and the phone line died, too. There was a cable cut somewhere down the road and I guess they caught e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g with whatever large digging implement they had on hand. We had power back within half an hour, but the phone line just never came back on. When I called, the nice Phone Guy said they should have it back up by Monday. (YIKES!) I guess, contractually, they have five days to make repairs. Weird. I gave him the "small children in the house" bit and he put me on the imaginary list that makes callers feel better. As if they could or would miraculously restore phone service to just my apartment rather than the entire complex, I know - and as if there aren't small children in all four complexes down this road, yes. I know. But you know, it does work, and "the caller" does feel better having been told they're on the "priority list". So I'm mentally frail at this point and a panacea actually works - I'm good with that.
The boys had their swim lesson tonight. I am thankful the instructor is so kind and diligent, and I'm even more thankful it's not on my shoulders anymore. Well, not solely on my shoulders. I've changed the plan for our weeks: we'll do lessons, go swim as a family, come home and hide from the hot 'n sticky afternoons. Then when Zorak comes home, I'll take one boy each evening down to the pool for some one-on-one interaction. I figure I'm not gettin' any smaller this summer, so any extra time in the bliss of less gravitational force is a bonus for me. The individual time with each of the boys will be fun. And... they really, really need it. Other than that, I'm just going to reiterate that I am. so. thankful. to have this man teach them this process. It was painful just to watch from the hallway. Ugh.
That's about all here. I had some thoughts brewing on motherhood and family the other day, but they're going to have to ferment a bit longer. I cheated and read the last chapter of Doctor Zhivago this afternoon, and now I've got to finish reading so I can find out how they got from here to there. Happy reading!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, July 18
The Flight That Wouldn't Leave!
Wow, I should probably check the news to see if Zorak has arrived at his destination. At this point, however, I have no idea what airline he was on or which hubs he went through, let alone an actual flight number! Airline people despise callers like that, so until I know he has his luggage safely in hand, I'm not calling anyone!
It was a rough one for him, and that's bad, considering he hadn't yet been given his routine "random" search the last time we spoke (oh yes, every flight, every time, always). I don't imagine the trip got much better. On the painfully Pollyanna side, though, the repeated equipment malfunctions and stray terriors chewing on landing gear (or whatever the problems were) did allow us to go back to the airport a couple hours after we dropped him off and join him for lunch. That was a nice treat. Then it was back to the relative normalcy of our lives while he continued to try to get out of Huntsville.
Once we figured he was in the clear (or would call if things changed again), we drove around, enjoying the thrill of the open road. I gave the boys squishies and corn chips and they were happy little accomplices. Oh, sure, we did pay for swim lessons, explore the dive shop, pick up a new Bible for the boys, hit the market, check the mail, return some library books, and gas up the Suburban. But those were nothing compared to getting out 'n about! WEEEE!
Evenings without Daddy take on a whole different tone. They're more orderly, more efficient, and not nearly as much fun. My gypsy genes don't get me all the way through the day on "full performance mode". It didn't help that I cried and sniffled my way through tonight's Mowgli reading. I don't know if it's a good sign or not that the boys no longer get worried about me when I burst into tears during a story. *grin*
However, all is quiet, and I'm going to go curl up with Doctor Zhivago and a cup of coffee for a while. Just until Zorak touches base.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
It was a rough one for him, and that's bad, considering he hadn't yet been given his routine "random" search the last time we spoke (oh yes, every flight, every time, always). I don't imagine the trip got much better. On the painfully Pollyanna side, though, the repeated equipment malfunctions and stray terriors chewing on landing gear (or whatever the problems were) did allow us to go back to the airport a couple hours after we dropped him off and join him for lunch. That was a nice treat. Then it was back to the relative normalcy of our lives while he continued to try to get out of Huntsville.
Once we figured he was in the clear (or would call if things changed again), we drove around, enjoying the thrill of the open road. I gave the boys squishies and corn chips and they were happy little accomplices. Oh, sure, we did pay for swim lessons, explore the dive shop, pick up a new Bible for the boys, hit the market, check the mail, return some library books, and gas up the Suburban. But those were nothing compared to getting out 'n about! WEEEE!
Evenings without Daddy take on a whole different tone. They're more orderly, more efficient, and not nearly as much fun. My gypsy genes don't get me all the way through the day on "full performance mode". It didn't help that I cried and sniffled my way through tonight's Mowgli reading. I don't know if it's a good sign or not that the boys no longer get worried about me when I burst into tears during a story. *grin*
However, all is quiet, and I'm going to go curl up with Doctor Zhivago and a cup of coffee for a while. Just until Zorak touches base.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
New Things, Nice Days
Once again, we were not horribly late to church, AND there was no all-out grouch-fest in the process of getting there. Granted, sometimes John wears whatever pants aren't popping at the button, I throw on sandals whether they match or not, James still lugs my GIGANTIC Concordia Self-Study Bible to Sunday School since we haven't found his Bible yet, Smidge finds stuff to eat in the carseat and arrives sticky, and Zorak... well, actually, Zorak shows up lookin' pretty with-it and composed. I'll have to find out how he does that. Anyway, whatever it is, I think we're getting the hang of it.
James asked if we could sit up front so he could see the pastor better. We tried it, and it worked great. Smidge managed okay until just before the sermon began. That's about an hour into the service, so that isn't bad for a little guy, but it's really great considering church falls smack in the middle of naptime... he starts out "iffy" at best during Bible Study and descends into madness from there. Thankfully, everyone stood up to sing just as he started to gain momentum, so I slipped him out to the nursery without feeling like a moving target in a rice field. Whew. He slept for half an hour in the nursery and enjoyed the rest of the time playing.
John wasn't anywhere near as squirmy as he normally is. He did very well staying in his seat, listening to the pastor, and singing along with the hymns. At one point, he did get a little sleepy-snuggly, and I had to redirect him because he started making gentle semi-snoring noises that were excruciatingly penetrating, in spite of their low volume. Evidently, the drone carried rather clearly because before I could get John upright again, Zorak flicked me in the back really hard, thinking I'd fallen asleep. I guess he read about the Baptist-Grandma-elbow-to-the-ribs method I blogged about a few weeks back...
James paid a lot of attention to the service, and we had a great time talking about it over Sonic slushies after church. He's beginning to understand the flow and pattern of the service, which is opening him up to new questions and explorations. I remember this phase of growing up in the church. This is important stuff. If you don't have the answers to the questions, you've got to be willing to look for the answers. And although the questions are sometimes endless, they are good. Just think if there were no questions, if there was no curiosity, if there was no search... the questions are the meat of it, and the answers you provide - or, rather, how you provide the answers - are the heart of it. This is the good stuff.
Zorak heads out tomorrow for a convention of scientificky stuff. The boys and I will fill our time doing the things Zorak would rather not be made to do, and while we'll have a grand time exploring, we'll be so thrilled when he gets back.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
James asked if we could sit up front so he could see the pastor better. We tried it, and it worked great. Smidge managed okay until just before the sermon began. That's about an hour into the service, so that isn't bad for a little guy, but it's really great considering church falls smack in the middle of naptime... he starts out "iffy" at best during Bible Study and descends into madness from there. Thankfully, everyone stood up to sing just as he started to gain momentum, so I slipped him out to the nursery without feeling like a moving target in a rice field. Whew. He slept for half an hour in the nursery and enjoyed the rest of the time playing.
John wasn't anywhere near as squirmy as he normally is. He did very well staying in his seat, listening to the pastor, and singing along with the hymns. At one point, he did get a little sleepy-snuggly, and I had to redirect him because he started making gentle semi-snoring noises that were excruciatingly penetrating, in spite of their low volume. Evidently, the drone carried rather clearly because before I could get John upright again, Zorak flicked me in the back really hard, thinking I'd fallen asleep. I guess he read about the Baptist-Grandma-elbow-to-the-ribs method I blogged about a few weeks back...
James paid a lot of attention to the service, and we had a great time talking about it over Sonic slushies after church. He's beginning to understand the flow and pattern of the service, which is opening him up to new questions and explorations. I remember this phase of growing up in the church. This is important stuff. If you don't have the answers to the questions, you've got to be willing to look for the answers. And although the questions are sometimes endless, they are good. Just think if there were no questions, if there was no curiosity, if there was no search... the questions are the meat of it, and the answers you provide - or, rather, how you provide the answers - are the heart of it. This is the good stuff.
Zorak heads out tomorrow for a convention of scientificky stuff. The boys and I will fill our time doing the things Zorak would rather not be made to do, and while we'll have a grand time exploring, we'll be so thrilled when he gets back.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)