The air was showing through on the pickup's front tires, so Zorak stopped in at a used tire shop yesterday and replaced them. That's usually a good way to go, but today he had to take the Suburban because one of them (on the truck) didn't hold air during the night. So, we're here for the day, but there's plenty to do here.
We'll gather some blackberries. I think some of the pears are ripe, too. The basement needs more work, as well.
The barn garden is sprouting beautifully. The salad garden has mystery plants, no root plants, and in spite of the lovely, mild summer, the lettuce and greens are a bit bitter. But oh, so pretty, anyway. Something ate the tops off the jalapeno plants. All that's left are green sticks protruding from the mulch.
John is reading the first Harry Potter book. James is nearly done with the sixth. I'm trying Great Expectations. We'll see how that goes - I'm not a big Dickens fan. And in between, we have plenty of fun adventures to take with Pooh and Frances, with Sal and Swimmy, with Sylvester and Chester. Yes, there's always plenty to do.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query basement. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query basement. Sort by date Show all posts
Wednesday, July 9
Tuesday, July 17
Hey
We lost power this morning around 7:45. That happens pretty often, so aside from cursing the wet clothes in the washer, I didn't think much of it. Got the boys up and we ran a few errands, thinking things would be fine by the time we got back.
We got back around 10:30. Still no power. OK, there's no storm, no hurricane, and I *know* our bills are upt to date. I called to see if they're working on something (and perhaps we just didn't get the notice). Hmmm, nope. Guy says he'll send someone out.
I set the kids up with a picnic breakfast consisting entirely of foods that don't require we open the fridge! Interesting, to say the least. Called the doc, described the bite (which looked more red, just as swollen, and a little pussier today). They said they could see us at one.
The Power Co. guy pulled in around 10:45. I unplugged the cell phone and climbed out of the car to greet him. Shut the car door. With the keys in, auxiliary power on, and doors locked. (Dang.)
That's when the time frame gets a bit Blurry - Power Guy tested the wires, and determined our transformer was hit by "something". He's guessing lightning. Considering something fell off it this weekend, I'm not surprised. Then he commented on the out-of-code meter box. (Yes, it's out of code; no, we didn't do it. That's the one part of the whole set-up we haven't fixed yet.) I mentioned (hopefully in a casual, non-panicky voice) that it's grandfathered in, and since the problem is at the transformer and not the service head, we're still good, right?!?!?. (Because I've spoken to the Head Mucky-Muck about putting in underground power lines, and he said once they cut it at the power head, they cannot put it back together until the box is brought up to code.) He laughs. I wasn't joking. RIGHT????
I scoured a slew of possible hiding spots for the spare key, and came up empty. Couldn't reach Zorak. Power Guy keept eyeballing the meter box. I could hear the battery on the Suburban draining, and could feel the panic beginning to ball up in my stomach.
Children clustered around Power Guy. Dog got into the picnic food.
Suddenly, like something out of Convoy, three more Power Co. trucks pulled up. Did you know it takes four power company trucks and eight workers to replace a transformer? The guys were very cool. They also completely blocked the driveway. (Because our transformer is IN our front yard, and serves both us and the neighbors - one of the joys of buying subdivided family properties.)
The clock was ticking on making the appointment... the dog, freshly sated on dried apricots and rice porridge, got stowed in the basement before he could pee on every truck the power company owns...Smidge and John emerged from the house decked out in construction garb, then proceeded to stand on the porch and hit one another with PVC hammers they'd built...
I wandered around, trying to figure out where we could have another key hidden, wondering if an arc would hit one of the workers before heading for a child, and how close to me do I need to keep the children in order to be able to either throw them out of harm's way or (more likely) get a very good look at their glowing eyes should an arc hit one of them. (I am also guessing a similar thought is the reason behind the number of workers for this procedure.)
Just as the power was restored and I'd given the children more food, I FOUND the key! WOOHOO! 12:45 - we can mostly make it. I ushered the boys and Emily of the Goopy Toe to the Suburban and we high-tailed it to town... in the land squall. Yep, full-on rainstorm that makes the word "rainstorm" sound sissified. (Which is why I call 'em landsqualls - much more fitting.) First one I've had to drive in this year. No squids, but that was a bit of a surprise. I think we saw a dolphin or two thrown across the windshield.
Doc said ant, or spider. Either way, use topical antibiotics. She's fine. I felt like a dork, but I'm not going to apologize. If I don't know what I'm up against, I'd rather feel sheepish for asking than wretched for not.
We got home around 3:30, and haven't stopped moving since. So much to do when the day is topsy-turvy like that! Zorak, the Man of My Dreams, offered to take the big boys to the game so I could stay home and get the littlest ones to bed. (Again, at 8:00 - what do people with small children do with these game times?) Really, if we'd had a normal day, where the boys (and I!) could have napped or rested, or stopped moving and panicking for a bit, perhaps we'd have all gone. But I'm very glad I didn't have to drag them out tonight.
Thank you for your feedback, and particularly for your sweet words. EmBaby is in high spirits this evening, and I'm glad she'll be a-okay. :-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, February 11
On Not Resting
Wow, Monday came in with a *bang* and then *fwoosh* the whole week flew by, and now *pow* it's Friday! Dang. Good stuff, but still. The calendar pen is near to bursting into flames.
Monday we had Scouts. I had to go wrangle some of the Boy Scouts to come set up and take down for Blue & Gold. My official pitch was that their reward would be service hours and all the homemade desserts they could stand. But we have a phenomenal bunch of boys, and they'd have agreed to come, even without the food. I think. Food is a pretty decent motivator for kids, though. We also got a team to volunteer to teach the Webelos how to do a color guard. Yay!
Tuesday was Scouts for the little guys. I had to give a quick presentation to them on the plan for the Blue & Gold, then go over the plan with the other Den leaders. We also kinda-sorta went through the supply closet. It's in a basement, and it's an old building. It was gross, really. However, thanks to the joy of plastics, most of the stuff is salvageable and/or sealed and totally still good. Score!
Wednesday we had the 6-month mass invasion of the kids' dentist office. They're so good to us, and the kids did fine. I forgot, again, to bring food (it takes a long time to get through five kids), and was on the verge of eating a hygienist by the time we left. We met Zorak for lunch at a buffet, thus saving hygienists across the Valley a gruesome fate. The rest of the day was taken up with music lessons and groceries and all the other normal niceties that Wednesdays bring.
Thursday, we got another 2" of snow! Zorak went in to have his arm looked at. He'd injured it when we went skiing, but... well, anyway, he went in. The doc suspects he damaged his rotator cuff and sent him for an MRI today. We'll know sometime next week if we're looking at surgery. We're really pulling for a big fat, "Hey, you just pulled it!" Meanwhile, the Wolf Den was snowed out of the outdoor flag ceremony for the morning, so we did what you do when you get snow in the South - we went out and played in it before it melted away.
And today... we got caught up on all the things we weren't doing the rest of the week. We had our postponed Den meeting, did ALL the schoolwork, tidied the house and prepared for the weekend, then collapsed for a movie night and shuffled everyone off to bed at a decent hour.
I honestly have no idea what we have going on this weekend. Zorak just told me we're getting the driveway graded tomorrow, and considering how badly it needs it, that's right up there with getting a dozen roses, so I'm pretty stoked about the potential for a great weekend! Maybe I'll return the favor by doing something equally romantic, like pruning the fruit trees. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday we had Scouts. I had to go wrangle some of the Boy Scouts to come set up and take down for Blue & Gold. My official pitch was that their reward would be service hours and all the homemade desserts they could stand. But we have a phenomenal bunch of boys, and they'd have agreed to come, even without the food. I think. Food is a pretty decent motivator for kids, though. We also got a team to volunteer to teach the Webelos how to do a color guard. Yay!
Tuesday was Scouts for the little guys. I had to give a quick presentation to them on the plan for the Blue & Gold, then go over the plan with the other Den leaders. We also kinda-sorta went through the supply closet. It's in a basement, and it's an old building. It was gross, really. However, thanks to the joy of plastics, most of the stuff is salvageable and/or sealed and totally still good. Score!
Wednesday we had the 6-month mass invasion of the kids' dentist office. They're so good to us, and the kids did fine. I forgot, again, to bring food (it takes a long time to get through five kids), and was on the verge of eating a hygienist by the time we left. We met Zorak for lunch at a buffet, thus saving hygienists across the Valley a gruesome fate. The rest of the day was taken up with music lessons and groceries and all the other normal niceties that Wednesdays bring.
Thursday, we got another 2" of snow! Zorak went in to have his arm looked at. He'd injured it when we went skiing, but... well, anyway, he went in. The doc suspects he damaged his rotator cuff and sent him for an MRI today. We'll know sometime next week if we're looking at surgery. We're really pulling for a big fat, "Hey, you just pulled it!" Meanwhile, the Wolf Den was snowed out of the outdoor flag ceremony for the morning, so we did what you do when you get snow in the South - we went out and played in it before it melted away.
And today... we got caught up on all the things we weren't doing the rest of the week. We had our postponed Den meeting, did ALL the schoolwork, tidied the house and prepared for the weekend, then collapsed for a movie night and shuffled everyone off to bed at a decent hour.
I honestly have no idea what we have going on this weekend. Zorak just told me we're getting the driveway graded tomorrow, and considering how badly it needs it, that's right up there with getting a dozen roses, so I'm pretty stoked about the potential for a great weekend! Maybe I'll return the favor by doing something equally romantic, like pruning the fruit trees. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, September 7
Project Blogging! Master Bath
We've been camped out in here...
"Somebody" was supposed to send for help, but we suspect they got distracted. Netflix Watch Instantly and a box of Cheez-Its, and hey, who needs parents, right?
We think we'll be done tomorrow. If not, I may just move the computer back there, so we can keep in touch. We have wireless; the kids won't miss a thing on Netflix.
In the meantime, we've also finished up most of the remaining (OK, "neglected") details on the house. Baseboards painted, door trims painted, ugly basement door in hall painted, previously painted doors re-hung (doors are over-rated, really). I even had John take the air return grille out and scrub it off with a brush and the jet blaster on the garden hose! Evidently, it's white. Huh.
And, we've taken out the Ghetto Adobe Pink in the kitchen (we love it, but it's too close to Kraftmaid's "Toffee Maple" finish, so there wasn't the *POP* we wanted) and replaced it with a creamy creamish cream color (which is not "white", okay? and yes, cream can *POP*. Really, it can) and green. Both, on one of the walls! I got a little nuts. Zorak still isn't sure if he's going to leave me unsupervised with the paint cans, again. But I *love* it! I used KathyJo's method of painting -- literally, called her up and begged her to hold my hand and walk me through it -- she is very patient with slow people. And I *LOVE* it.
I'll get pictures later, when the fridge is back in place, and all the other random things are not in the middle of the floor. Things always look worse right before they look better. Or, that's what I tell Zorak, anyway.
Kiss those babies!
"Somebody" was supposed to send for help, but we suspect they got distracted. Netflix Watch Instantly and a box of Cheez-Its, and hey, who needs parents, right?
We think we'll be done tomorrow. If not, I may just move the computer back there, so we can keep in touch. We have wireless; the kids won't miss a thing on Netflix.In the meantime, we've also finished up most of the remaining (OK, "neglected") details on the house. Baseboards painted, door trims painted, ugly basement door in hall painted, previously painted doors re-hung (doors are over-rated, really). I even had John take the air return grille out and scrub it off with a brush and the jet blaster on the garden hose! Evidently, it's white. Huh.
And, we've taken out the Ghetto Adobe Pink in the kitchen (we love it, but it's too close to Kraftmaid's "Toffee Maple" finish, so there wasn't the *POP* we wanted) and replaced it with a creamy creamish cream color (which is not "white", okay? and yes, cream can *POP*. Really, it can) and green. Both, on one of the walls! I got a little nuts. Zorak still isn't sure if he's going to leave me unsupervised with the paint cans, again. But I *love* it! I used KathyJo's method of painting -- literally, called her up and begged her to hold my hand and walk me through it -- she is very patient with slow people. And I *LOVE* it.
I'll get pictures later, when the fridge is back in place, and all the other random things are not in the middle of the floor. Things always look worse right before they look better. Or, that's what I tell Zorak, anyway.
Kiss those babies!
Saturday, November 10
Weird Family Traditions
Not much going on today. I culled and cleaned. The guys split wood. (This will be a recurring theme.) Zorak and I did enjoy dinner so very much. Not only was the food good (pulled pork, homemade slaw, leftover pintos - always better the second day), but the kids were on a roll. They are ridiculously funny, and their inside jokes keep one another in stitches. It's like having front row seats to a well-oiled comedy team. We laughed and listened, and generally enjoyed the entire evening.
And then, the guys settled in for what I jokingly refer to as their "stories". (Did your mother watch soap operas?) They are watching The Walking Dead. It's become A Thing they do. After supper a couple of nights a week, we let the Littles play video games or watch a movie in the basement (it's like a game room - not like we just shove them into a cellar for an hour), while Z and the Bigs spool up their show. They call me in to come watch with them, because they're cool like that. It *is* a good show. But, I get... tense. So I have to get up and walk around, switch out some laundry, get a cup of coffee at... crucial moments. Drives them nuts. "Mom! MOM! You're missing it!" Either one day they will understand, or they'll go to their graves thinking their mother just didn't know how to have a good time. Regardless, they're building memories. I hope they're good ones.
Deer season starts next week, the stores have the holiday displays in full swing, and the electric bill has mellowed out for the winter. That's all such comforting stuff. The kids are talking about making Christmas presents, and they're ready to get moving. After seeing what they did for birthdays this year, I'm looking forward to it!
We'll probably have to split more wood, first, though.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
And then, the guys settled in for what I jokingly refer to as their "stories". (Did your mother watch soap operas?) They are watching The Walking Dead. It's become A Thing they do. After supper a couple of nights a week, we let the Littles play video games or watch a movie in the basement (it's like a game room - not like we just shove them into a cellar for an hour), while Z and the Bigs spool up their show. They call me in to come watch with them, because they're cool like that. It *is* a good show. But, I get... tense. So I have to get up and walk around, switch out some laundry, get a cup of coffee at... crucial moments. Drives them nuts. "Mom! MOM! You're missing it!" Either one day they will understand, or they'll go to their graves thinking their mother just didn't know how to have a good time. Regardless, they're building memories. I hope they're good ones.
Deer season starts next week, the stores have the holiday displays in full swing, and the electric bill has mellowed out for the winter. That's all such comforting stuff. The kids are talking about making Christmas presents, and they're ready to get moving. After seeing what they did for birthdays this year, I'm looking forward to it!
We'll probably have to split more wood, first, though.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, April 3
A Busy Beginning
The big boys camped this weekend, so the littles and I worked around the house, then headed out for a little yard-sale action. I haven't had the umpf to try this with all five, yet, so a dry run with the smallest three seemed the most do-able. (I figured if it works with the least cooperative, then we're golden.) They were awesome and fantastic. I'm sure the stop at Dollar General for junk food before we hit the list of sales didn't hurt one bit.
Didn't find any bookshelves or patio furniture, which is what I'd hoped to find. But we did score some awesome lamps (for the bedroom re-do that I had to mention to Zorak when he got home and wondered aloud where on earth those lamps were supposed to go... it's, um, a project... for later... when your arm is healed and you build me the Farmhouse Bed for my birthday or Christmas... or something), a Springform pan (I now feel like a real grown-up), Dockers (for the child who can't just go grab something from the basement because, well, that's the joy of being the eldest - we don't keep spares for your random and uncontrollable growth spurts), a necklace (because who can pass up a string of pearls a'la Maggie Simpson for the girl, right?), a terra-cotta pot (to plant things in, because we do not have a single pot for planting things in, and this comes up a surprising number of times throughout the year, believe it or not - so, now we do!), and some other things I can't quite remember.
Then the pollen hit. And it laid the three smallest quite low, in a sneezy, snotty pit of springtime despair. Ew. We called it a day and went home to snuggle with the tissues and clary sage oil. *sniffle* Meatballs, salad, and a movie. Jacob was excited to be able to pick the movie for a change.
The bigs got home at some unholy hour. I have no idea. I was sound asleep, in spite of trying to stay awake through three episodes of Eureka and two chapters of some book. (The book was my downfall. It's like having someone read me a bedtime story, but without needing someone else to do the reading. Out like a light in two chapters!)
What with the pollen and the general trip exhaustion, we did not make it to church today. We did not make it much of anywhere past the compost bin, actually.
And then, this afternoon, we had company. A sweet couple and their precious little baby boy. They're new here. He just started working with Zorak. She and the wee one have been staying with family while he house hunts, and they think they've found something. (*yay* it's on this side of the river!) They're expecting Baby2 in August. That poor woman has got to be exhausted beyond reason, but she's quite lucid and sweet and chipper. I wanted very much to offer up any of the beds for her to take a nap, but instead just held the baby so she could eat with both hands. (Didn't want to scare her off on the first visit.) Still, I should probably tip her off that this is a safe place to hide if she needs a nap in the future. We'll watch the babies, just close the door and pull the curtains...
And there we are, another week is up and running!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Didn't find any bookshelves or patio furniture, which is what I'd hoped to find. But we did score some awesome lamps (for the bedroom re-do that I had to mention to Zorak when he got home and wondered aloud where on earth those lamps were supposed to go... it's, um, a project... for later... when your arm is healed and you build me the Farmhouse Bed for my birthday or Christmas... or something), a Springform pan (I now feel like a real grown-up), Dockers (for the child who can't just go grab something from the basement because, well, that's the joy of being the eldest - we don't keep spares for your random and uncontrollable growth spurts), a necklace (because who can pass up a string of pearls a'la Maggie Simpson for the girl, right?), a terra-cotta pot (to plant things in, because we do not have a single pot for planting things in, and this comes up a surprising number of times throughout the year, believe it or not - so, now we do!), and some other things I can't quite remember.
Then the pollen hit. And it laid the three smallest quite low, in a sneezy, snotty pit of springtime despair. Ew. We called it a day and went home to snuggle with the tissues and clary sage oil. *sniffle* Meatballs, salad, and a movie. Jacob was excited to be able to pick the movie for a change.
The bigs got home at some unholy hour. I have no idea. I was sound asleep, in spite of trying to stay awake through three episodes of Eureka and two chapters of some book. (The book was my downfall. It's like having someone read me a bedtime story, but without needing someone else to do the reading. Out like a light in two chapters!)
What with the pollen and the general trip exhaustion, we did not make it to church today. We did not make it much of anywhere past the compost bin, actually.
And then, this afternoon, we had company. A sweet couple and their precious little baby boy. They're new here. He just started working with Zorak. She and the wee one have been staying with family while he house hunts, and they think they've found something. (*yay* it's on this side of the river!) They're expecting Baby2 in August. That poor woman has got to be exhausted beyond reason, but she's quite lucid and sweet and chipper. I wanted very much to offer up any of the beds for her to take a nap, but instead just held the baby so she could eat with both hands. (Didn't want to scare her off on the first visit.) Still, I should probably tip her off that this is a safe place to hide if she needs a nap in the future. We'll watch the babies, just close the door and pull the curtains...
And there we are, another week is up and running!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, February 3
Quick Check-in.
The basement's coming along. It is very, very yellow. This is good, in that we meant to paint it yellow. It's just that it's... well, there's a lot of yellow down there, now. I'm hoping some furniture will help disperse the visual before the children start having nightmares about hanging Sesame Street hides on the wall. It does look great, though, in general. Very clean. That won't last, but for now, there's that.
Unfortunately, as with any (every) project, the finished portions only highlight (and not in a good way) the Rest of the Stuff. And so, we either need to buy the stuff for acid etching the floor and hanging a dropped ceiling, or we need to remind someone (me) that we're still saving up for the kitchen window and the range vent. We want the window, and we need the range vent (the ceiling above the stove is in danger of looking much like we must cook over a peat fire).
So, it's true that, at some point (or every point), the project list is just a titch bigger than the project budget. But it's all good, because we will never (ever) be bored.
The boys are completely on board with the work, though. They got the grand idea that it would make a *fantastic* playroom. Then I mentioned that I'd like to get some hanging chairs. "Like the ones at IKEA?" They asked. The very ones. That was all it took. Although, mixed in with their help, they've logged a lot of time on "joist appraisal", so they'll have located Just The Right Spots picked out for hanging the chairs, when the time comes.
Yeah, this is good.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Unfortunately, as with any (every) project, the finished portions only highlight (and not in a good way) the Rest of the Stuff. And so, we either need to buy the stuff for acid etching the floor and hanging a dropped ceiling, or we need to remind someone (me) that we're still saving up for the kitchen window and the range vent. We want the window, and we need the range vent (the ceiling above the stove is in danger of looking much like we must cook over a peat fire).
So, it's true that, at some point (or every point), the project list is just a titch bigger than the project budget. But it's all good, because we will never (ever) be bored.
The boys are completely on board with the work, though. They got the grand idea that it would make a *fantastic* playroom. Then I mentioned that I'd like to get some hanging chairs. "Like the ones at IKEA?" They asked. The very ones. That was all it took. Although, mixed in with their help, they've logged a lot of time on "joist appraisal", so they'll have located Just The Right Spots picked out for hanging the chairs, when the time comes.
Yeah, this is good.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Saturday, February 14
Weekend Warrior - Project Blogging
The first: tie-backs for the living room curtains. Because nothing says, "I have completely given up trying" quite like using your couch to hold back the curtains. But have we given up? Well, not yet. So, I bring you the first completed project of the Warriors' Weekend Work:
The second: cull through the art in the basement and decide what gets hung. Then hang it. It is fortunate for me that Zorak forgot that was *this* weekend, or he may have had an emergency something-or-other to do up at Me-Wa's today. And tomorrow. Oh, and it might have taken 'til Monday. We're about 2/3 of the way through this one. I have six empty boxes and a pile of ready-to-hang framed things. But no pictures. Will do that tomorrow, when this project is complete.
The third: these stoopid little spots over the doors, one over the back kitchen door, and one over the hallway opening. We'd planned to do something interesting with wood there. Please don't ask, though. We don't remember what we were thinking. Which is probably why, three years later, they still aren't finished. However, we've decided we'll probably never remember what we were going to do, and so, the sheetrock is up and the mud is drying. Yay. (I took a picture, but Zorak pulled an Executive Order out of thin air and asked that I not post it.)
So, I will leave you with a photo from one of last week's project that didn't get blogged: balcony top rails. Wide enough for coffee cups, yes indeed.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, May 15
I thought I'd told you about that.
But I've just searched the blog, and it seems I never mentioned it. However, to tell tonight's story, I have to tell the first story, so...
The first Scout meeting we attended, back in December, turned out to be one where a Sheriff's Deputy spoke about arrest warrants, drug use, and other niceties of the trade. He was very good with the boys, and they were all riveted to the spot. One of the kids asked him what the most common warrant is that they issue. The Deputy said there's actually a lot of meth activity in this area...
Cue James, who listens, kind of, and joins in at random times, occasionally with disjointed information that may - or may not - be pertinent to the discussion. Our first contact with a new group of people seems to be a fairly regular, and not-as-random-as-I'd-prefer, occasion for sharing information out of context.
"Oh, yes! My Mom said meth is easy to make in your basement!"
*blink* *blink*
...Are ya gonna follow up on that comment?
Nope.
A few minutes later, as the Nice Officer explained that marijuana is a plant that is grown, and some of the other drugs are made from chemicals, James again decided to move straight to the head of the class (or right into the interrogation lamp, depending on your perspective) by offering:
"Yeah! My Mom said you can make meth with common household materials."
(Gah. Where IS this kid's mother, huh?!?)
Again, no further explanation. I'm out-to-here pregnant, with kids hanging all over, kind of dirty because we'd been working on the storm windows all day... and I'm wanting to DIE.
Now, what I'd said, in context, during one of our many "Drugs Will Destroy Your Soul And Make You Do Weird Things" discussions, was that meth is commonly made in homes in rural neighborhoods, and that the nice pharmacist asked me to sign for sinus medication because many common household materials, including OTC drugs, are used in the production of methamphetamines and the law enforcement agencies are trying to clamp down on that. THAT is what I said. Sounds totally different, doesn't it?
Right. So, here we are, six months later. I'm hoping the folks at Scouts are starting to get a feel for us (you know, like feeling fairly confident that we aren't whipping out crack in our spare time). James' den is talking about community, taxes, and law enforcement. His contribution to the discussion? Well, when the Scoutmaster pointed out that so-and-so's Dad (sitting right there - same guy who gave the talk in December) is a Deputy, James points out...
Well, if everybody followed the law, he'd be out of a job!
Sooo... this is the Economic Security Through Default Crime approach? Ahhh, yes. I'm kind of glad I wasn't there for that one. Thankfully, however, he's getting better. At least he followed this one up with,
They do learn. It's good stuff.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The first Scout meeting we attended, back in December, turned out to be one where a Sheriff's Deputy spoke about arrest warrants, drug use, and other niceties of the trade. He was very good with the boys, and they were all riveted to the spot. One of the kids asked him what the most common warrant is that they issue. The Deputy said there's actually a lot of meth activity in this area...
Cue James, who listens, kind of, and joins in at random times, occasionally with disjointed information that may - or may not - be pertinent to the discussion. Our first contact with a new group of people seems to be a fairly regular, and not-as-random-as-I'd-prefer, occasion for sharing information out of context.
"Oh, yes! My Mom said meth is easy to make in your basement!"
*blink* *blink*
...Are ya gonna follow up on that comment?
Nope.
A few minutes later, as the Nice Officer explained that marijuana is a plant that is grown, and some of the other drugs are made from chemicals, James again decided to move straight to the head of the class (or right into the interrogation lamp, depending on your perspective) by offering:
"Yeah! My Mom said you can make meth with common household materials."
(Gah. Where IS this kid's mother, huh?!?)
Again, no further explanation. I'm out-to-here pregnant, with kids hanging all over, kind of dirty because we'd been working on the storm windows all day... and I'm wanting to DIE.
Now, what I'd said, in context, during one of our many "Drugs Will Destroy Your Soul And Make You Do Weird Things" discussions, was that meth is commonly made in homes in rural neighborhoods, and that the nice pharmacist asked me to sign for sinus medication because many common household materials, including OTC drugs, are used in the production of methamphetamines and the law enforcement agencies are trying to clamp down on that. THAT is what I said. Sounds totally different, doesn't it?
Right. So, here we are, six months later. I'm hoping the folks at Scouts are starting to get a feel for us (you know, like feeling fairly confident that we aren't whipping out crack in our spare time). James' den is talking about community, taxes, and law enforcement. His contribution to the discussion? Well, when the Scoutmaster pointed out that so-and-so's Dad (sitting right there - same guy who gave the talk in December) is a Deputy, James points out...
Well, if everybody followed the law, he'd be out of a job!
Sooo... this is the Economic Security Through Default Crime approach? Ahhh, yes. I'm kind of glad I wasn't there for that one. Thankfully, however, he's getting better. At least he followed this one up with,
"But, you know, we should all probably still follow the law."Good save, kiddo! Good save.
They do learn. It's good stuff.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, April 21
13 is Hard
It just is. Everything grows at odd angles and nothing works right. The brain is fueled mostly by brilliant ideas and good intentions. There's a lot you don't know yet, but you're pretty sure you do. I get it. It's hard. I have empathy for 13 year olds everywhere.
But I also have a whole lot of sympathy for the mothers of 13 year olds.
Dear heaven, give us peace.
Block our nostrils and our ears
so that we may see the beauty in the discovery
over the stink in the bedroom or the snarl of the reply.
Help us teach them how to bend without breaking,
and forgive us for occasionally thinking
that maybe breaking them wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Grant us the ability to really hear the jokes they tell,
and really listen to the things they share.
Help us remember that our sweet babies are still in there,
trapped by the hormones and oil,
wanting to be loved and appreciated.
Help us appreciate them.
Also, Lord, help me not lose my tihs when he hasn't done his laundry again, slept in, and yet managed to grab coffee and slip down to the basement while I was in the shower. Again. He's a good kid. He's not burying bodies or building bombs down there, and for that, I am truly grateful. But that laundry's gotta get done...
Be encouraged (if only in knowing you're not alone, or that it could be worse, whichever fits)!
~ Dy
But I also have a whole lot of sympathy for the mothers of 13 year olds.
Dear heaven, give us peace.
Block our nostrils and our ears
so that we may see the beauty in the discovery
over the stink in the bedroom or the snarl of the reply.
Help us teach them how to bend without breaking,
and forgive us for occasionally thinking
that maybe breaking them wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Grant us the ability to really hear the jokes they tell,
and really listen to the things they share.
Help us remember that our sweet babies are still in there,
trapped by the hormones and oil,
wanting to be loved and appreciated.
Help us appreciate them.
Also, Lord, help me not lose my tihs when he hasn't done his laundry again, slept in, and yet managed to grab coffee and slip down to the basement while I was in the shower. Again. He's a good kid. He's not burying bodies or building bombs down there, and for that, I am truly grateful. But that laundry's gotta get done...
Be encouraged (if only in knowing you're not alone, or that it could be worse, whichever fits)!
~ Dy
Wednesday, September 17
Getting Comfy
They never had dentists like this when I was a kid... The dentist is so good that I would take the kids to him even if his office was in an abandoned basement from the Inquisition, to be honest. But the added perks, and the psychological benefit they provide, are definitely worth whatever this man wants to charge.
There are TVs mounted on the ceiling, and the kids can watch anything they want. There's always a movie playing. James got to watch The Price is Right while they worked on him. Plus, it's so cheerful and friendly. The whole tone of the office is that this is a great place to be. They even allow siblings (or maybe it's just our kids who do this - but the staff allows it) to come hang out with the one being treated...
They refer to the nose piece as "Mr. Nose". Em didn't have a visit today, so she stole John's and headed back to hang with Smidge. As an aside, does he look like a child who is about to have two huge cavities filled? No. Or, at least that's not what I looked like in that position. Not thirty years ago. Not last month.
Anyway, she tried something different...
This is where she remained until someone brought her a blown up glove...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
~Dy
Saturday, October 6
Sweater Weather!
It never got above 60 in the house today! I had all the windows open and made everyone put on sweaters when they complained about the cold. It was glorious. (The odds that it'll be warm enough to cook outside at Christmas are pretty high, so I have to grab it while I can. I may not be able to get away with wearing a sweater again until our mid-January cold snap, and by then, the windows will be sealed up tight.) Jacob asked for soup, so I'll put some bones in the crockpot to simmer overnight and we'll enjoy a lovely stock for soup tomorrow! He knows how to get in on the excitement, that one does.
We got in a great mix of academics and general grunt work this week. ("Great" being a purely subjective term. But they read and talked a lot, and we stayed on target with school. Plus, the basement looks magnificent, the Suburban is full of donations and things to go to friends, and the trash haul is going to be massive this week -- so if you're grading with a Mom Rubric, it was Great!)
And, you know how I mentioned that the boys had a blast on their ride? They've talked about it, shared stories from it, gushed about the things they loved, planned for the next one, brainstormed some amazing route ideas -- all on their own. All week long, they've been at it. I've received texts from parents telling me what fun their sons had, too. But at the meeting this week, when the SM asked for feedback from the boys, it was like they were all surprised there was a quiz and they didn't know what to say. So the only feedback he got was, "The hamburgers were good." :sigh: Really? Well, so much for breaking the inertia. I don't know how much support we'll be able to maintain for completing the badge as a group. I have asked some trusted friends what that is (that weird Beavis-ization of the man children that occurs the minute they walk into the Scout meeting - because it happens more often than not), and several of them swear it's normal for this age, and that they do get over it. I don't care so much about the normal part, but so help me, if they don't get over it soon I'm going to start drinking before we get to the meetings. And in the meantime, if any boy wants to ride, we'll ride. That's just how we roll. Er, ride. Whatever.
And - hey, we have a rooster! Actually, two confirmed roosters, and it sounds like we may have three or more, which would be a bit of a glitch on the hatchery's part, considering we ordered the all-hen layer mix. But they're fun and loud and healthy. Thank God for healthy! Oy. And so beautiful! James started looking up info today on how to get into showing chickens. There's a 4-H club somewhere, I'm sure - not here, but nearby. Anyway, I'm leaving it up to him. If he wants to show chickens, and is willing to do the legwork to get started (and handle them), then we'll buy a chicken hauler (or... a what? Let's hope he figures out how best to transport chickens) and we'll give it a shot. Still no eggs, though. I really hope we didn't end up with 19 roosters...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We got in a great mix of academics and general grunt work this week. ("Great" being a purely subjective term. But they read and talked a lot, and we stayed on target with school. Plus, the basement looks magnificent, the Suburban is full of donations and things to go to friends, and the trash haul is going to be massive this week -- so if you're grading with a Mom Rubric, it was Great!)
And, you know how I mentioned that the boys had a blast on their ride? They've talked about it, shared stories from it, gushed about the things they loved, planned for the next one, brainstormed some amazing route ideas -- all on their own. All week long, they've been at it. I've received texts from parents telling me what fun their sons had, too. But at the meeting this week, when the SM asked for feedback from the boys, it was like they were all surprised there was a quiz and they didn't know what to say. So the only feedback he got was, "The hamburgers were good." :sigh: Really? Well, so much for breaking the inertia. I don't know how much support we'll be able to maintain for completing the badge as a group. I have asked some trusted friends what that is (that weird Beavis-ization of the man children that occurs the minute they walk into the Scout meeting - because it happens more often than not), and several of them swear it's normal for this age, and that they do get over it. I don't care so much about the normal part, but so help me, if they don't get over it soon I'm going to start drinking before we get to the meetings. And in the meantime, if any boy wants to ride, we'll ride. That's just how we roll. Er, ride. Whatever.
And - hey, we have a rooster! Actually, two confirmed roosters, and it sounds like we may have three or more, which would be a bit of a glitch on the hatchery's part, considering we ordered the all-hen layer mix. But they're fun and loud and healthy. Thank God for healthy! Oy. And so beautiful! James started looking up info today on how to get into showing chickens. There's a 4-H club somewhere, I'm sure - not here, but nearby. Anyway, I'm leaving it up to him. If he wants to show chickens, and is willing to do the legwork to get started (and handle them), then we'll buy a chicken hauler (or... a what? Let's hope he figures out how best to transport chickens) and we'll give it a shot. Still no eggs, though. I really hope we didn't end up with 19 roosters...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, April 28
Flailing Across the Finish Line
So, y'all. Yesterday. Oh, my word. I was out cold on the couch with a good book by eight o'clock and that still wasn't early enough!
We had the pest control company out again yesterday to spray for fleas. Again. Still. Always. I suspect he's feeding them and has begun to think of us as his personal, off-site aquarium. When this contract is up, we're done. One year is ample time to get rid of fleas when you're working with a family that is all about the vacuuming and treating and keeping debris away from the house, setting light traps and not living like animals. Really? If that's not enough support for the flea treatments to get rid of these bad boys, then we need to consider contacting the CDC or just fire bombing the house and moving.
Also, although I do enjoy a clean house, we're all a little tired of stacking all our belongings atop the furniture every couple of weeks. It's to clear the floor so he can get everything, but it feels like a weird religious ritual at this point, and it's clearly not appeasing the blood gods, or whoever its meant to appease.
Ballroom was canceled for the older boys (their instructor had surgery and wasn't quite recovered yet), and that meant that there were seven of us to hustle out of the house instead of five. We decided we'd take the cars to the car wash and give them a thorough debriding. That's always good for an hour and a half, plus it's quite a workout.
We hit Mike's Merchandise, which is sort of a random overstock, discontinued, slightly-damaged things outlet. Also good for another hour and a half. Then we stopped in at John's work for ice cream and to visit with his coworkers. (I don't know if they appreciated that, but they're very kind. It's a good group of kids who work there. And the owner is a joy.) That gave enough time for the boys to head to class and the rest of us to start hauling Jacob to ballet.
Jacob had gotten up early and thrown in a load of wash (which, when you're 13, is pretty danged insightful). Unfortunately, it was a load he neeeeded for ballet that day. And we had to evacuate the house an hour before the wash would be done (which, when you're 13, you just don't think about timing - heck, at forty-something, I still get sideswiped by timing - it happens). We had scrambled a new plan that would allow us to give the treatment the maximum time to dry while allowing us to slip in and grab the clothes from the machine on our way to ballet. It was a brilliant plan.
Except that the water inlet valve on the washing machine died (a hero's death, truly) while we were out of the house. We came home to a washing machine full of water, a flooded basement, and wet clothes for ballet. The machine started spraying water into the hallway when Jacob opened the door.
If you've ever wondered if you can dry clothes on your way somewhere by holding them out the window as you drive, you can. It's a little awkward, particularly as you get into town, but if your drive is long enough it works surprisingly well.
Unfortunately, we were late for his first class. About a mile from the school, he realized that in the upheaval of finding buckets and towels and ringing out the wet clothes, he'd forgotten his bag. Bag has shoes. You can't attend class without your shoes. So we turned around and headed home. He was so sweet about the whole thing, and he really wanted to make his second class (he missed last week because he had a concussion). We decided to see what time it was when we pulled up and make the call from there.
Hey, we can make it! (I may have cried a little. Not from joy. He was joyful. I was tired. It's a 40 minute drive each way.) He grabbed his bag and we headed back out. I tagged Z to pick him up after class, dropped him off, and headed back to the house, where we finished dealing with the washer mess, vacuumed the couch and the rooms, made dinner, and read. *poof* Out cold.
I ordered some Fleabusters RX from Amazon and am considering installing misters filled with it throughout the house at ankle level to keep people from tracking fleas from one room to the next. I ordered a new inlet valve from Amazon and briefly considered checking to see if I could put it on Subscribe and Save. (The earliest we could get it in is May 2. Why is there not overnight shipping available for things like washing machine parts? If you see us at any point over the next week, please remember this is a mechanical failure not a lifestyle choice.)
Today, I've no idea what we're going to do, but I truly hope it doesn't involve driving. Or bugs.
Be encouraged!
~ Dy
We had the pest control company out again yesterday to spray for fleas. Again. Still. Always. I suspect he's feeding them and has begun to think of us as his personal, off-site aquarium. When this contract is up, we're done. One year is ample time to get rid of fleas when you're working with a family that is all about the vacuuming and treating and keeping debris away from the house, setting light traps and not living like animals. Really? If that's not enough support for the flea treatments to get rid of these bad boys, then we need to consider contacting the CDC or just fire bombing the house and moving.
Also, although I do enjoy a clean house, we're all a little tired of stacking all our belongings atop the furniture every couple of weeks. It's to clear the floor so he can get everything, but it feels like a weird religious ritual at this point, and it's clearly not appeasing the blood gods, or whoever its meant to appease.
Ballroom was canceled for the older boys (their instructor had surgery and wasn't quite recovered yet), and that meant that there were seven of us to hustle out of the house instead of five. We decided we'd take the cars to the car wash and give them a thorough debriding. That's always good for an hour and a half, plus it's quite a workout.
We hit Mike's Merchandise, which is sort of a random overstock, discontinued, slightly-damaged things outlet. Also good for another hour and a half. Then we stopped in at John's work for ice cream and to visit with his coworkers. (I don't know if they appreciated that, but they're very kind. It's a good group of kids who work there. And the owner is a joy.) That gave enough time for the boys to head to class and the rest of us to start hauling Jacob to ballet.
Jacob had gotten up early and thrown in a load of wash (which, when you're 13, is pretty danged insightful). Unfortunately, it was a load he neeeeded for ballet that day. And we had to evacuate the house an hour before the wash would be done (which, when you're 13, you just don't think about timing - heck, at forty-something, I still get sideswiped by timing - it happens). We had scrambled a new plan that would allow us to give the treatment the maximum time to dry while allowing us to slip in and grab the clothes from the machine on our way to ballet. It was a brilliant plan.
Except that the water inlet valve on the washing machine died (a hero's death, truly) while we were out of the house. We came home to a washing machine full of water, a flooded basement, and wet clothes for ballet. The machine started spraying water into the hallway when Jacob opened the door.
If you've ever wondered if you can dry clothes on your way somewhere by holding them out the window as you drive, you can. It's a little awkward, particularly as you get into town, but if your drive is long enough it works surprisingly well.
Unfortunately, we were late for his first class. About a mile from the school, he realized that in the upheaval of finding buckets and towels and ringing out the wet clothes, he'd forgotten his bag. Bag has shoes. You can't attend class without your shoes. So we turned around and headed home. He was so sweet about the whole thing, and he really wanted to make his second class (he missed last week because he had a concussion). We decided to see what time it was when we pulled up and make the call from there.
Hey, we can make it! (I may have cried a little. Not from joy. He was joyful. I was tired. It's a 40 minute drive each way.) He grabbed his bag and we headed back out. I tagged Z to pick him up after class, dropped him off, and headed back to the house, where we finished dealing with the washer mess, vacuumed the couch and the rooms, made dinner, and read. *poof* Out cold.
I ordered some Fleabusters RX from Amazon and am considering installing misters filled with it throughout the house at ankle level to keep people from tracking fleas from one room to the next. I ordered a new inlet valve from Amazon and briefly considered checking to see if I could put it on Subscribe and Save. (The earliest we could get it in is May 2. Why is there not overnight shipping available for things like washing machine parts? If you see us at any point over the next week, please remember this is a mechanical failure not a lifestyle choice.)
Today, I've no idea what we're going to do, but I truly hope it doesn't involve driving. Or bugs.
Be encouraged!
~ Dy
Monday, January 19
Sandwiched Between the Days
Well, folks, as we are motivated by urgency, I can finally say we have re-insulated the water line where it crosses the creek. This sounds great, doesn't it? Except for that bit about urgency. Yeah.
Thursday night, the low was 8 degrees. The first thing I heard that morning (around six) was Zorak announcing from the bathroom, "Bad news, sports fans." Ugh. I guessed (correctly) that didn't mean we were out of coffee. Turns out, eight degrees is cold enough that even leaving two faucets going doesn't help. Gah.
Since the weather wasn't looking to go above freezing anytime in the next two days (it had warmed up to a sultry nine degrees by seven-thirty), he stayed home that morning, we relegated the children to the wolves that raise all children-who-live-in-renovations, and we went about fixing the pipe.
We couldn't use flame to thaw the pipe because it's PVC. So we took the stockpot down to the creek and filled it with water. (Yay for the creek!) Then we boiled the water (yay for the camp stove!), cut an old towel into strips (yay for the rag bin!), and proceeded to strip the old insulation away from the pipe (boo-hiss for whoever insulated it that way to begin with).
Then it was just a matter of dipping and wrapping the towels around the pipe, refreshing each towel as it cooled. That took quite a while, but it worked beautifully as we went up and then over the creek. It was at that joint leading downward that we ran into a little glitch.
The pipe popped right out of the joint! It fell into the creek, and immediately cleared itself of residual ice, along with a few gallons of water, until we could find the key and turn off the water at the meter. Ah. Lovely. Turns out, it was never glued in. Well, not only was the pipe not cut at right angles, nor did it run at right angles, but it was jammed into 90-degree fittings and just sort of held there by a mixture of God and gravity.
It's not like whoever did this didn't know you should glue the pipe joints in a pressurized line together, as the various bits of wildly different lengths that were all stubbed together at random points were glued (though not w/ PVC glue - not sure what that was all about). It reminded both of us of Cinderhenge, in the Scary Room (the cinderblock pillars stretching up to nothingness, spread out through that room).
By then, it had warmed up to a balmy 19 degrees, and we figured we might as well put it back together properly. OK, Zorak figured we should put it back properly. I was all for just slapping it back in for now and thawing ourselves a bit before the frostbite set in. But for all my bellyaching, he was the one standing in the creek (the makeshift bridge kept giving way, and he finally just quit trying), and he wasn't wearing gloves (once they got wet, they were useless, anyway)... and HE wasn't complaining. So. Fine. We fixed it.
One trip to the basement for pipe and a hacksaw; one trip to the feed store for fittings and fresh glue; a whole lot of self-deprecation on my part for being such a total weenie when he's so stinkin' tough... and it's back together, with everything that goes into a 90-degree fitting actually running at a 90-degree angle, better insulated, and - most importantly - no longer frozen. Yay.
That set us back considerably on our weekend plans, but it was worth it. We have water. Yay.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday night, the low was 8 degrees. The first thing I heard that morning (around six) was Zorak announcing from the bathroom, "Bad news, sports fans." Ugh. I guessed (correctly) that didn't mean we were out of coffee. Turns out, eight degrees is cold enough that even leaving two faucets going doesn't help. Gah.
Since the weather wasn't looking to go above freezing anytime in the next two days (it had warmed up to a sultry nine degrees by seven-thirty), he stayed home that morning, we relegated the children to the wolves that raise all children-who-live-in-renovations, and we went about fixing the pipe.
We couldn't use flame to thaw the pipe because it's PVC. So we took the stockpot down to the creek and filled it with water. (Yay for the creek!) Then we boiled the water (yay for the camp stove!), cut an old towel into strips (yay for the rag bin!), and proceeded to strip the old insulation away from the pipe (boo-hiss for whoever insulated it that way to begin with).
Then it was just a matter of dipping and wrapping the towels around the pipe, refreshing each towel as it cooled. That took quite a while, but it worked beautifully as we went up and then over the creek. It was at that joint leading downward that we ran into a little glitch.
The pipe popped right out of the joint! It fell into the creek, and immediately cleared itself of residual ice, along with a few gallons of water, until we could find the key and turn off the water at the meter. Ah. Lovely. Turns out, it was never glued in. Well, not only was the pipe not cut at right angles, nor did it run at right angles, but it was jammed into 90-degree fittings and just sort of held there by a mixture of God and gravity.
It's not like whoever did this didn't know you should glue the pipe joints in a pressurized line together, as the various bits of wildly different lengths that were all stubbed together at random points were glued (though not w/ PVC glue - not sure what that was all about). It reminded both of us of Cinderhenge, in the Scary Room (the cinderblock pillars stretching up to nothingness, spread out through that room).
By then, it had warmed up to a balmy 19 degrees, and we figured we might as well put it back together properly. OK, Zorak figured we should put it back properly. I was all for just slapping it back in for now and thawing ourselves a bit before the frostbite set in. But for all my bellyaching, he was the one standing in the creek (the makeshift bridge kept giving way, and he finally just quit trying), and he wasn't wearing gloves (once they got wet, they were useless, anyway)... and HE wasn't complaining. So. Fine. We fixed it.
One trip to the basement for pipe and a hacksaw; one trip to the feed store for fittings and fresh glue; a whole lot of self-deprecation on my part for being such a total weenie when he's so stinkin' tough... and it's back together, with everything that goes into a 90-degree fitting actually running at a 90-degree angle, better insulated, and - most importantly - no longer frozen. Yay.
That set us back considerably on our weekend plans, but it was worth it. We have water. Yay.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, February 15
Weekend Plans
It's a long weekend, which doesn't bode well for making actual progress on our projects. And yet, we forge ahead with grand plans, anyway. (Ha - I typed "forget". Twice. How's that for fighting our natures?)
We have dirt coming at nine. A tractor to pick up at, erm, *whenever we get around to it* (skid steer - thingy with a bucket - whatever it's called, it's for moving dirt, and hopefully we'll be able to move enough dirt to put a bit of a non-Zen-like hurting on the Zen Waterfall in the basement!) Post holes to dig. Fence panels to build.
And, in case we run out of things to do (cough, cough, ahem), I have a brand new bottle of grout sealant. Because you just can't have too many layers of grout sealant on a boys' bathroom floor!
The boys are psyched about "getting" to use the post hole digger. Heh. You know, some things just look like a whole lot more fun than they are. This is one of them. And hey, since we've both used those things before, we are in no rush to explain that to the boys. We figure we can get a hole or two out of the big boys before they catch on that it's all a big, hairy illusion. We might even get one decent hole out of Smidge. That'll do.
I've decided the foyer needs a make-over. Not like it's "finished" to begin with, but more a functional make-over. I realized this evening that we really need a Central Command for bags and supplies. Some place to land everything when we come in, and have it ready to go when we need to go. Since we don't have a coat closet, mud room, game room, or garage, the foyer seems like as good a place as any. Or, more to the point, the foyer is the only place, other than the barn, that isn't already pulling its own weight around here. So it gets the job by default.
This ("this," being the whole "organizational, ready to be places on time" thing) is not my strong area, by any means. Particularly the "ready to be places on time" bit. Add in the need to be "prepared", and we're in way over our heads! My hope is to really tackle that demon and beat it down this spring. If I don't, I may end up on sedatives and st. john's wart/antacid cocktails before Memorial Day.
And... it's after eleven, and I can't think. I can't write. I am going to give up and go read. Sometimes, that's just how it goes. :-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We have dirt coming at nine. A tractor to pick up at, erm, *whenever we get around to it* (skid steer - thingy with a bucket - whatever it's called, it's for moving dirt, and hopefully we'll be able to move enough dirt to put a bit of a non-Zen-like hurting on the Zen Waterfall in the basement!) Post holes to dig. Fence panels to build.
And, in case we run out of things to do (cough, cough, ahem), I have a brand new bottle of grout sealant. Because you just can't have too many layers of grout sealant on a boys' bathroom floor!
The boys are psyched about "getting" to use the post hole digger. Heh. You know, some things just look like a whole lot more fun than they are. This is one of them. And hey, since we've both used those things before, we are in no rush to explain that to the boys. We figure we can get a hole or two out of the big boys before they catch on that it's all a big, hairy illusion. We might even get one decent hole out of Smidge. That'll do.
I've decided the foyer needs a make-over. Not like it's "finished" to begin with, but more a functional make-over. I realized this evening that we really need a Central Command for bags and supplies. Some place to land everything when we come in, and have it ready to go when we need to go. Since we don't have a coat closet, mud room, game room, or garage, the foyer seems like as good a place as any. Or, more to the point, the foyer is the only place, other than the barn, that isn't already pulling its own weight around here. So it gets the job by default.
This ("this," being the whole "organizational, ready to be places on time" thing) is not my strong area, by any means. Particularly the "ready to be places on time" bit. Add in the need to be "prepared", and we're in way over our heads! My hope is to really tackle that demon and beat it down this spring. If I don't, I may end up on sedatives and st. john's wart/antacid cocktails before Memorial Day.
And... it's after eleven, and I can't think. I can't write. I am going to give up and go read. Sometimes, that's just how it goes. :-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, February 1
It's February?
Wow. Didn't see that coming.
I've given in to the fact that although I crave time ALONE, I function better and am a much more civil human being if I actually get some sleep. So far, I haven't convinced myself that time asleep counts as time alone, so we're still hashing that out, my inner Introvert and I. Also, no blogging. No picture editing. No writing. No building-of-interesting-things. Something's gotta give, or there'll be a mutiny of bizarre proportions. Unfortunately, it seems winter is the time that it's hardest for me to carve out that time to myself.
February bring daffodils and buds on the dogwoods. It brings pruning time and planning time. And, eventually, the sun will rise before noon, which will help. The master bedroom only gets the very early morning sun, and that only comes through the window in the door. So, when the sun comes up later, it's a lovely little cave. A sensual hidey-hole, perhaps? Well, not with five kids. With children stealing the covers and emitting body heat in exchange, I open my eyes just long enough to peek at the window and tell myself it's still two in the morning, then roll over and go back to sleep, never quite registering the digital display that proves my sense of time to be so poorly calibrated.
So, it's a season of life, and all that jazz. I get it. Still, there's got to be a way to get sleep, tend to the needs of the Zorak (this week, he needs me to paint the new wall in the basement -- quit being dirty-minded), keep the kids fed and relatively tick-free, the house below DefCon 3, the education going, and still be left alone long enough to write, think, read. Don't have a *clue* what it is, yet, but it's got to exist. That's what keeps me going, sometimes.
But most of the time, what keeps me going is this:
And if I blink, let alone wander off too much, I'll miss it!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I've given in to the fact that although I crave time ALONE, I function better and am a much more civil human being if I actually get some sleep. So far, I haven't convinced myself that time asleep counts as time alone, so we're still hashing that out, my inner Introvert and I. Also, no blogging. No picture editing. No writing. No building-of-interesting-things. Something's gotta give, or there'll be a mutiny of bizarre proportions. Unfortunately, it seems winter is the time that it's hardest for me to carve out that time to myself.
February bring daffodils and buds on the dogwoods. It brings pruning time and planning time. And, eventually, the sun will rise before noon, which will help. The master bedroom only gets the very early morning sun, and that only comes through the window in the door. So, when the sun comes up later, it's a lovely little cave. A sensual hidey-hole, perhaps? Well, not with five kids. With children stealing the covers and emitting body heat in exchange, I open my eyes just long enough to peek at the window and tell myself it's still two in the morning, then roll over and go back to sleep, never quite registering the digital display that proves my sense of time to be so poorly calibrated.
So, it's a season of life, and all that jazz. I get it. Still, there's got to be a way to get sleep, tend to the needs of the Zorak (this week, he needs me to paint the new wall in the basement -- quit being dirty-minded), keep the kids fed and relatively tick-free, the house below DefCon 3, the education going, and still be left alone long enough to write, think, read. Don't have a *clue* what it is, yet, but it's got to exist. That's what keeps me going, sometimes.
But most of the time, what keeps me going is this:
And if I blink, let alone wander off too much, I'll miss it!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, December 20
Got your Christmas On?
I think... maybe... we do. Maybe. Then I read blogs of interior designers, and I realize... my theme is sort of a rustic, 'manger' theme. I leap from the chair, high five the startled children, and whoop around the house, yelling, "We have a THEME, folks! We're good!"
Jacob's Den Christmas party was Friday, here at the house. We had several stations set up around the living area - garland making,
paper crafts, leathercraft, cookie baking, and cookie decorating. 13
children, 3 adults, 500 square feet. Go! They made the cookies (and decorated and ate them in one fell swoop), made leather gifts for their families, and garlands and ornaments for their trees at home.
That was pretty awesome. But I have *great* parents who pitch in, and roll with it, and bring their fantastic suggestions to the table. They rock. And their kids? Their kids are so freakishly wonderful and amazing... :sigh: One Mom surveyed the activity, and all the children working, interacting, and playing. Smiling and wide-eyed, she turned to me and said, "You know, I wouldn't even attempt this with just any group!" Every adult youth leader should have this kind of a setup.
Zorak's company Christmas luncheon was Wednesday, and I got to slip off to join him for that. Then we did a little present searching before heading home. It was nice just to hold hands, stroll along in the crisp winter air, and talk about nothing in particular and everything in general. This year, with the master bath now being a functional bath, and the basement slowly becoming a functional game room, we had to come up with somewhere else to store unwrapped presents. So we got creative and borrowed the boys' foot lockers. One in each car, so no matter who picks up something, it goes straight into the foot locker. That has worked out quite nicely.
And so, that was last week. Lovely Christmastime.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
That was pretty awesome. But I have *great* parents who pitch in, and roll with it, and bring their fantastic suggestions to the table. They rock. And their kids? Their kids are so freakishly wonderful and amazing... :sigh: One Mom surveyed the activity, and all the children working, interacting, and playing. Smiling and wide-eyed, she turned to me and said, "You know, I wouldn't even attempt this with just any group!" Every adult youth leader should have this kind of a setup.
And so, that was last week. Lovely Christmastime.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, July 15
Milestone Fun
Last night we joined approximately half the population of Northern Alabama in attending the midnight showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2. This was big for us, as we usually only see one movie in a theater in any given year. But added to that was that this was the first time Jacob had seen one of the Harry Potter movies in the theaters (he read all seven books in the last year, and then started over, just so he wouldn't forget anything important). And the first time any of us had gone to an opening showing of the HP movies. It was really great. For them, it was probably great for different reasons than it was for me. I so enjoyed spending time with them, doing something we can all enjoy together (so, not Victorian literature *or* video games). JK Rowling, for the win! Thanks!
We made wands at the last minute, thanks to an instructable a friend linked. You can find it here. And these are the wands they came up with:
From left to right: mine, James', John's, Jacob's, Emily's, Jason's. (The bigs helped design Em's and Jase's. The Littles picked their own colors.) Not bad for 40 minutes' work! Go teamwork!
The boys all created their own costume ideas and we managed to cobble them together without stressing out much. James, with his blonde hair, fair skin, and thin build, is just a natural to go as Draco Malfoy.
Jacob rounded up the much-used, much-loved Harry robe and accoutrements from the basement to reprise another round of Harry. His longer, wild hair was perfect for it this time. Zorak chipped in with an old pair of glasses (minus the lenses) when we couldn't find any in the thrift stores (and I'd bought what Z informed me were "not cool round Harry glasses", but were in fact, "thick nerd glasses". Huge difference. Funny, coming from the man who reads in a Ben Stein monotone, just to get out of ever having to read Harry Potter books at all. But when it really matters, he can nail it.)
John was going to go as Ron Weasley. We had this maroon sweater and had planned to switch out the 'G' for an 'R', a'la Mrs. Weasley's Christmas Sweater. One afternoon, John commented off-hand that it's too bad we couldn't do the ear or he could go as George. I remembered then that one of our friends does the special effects makeup for the haunted houses every year, and thought if anyone could do it, she could. So I got with her and asked if she could do it. She graciously said yes, and she. was. AMAZING! In less than fifteen minutes of work, she took off a good portion of John's ear.
We drove home from her place in a raging thunderstorm, and all I could think was man, if we're in a wreck I hope this ear doesn't cause any problem getting him diagnosed and treated! We made it home without incident. (Yay!)
Because of the last minute wand making, we were a couple of hours behind our planned schedule, but still set to be there early enough to get in line and have a shot at good seats. The storm set us back an additional hour, though, and we arrived at the theater only an hour before showtime. So our seats were not *great*, but that didn't dampen the experience.
The place was full of great costumes, happy people, high energy, and a fun mood. Some of the costumes were really fantastic. I wish I'd thought to take pictures. Luna in her roaring Lion's head, Mrs. Sprout, a snitch (he made several laps through the theater while people waited), Cho Chang, Voldemort, Neville... it was so much fun to see the creativity that went into people's costumes.
And the movie. Ah. Well, yeah. This is the first time I'm not the last person I know who sees the movie. I'll return the graciousness of those who just smiled and said, "Oh, you'll have to see it and then let me know so we can talk."
So. You'll have to see it, and then let me know so we can talk about it. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We made wands at the last minute, thanks to an instructable a friend linked. You can find it here. And these are the wands they came up with:
From left to right: mine, James', John's, Jacob's, Emily's, Jason's. (The bigs helped design Em's and Jase's. The Littles picked their own colors.) Not bad for 40 minutes' work! Go teamwork!The boys all created their own costume ideas and we managed to cobble them together without stressing out much. James, with his blonde hair, fair skin, and thin build, is just a natural to go as Draco Malfoy.
Jacob rounded up the much-used, much-loved Harry robe and accoutrements from the basement to reprise another round of Harry. His longer, wild hair was perfect for it this time. Zorak chipped in with an old pair of glasses (minus the lenses) when we couldn't find any in the thrift stores (and I'd bought what Z informed me were "not cool round Harry glasses", but were in fact, "thick nerd glasses". Huge difference. Funny, coming from the man who reads in a Ben Stein monotone, just to get out of ever having to read Harry Potter books at all. But when it really matters, he can nail it.)
John was going to go as Ron Weasley. We had this maroon sweater and had planned to switch out the 'G' for an 'R', a'la Mrs. Weasley's Christmas Sweater. One afternoon, John commented off-hand that it's too bad we couldn't do the ear or he could go as George. I remembered then that one of our friends does the special effects makeup for the haunted houses every year, and thought if anyone could do it, she could. So I got with her and asked if she could do it. She graciously said yes, and she. was. AMAZING! In less than fifteen minutes of work, she took off a good portion of John's ear.
We drove home from her place in a raging thunderstorm, and all I could think was man, if we're in a wreck I hope this ear doesn't cause any problem getting him diagnosed and treated! We made it home without incident. (Yay!)Because of the last minute wand making, we were a couple of hours behind our planned schedule, but still set to be there early enough to get in line and have a shot at good seats. The storm set us back an additional hour, though, and we arrived at the theater only an hour before showtime. So our seats were not *great*, but that didn't dampen the experience.
The place was full of great costumes, happy people, high energy, and a fun mood. Some of the costumes were really fantastic. I wish I'd thought to take pictures. Luna in her roaring Lion's head, Mrs. Sprout, a snitch (he made several laps through the theater while people waited), Cho Chang, Voldemort, Neville... it was so much fun to see the creativity that went into people's costumes.
And the movie. Ah. Well, yeah. This is the first time I'm not the last person I know who sees the movie. I'll return the graciousness of those who just smiled and said, "Oh, you'll have to see it and then let me know so we can talk."
So. You'll have to see it, and then let me know so we can talk about it. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, August 26
OMGosh, where have I been?
I've been sorting, washing, and tagging clothes for the Kids' Swap Clothing Sale in Decatur. I've been sorting, washing, and boxing up things for the thrift store donation, the "gotta get this MAILED" stack, and the "REALLY need to get THIS mailed" pile. I've been to the dentist. I've been to the car wash. I've been going-going-going non-stop for a week!
Mice found the pantry shelf in the basement. Naturally, we don't have doors on it, yet. We will soon, though. Nothing motivates us quite like urgency, does it? Yick. Spent a lot of time reconfiguring that. Thank God for the compost, or I might have cried.
Jason yells, "Maaaaaamaaaaa" all. the. time. now. It'll be darling once we have a bit of space between the event and the memory. His inflection is fantastic, though. We can tell what he wants from clear across the house.
EmBaby just yells. I think she's feeling pressured to keep up with the noise level now that the older boys are doing their studies during the day. I'm sure they appreciate that.
Smidge is happy as a clam, and about to get happier: he gets to be acknowledged as an official Tiger Cub tomorrow night. Woot! (He doesn't know this, yet.) We'll swing by the Scout Shop tomorrow, after yet another dental visit (man, am I just the burgeoning medical butterfly, or what?), and hopefully get the proper dodads glued onto the proper spots in time for the meeting tomorrow.
Don't know what happened with the Pack, but there's been a total 180 lately. It's been fantastic. Even Zorak, who had begun to contemplate semi-spontaneous road trips for Thursdays, looks forward to going. They're *doing* things now. The attitudes have improved. The meetings are more organized. There's a plan-of-sorts in place. Even the kinda-scary-problem-child has been a totally-different-child. Everybody's enjoying the differences.
All this makes for good living, but lousy blogging. How have you all been? Fill me in!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Mice found the pantry shelf in the basement. Naturally, we don't have doors on it, yet. We will soon, though. Nothing motivates us quite like urgency, does it? Yick. Spent a lot of time reconfiguring that. Thank God for the compost, or I might have cried.
Jason yells, "Maaaaaamaaaaa" all. the. time. now. It'll be darling once we have a bit of space between the event and the memory. His inflection is fantastic, though. We can tell what he wants from clear across the house.
EmBaby just yells. I think she's feeling pressured to keep up with the noise level now that the older boys are doing their studies during the day. I'm sure they appreciate that.
Smidge is happy as a clam, and about to get happier: he gets to be acknowledged as an official Tiger Cub tomorrow night. Woot! (He doesn't know this, yet.) We'll swing by the Scout Shop tomorrow, after yet another dental visit (man, am I just the burgeoning medical butterfly, or what?), and hopefully get the proper dodads glued onto the proper spots in time for the meeting tomorrow.
Don't know what happened with the Pack, but there's been a total 180 lately. It's been fantastic. Even Zorak, who had begun to contemplate semi-spontaneous road trips for Thursdays, looks forward to going. They're *doing* things now. The attitudes have improved. The meetings are more organized. There's a plan-of-sorts in place. Even the kinda-scary-problem-child has been a totally-different-child. Everybody's enjoying the differences.
All this makes for good living, but lousy blogging. How have you all been? Fill me in!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, March 22
Getting Out The Door
A friend observed once that in order to get out the door at seven, she has to start the process at three. She wasn't joking, but the only ones in the group who knew that were the ones with more than two children. (This friend has six, and she's *good*. I want to be her when I grow up.) If you have children, you'll laugh because this wasn't you. If you don't, hopefully it will inspire you to have tenderness, and a flexible time frame, for your parent-friends. The friends in today's story are just such friends, and I love them for it.
Zorak calls at lunch and says, "Hey, they're gonna have the boat at the dock right after work. Can you have the boys ready?" (Me-Wa and Me-Tae bought a little fishing boat and wanted to surprise the boys. Totally awesome idea.)
Um... sure?
Now, I was planning to do all this on Friday. Or Saturday. This is Wednesday. What, in our ten-plus years together, made him think I am capable of this task on such short notice, I do not know.
But I gave it a good shot, and thought, for a while, that we would make it. I let the boys off the rest of their studies under the condition that they would please go find socks and some kind of shoes and meet me at the door. (Yes, this was around one. No, we didn't have to leave the house until after four. It takes that long.) Walk with me through the afternoon.
The three big ones shout, "OK, Mom!" and we're off!
Five minutes later...
I've scrounged up some empty bottles, filled them all carefully 2/3 full with water and set them (mostly) upright in the freezer.
I found a cooler. (Huh? This isn't ours. Where did this come from? *sniff* Well, it smells clean. It'll work.) Wiped it down. Threw in some cheese sticks. And some ice. Eight cubes of ice, to be exact, because somebody has - once again - turned off the ice maker.
John is standing in the front yard, wearing church pants. And pirate boots. And no shirt. "John, sweetie. You're going fishing. Don't you think you might not want to wear your navy Dockers?" With a cheerful, "OK, Mom," he heads inside to change. I'll deal with the boots later.
Smidge, honey, let's get your socks... why are you naked?
"Me wants to have JAMMY DAY!"
OK, that would be a place to start. Where are your jammies, then?
"No me no."
Alrighty, get some socks, sweetie. I'm going to go find Baby Girl.
"OK, Mom."
(I haul screaming BabyGirl in from the precipice of death that is our front porch, while yelling down the hallway, "JOHN, Honey, you can't leave the front door open. BabyFlash is an escape artist!" He yells back, "OK, Mom!")
As I set ScreamingBabyGirl down in the nursery, a pair of underwear lands on her head. *Huh?* Smidge has his head *in* the drawer, flinging skivvies, hand-over-hand. James enters, fully clothed in a sweater, jeans, thick socks, and boots. He immediately starts trying to intervene. (He's trying to help. He's trying to help. He's trying to help.)
Smidge is screaming, BabyGirl is screaming (and apparently stuck in the leg hole of a pair of whities). James is getting irate, shouting, "Stop it! You are NOT a cartoon character!" (I can't help but think he wouldn't say that if he could view this scene objectively...) I see movement from the corner of my eye, through the foyer and out the front door. Leaving it open.
That was John, now wearing his tan Dockers. And cowboy boots (because pirate boots just don't go with tan?)
"Smidge, why are you crying?"
"No me have socks."
"*sigh* James, can you catch BabyGirl (she's back on the porch now, and heading for the steps) and take her to your room while you change out of that sweater? You're going to roast."
"OK, Mom."
"And Smidge, let's get you some socks."
"OK, Mom."
(Yelling out the door,) "John, Honey, I was thinking something more along the lines of your cargo pants or jeans. Remember, not church pants, okay?"
"OK, Mom."
"And shut the door!"
"OK, Mom."
We get Smidge some socks. I direct him to find the clothes he was wearing prior to the JAMMY DAY announcement, and put them back on. James has BabyGirl safe and sound... I bolt to the basement to find the life jackets. Find them, just in time to hear a thump and some kind of wailing noise. (I have a game I play sometimes, where I try to guess the incident before I get to the scene of the crime. Was it Smidge, in the nursery, with the corner of a drawer? Or was it Emily, in the boys' room, with the ladder to the bunks? Kinda breaks up the tension.)
It was Smidge, in the nursery, on the doorknob. I was close. More crying. James announces he's ready. And he really is. Oh, bless that child!
(You do know, though, that we're not even CLOSE to being able to head out the door, right? But at least they're cheerful, and their hearts are in the right places. I can't get angry about that.)
John informs me that his shoes have no laces. Why? Who has taken them, and where are they now? (We launched a full-scale man hunt for the laces, but I ended up calling Zorak. "Are you still at the store? Oh, good. Can you please get John some shoe laces? Thanks!")
Smidge is dressed. But his feet have grown. Since last weekend. (Call Zorak back. "And Smidge shoes? I don't know. Hang on. Um, they're six and a half inches long... *screaming erupts in the background as BabyGirl claws at the front door and perfoms an opera about the orphan child locked in a dungeon - while Smidge starts yelling at James, who is digging through the craft things, searching for shoe laces* Can you convert from that? I've really got to go. Love you!")
James? Still good to go. Thank God.
Baby girl? She's okay, although exuding some kind of weird slime that's going to make her look dirt-breaded after five minutes on the bank of the river. But otherwise? She's fine.
Smidge? Still mostly dressed. I didn't even ask about underwear. He had pants. A shirt. Socks. Life is good.
Quick head count - 1, 2, 3, 4. *whew*
Check the water in the freezer. Only two spilled. Still no ice cubes. Stupid gremlins. Pack. Load. Wrangle. Wipe. Clean. Tidy. Pray. Pretty simple routine once you get the hang of it.
Zorak pulls up and it's a flurry of lacing and fitting and wiping and loading. Me-Wa calls. They've been at the dock for a while. They're waiting for us. What's taking so long? Zorak rushes. I do one last once over. Nobody is wearing anything too weird. Nobody's naked. Ah... I no longer care. "Load up!"
Zorak tells me we're taking the Suburban. Oh.
Yell out the door, "Wrong car!" Smidge cries again. Three hours ago, I would have bothered to ask. Right now, I can tell he's not bleeding, not stuck in the pickup, doesn't have a pitbull stuck to his head. He's fine.
And that's when Zorak looks at me and says, "You ready?"
Me? Oh, Honey. (Don't cry. Please don't cry, Dy. Deep breath.) I'm wearing one of your shop rag t-shirts, soccer-shorts-as-boxers, no bra, and I haven't showered in three days. I have zits. My finger isn't healed yet, and it hurts. Until you'd called, I'd been cleaning and teaching all morning long. And did I mention that I have PMS? Listen, I know where to find you. But there is No. Way. NOWAY I'm passing up the opportunity to wait until you leave so I can take a shower. Alone. With no "help". No stray drafts. No on-off-on-off of the vent fan. Nobody crying. Nobody screaming. No worries that someone has set BabyGirl adrift.
I. Am. Tired.
He shakes his head, but smiles. "OK, Mom."
I smile and wave. "OK, Dad. Love you!"
Ten years ago, a story like this would have scared the living daylights out of me. Now? Not it's not so bad. I wouldn't trade it for all the quiet, calm, or free time in the world.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Zorak calls at lunch and says, "Hey, they're gonna have the boat at the dock right after work. Can you have the boys ready?" (Me-Wa and Me-Tae bought a little fishing boat and wanted to surprise the boys. Totally awesome idea.)
Um... sure?
Now, I was planning to do all this on Friday. Or Saturday. This is Wednesday. What, in our ten-plus years together, made him think I am capable of this task on such short notice, I do not know.
But I gave it a good shot, and thought, for a while, that we would make it. I let the boys off the rest of their studies under the condition that they would please go find socks and some kind of shoes and meet me at the door. (Yes, this was around one. No, we didn't have to leave the house until after four. It takes that long.) Walk with me through the afternoon.
The three big ones shout, "OK, Mom!" and we're off!
Five minutes later...
I've scrounged up some empty bottles, filled them all carefully 2/3 full with water and set them (mostly) upright in the freezer.
I found a cooler. (Huh? This isn't ours. Where did this come from? *sniff* Well, it smells clean. It'll work.) Wiped it down. Threw in some cheese sticks. And some ice. Eight cubes of ice, to be exact, because somebody has - once again - turned off the ice maker.
John is standing in the front yard, wearing church pants. And pirate boots. And no shirt. "John, sweetie. You're going fishing. Don't you think you might not want to wear your navy Dockers?" With a cheerful, "OK, Mom," he heads inside to change. I'll deal with the boots later.
Smidge, honey, let's get your socks... why are you naked?
"Me wants to have JAMMY DAY!"
OK, that would be a place to start. Where are your jammies, then?
"No me no."
Alrighty, get some socks, sweetie. I'm going to go find Baby Girl.
"OK, Mom."
(I haul screaming BabyGirl in from the precipice of death that is our front porch, while yelling down the hallway, "JOHN, Honey, you can't leave the front door open. BabyFlash is an escape artist!" He yells back, "OK, Mom!")
As I set ScreamingBabyGirl down in the nursery, a pair of underwear lands on her head. *Huh?* Smidge has his head *in* the drawer, flinging skivvies, hand-over-hand. James enters, fully clothed in a sweater, jeans, thick socks, and boots. He immediately starts trying to intervene. (He's trying to help. He's trying to help. He's trying to help.)
Smidge is screaming, BabyGirl is screaming (and apparently stuck in the leg hole of a pair of whities). James is getting irate, shouting, "Stop it! You are NOT a cartoon character!" (I can't help but think he wouldn't say that if he could view this scene objectively...) I see movement from the corner of my eye, through the foyer and out the front door. Leaving it open.
That was John, now wearing his tan Dockers. And cowboy boots (because pirate boots just don't go with tan?)
"Smidge, why are you crying?"
"No me have socks."
"*sigh* James, can you catch BabyGirl (she's back on the porch now, and heading for the steps) and take her to your room while you change out of that sweater? You're going to roast."
"OK, Mom."
"And Smidge, let's get you some socks."
"OK, Mom."
(Yelling out the door,) "John, Honey, I was thinking something more along the lines of your cargo pants or jeans. Remember, not church pants, okay?"
"OK, Mom."
"And shut the door!"
"OK, Mom."
We get Smidge some socks. I direct him to find the clothes he was wearing prior to the JAMMY DAY announcement, and put them back on. James has BabyGirl safe and sound... I bolt to the basement to find the life jackets. Find them, just in time to hear a thump and some kind of wailing noise. (I have a game I play sometimes, where I try to guess the incident before I get to the scene of the crime. Was it Smidge, in the nursery, with the corner of a drawer? Or was it Emily, in the boys' room, with the ladder to the bunks? Kinda breaks up the tension.)
It was Smidge, in the nursery, on the doorknob. I was close. More crying. James announces he's ready. And he really is. Oh, bless that child!
(You do know, though, that we're not even CLOSE to being able to head out the door, right? But at least they're cheerful, and their hearts are in the right places. I can't get angry about that.)
John informs me that his shoes have no laces. Why? Who has taken them, and where are they now? (We launched a full-scale man hunt for the laces, but I ended up calling Zorak. "Are you still at the store? Oh, good. Can you please get John some shoe laces? Thanks!")
Smidge is dressed. But his feet have grown. Since last weekend. (Call Zorak back. "And Smidge shoes? I don't know. Hang on. Um, they're six and a half inches long... *screaming erupts in the background as BabyGirl claws at the front door and perfoms an opera about the orphan child locked in a dungeon - while Smidge starts yelling at James, who is digging through the craft things, searching for shoe laces* Can you convert from that? I've really got to go. Love you!")
James? Still good to go. Thank God.
Baby girl? She's okay, although exuding some kind of weird slime that's going to make her look dirt-breaded after five minutes on the bank of the river. But otherwise? She's fine.
Smidge? Still mostly dressed. I didn't even ask about underwear. He had pants. A shirt. Socks. Life is good.
Quick head count - 1, 2, 3, 4. *whew*
Check the water in the freezer. Only two spilled. Still no ice cubes. Stupid gremlins. Pack. Load. Wrangle. Wipe. Clean. Tidy. Pray. Pretty simple routine once you get the hang of it.
Zorak pulls up and it's a flurry of lacing and fitting and wiping and loading. Me-Wa calls. They've been at the dock for a while. They're waiting for us. What's taking so long? Zorak rushes. I do one last once over. Nobody is wearing anything too weird. Nobody's naked. Ah... I no longer care. "Load up!"
Zorak tells me we're taking the Suburban. Oh.
Yell out the door, "Wrong car!" Smidge cries again. Three hours ago, I would have bothered to ask. Right now, I can tell he's not bleeding, not stuck in the pickup, doesn't have a pitbull stuck to his head. He's fine.
And that's when Zorak looks at me and says, "You ready?"
Me? Oh, Honey. (Don't cry. Please don't cry, Dy. Deep breath.) I'm wearing one of your shop rag t-shirts, soccer-shorts-as-boxers, no bra, and I haven't showered in three days. I have zits. My finger isn't healed yet, and it hurts. Until you'd called, I'd been cleaning and teaching all morning long. And did I mention that I have PMS? Listen, I know where to find you. But there is No. Way. NOWAY I'm passing up the opportunity to wait until you leave so I can take a shower. Alone. With no "help". No stray drafts. No on-off-on-off of the vent fan. Nobody crying. Nobody screaming. No worries that someone has set BabyGirl adrift.
I. Am. Tired.
He shakes his head, but smiles. "OK, Mom."
I smile and wave. "OK, Dad. Love you!"
Ten years ago, a story like this would have scared the living daylights out of me. Now? Not it's not so bad. I wouldn't trade it for all the quiet, calm, or free time in the world.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
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