If you know anything about a 'coon dog, you know that this is a story of lies because no one can take a 'coon dog on a walk. Or if you have ever heard of such a person, unless you see it with your own eyes, don't believe it.
Daisy is a 'coon dog, which means if you were to compare her body parts in terms of effectiveness, her nose would be about the size of the lies told in the 9/11 commission report (notice the lie theme :-). She can smell anything and everything, and she's big, and she's strong. That said, when Daisy is on her leash, you are essentially at the mercy of her good will because she is stronger than you, and her will is a thing to behold. Especially if you come across a small deer or a 'coon in the course of your whiplash style jaunt across the neighborhood.
Today was an especially long day and not because it was filled with many exciting though exhausting events. First, I was awakened before 6 by the chime sound of Daisy's collar. I'm a light sleeper and if anyone or thing is stirring in the night, I know about it immediately. Since I am also the janitor of all Daisy's gastro-intestinal problems or when her nose gets the best of her and she must ransack the garbage can in the kitchen, if I hear the collar too early in the morning signaling Daisy is up and about, I bolt.
So it was this morning. Around 5:30 Daisy was up and about, I hastily got out of my bed, stopped to put on my flip flops and softly called to Daisy in the darkness. She came immediately. I took her out to the backyard and she set to work exhibiting all the lovely symptoms of a full and complete puke fest. Unfortunately for Daisy, Jon had just cut the grass over the weekend, so she had to scrounge a bit to find nice grassy bits to get the job done. I sorrowfully remembered that I had pitied her hound dog eyes last night and given her the remnants of pork roast and gravy. I knew better then, and I knew even better now.
I settled into a folding chair I brought from the sunroom since the teak chairs were soaking wet from the rain, wrapped up in an afghan (incidentally, the afghan my Aunt Ann crocheted for my step-dad a few years before I was even born which made me rather happy--I love things with stories), and enjoyed the sun rise to the sounds of the poor puking, gagging, Daisy.
Daisy got it worked out of her system by the time the sun was up and it was time for me to get the kids and breakfast going. And so the long day was off to a running start. I cleaned out a disgusting clogged toilet (small people who over use toilet paper....sigh), mopped the bathroom floor--(yeah, that's gross when the toilet over flows), taught school, did the radio show, produced 3 meals, did the dishes, took the kids to the park, took out garbage, milled wheat, and stirred up biga and started several batches of bread for tomorrow...yeah, I was tuckered out and needed a walk.
It was after 10 pm and I had my hand on the door knob when the hound dog eyes that had been my downfall the night before were again upon me. Surely I was not going to galavant across the neighborhood and leave my faithful friend behind? I sighed. No, I was not. Instead, I was going to put on her leash (just for show since the security patrol is usually cruising the neighborhood on the lookout for frisky 80 year olds keeping the neighbors up with their high action and rather loud basketball games) and let her drag me around for several blocks.
She was out the door in a flash, sniffing the air with an eager fascination. We made it past 3 houses before the sounds of a cooped up canine or three became very audible. Daisy had to respond in her hoarse hoop for a bark. I was exasperated. "Come on, Daisy, for heaven's sake." Heaven must have heard because Daisy was suddenly silent. I was cautiously pleased and she continued, nose to the ground, meandering along the sidewalk, first one side, then the other, than darting back under a bush, than darting forward sensing something. I soon wished I had worn different foot wear from the flip flops. But in a bit that would be the lesser of my problems.
I will pause here to say that dog owners who walk their dog and leave behind their dog's exhaust for others to step in and otherwise enjoy, should be shot along with their dog at sunrise the next morning. That is my pet-test of pet-peeves. There is a special place in purgatory for you if you leave behind dog poop. I don't even believe in purgatory, but I think hell might be going a bit far. For instance when I weigh Hitler sending all those millions to their deaths and leaving behind dog poop, I'm thinking Hell for Hitler and Purgatory for the Poo Leaver. But currently I'm having a lovely glass of wine, so I might feel differently in the morning. Check back.
Back to the story, we were many more blocks from the house than I could count, I was enjoying a moon that was bursting through breaks in the clouds which were finally clearing up after a fiesty late afternoon rainstorm, and Daisy was maintaining a somewhat predictable cycle of jog, trot, dart, stop, jerk, and pull that could be enjoyed on some sick level. Suddenly, she got that position and I realized I had left home without the poo bag. "Noooo" I mournfully said as Daisy finished up her business. This dog never poops on walks. I mean, NEVER.
I looked around to see if I had been spotted by neighbors on the prowl. All was quiet. I checked for some sort of block identification since I was going to have to trot back, bag in hand, a little while later. When I did get back home, Caroline was sprawled on the sofa reading. "I thought Daisy never left exhaust on walks?" I whined--or maybe sighed is a better word. Caroline affirmed my thinking. "Yeah, mom, she never does unless you forget the bag. It's the strangest thing."
I got a couple bags and headed back out. It was at this time that I was a bit pleased I had to go fetch the exhaust because it gave me an opportunity to wander along in the moonlight at a happy pace unencumbered by a crazy 'coon dog intent on nabbing some furry animal in the midst of a concrete jungle. Mission accomplished a short time later and my guilt relieved. The patrol car lazily moseyed on by, the window down. "Evening," said the patrol man who looked a decade or two past retirement age. I cheerfully said evening back and went on my way. A few silent bicyclists went by and I was back home.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Saturday Morning....Seen One, Seen 'Em All.
I feel rather sorry for the vast majority of Americans who will never know what it is to be in possession of a good many little people, because the interplay is priceless and not reproducible on any satisfactory level.
Being isolated in Austin affords the opportunity to ruminate and enjoy (or otherwise, as the case may be) this aforementioned interplay as our family is always together. (The exception being Jon who is a field sales man and thus on the road much of the time).
Saturday mornings are essentially one and the same. First, it is the one morning in the week where I do not have to get up at any particular time nor do I need to do anything particular. (The joke every Saturday morning is "What time do we have to be at the abortion clinic? Where's the parade this afternoon? and so on and so forth, the scarring memories of my past life as an activist not being that far removed from the memories of my children).
Of course, the laundry must be done (I stain treat and start the loads and Jonathan Jr. takes over from there), and advance planning for whatever Sunday activities/meals are in store, but there is no agenda per say. Since the master bedroom is in the back of the house and more like a bunker than a bedroom having no windows to the outside world, there is no chance of birds singing or sun shining to beckon me forth (sniff, sniff).
However, there are 3 little boys who share the room down the hall, and they are intimately aware of when the sun rises, the lizards are again in play, and it is time for battles to be staged, pillow fights to be launched, and forts to be erected. Next down the hall the girls slumber peacefully and rarely venture forth of their own will, and at the end of the hall is Bomethius, the resident teenager, who needs vast quantities of sleep within his man cave which is littered with books and musical instruments.
Around 7am it begins. Oliver arises--an occurrence that is heralded by the sounds of someone bounding from his bed, pawing at the bathroom door knob, clunk goes the toilet lid, a sound akin to pressure washing, flushing, and then a return to the bedroom which seems to be a path riddled with potholes, large trees, angry and hostile giants, and perhaps some artillery. Oliver, having safely made it back to the bunker, surveys the peacefully slumbering combatants. Gabriel, being the most accessible in his little youth bed against the wall, is his first victim.
His approach is always the same, and will probably give Gabriel life long nightmares that would give Vietnam vets some measure of sympathy. He bounds atop Gabriel in the spirited exhilaration of a Greek god going into battle knowing himself to be immortal. "Let's fight, let's fight" Oliver eagerly cheers while the little Gabriel in a slumbering haze, emerges from blankets wishing himself in the top bunk.
Charles, having heard the ruckus from his top bunk perch, slowly sallies forth, feeling some measure of defensiveness for Gabriel's plight, and some measure of frustration for Oliver's exuberance. The battle is on, three boys embroiled with an energy field that would challenge black holes or Bermuda triangles. In short order screeching turns to laughing, thunks commence on all 4 walls, and one would think that the half dozen offspring are all in the same room.
The parental units are tired. The night before they were able to enjoy the sounds of a massive moth, whose girth would dwarf a humming bird, going through the 12 hour death rattle, flapping against the blinds, the walls, the fan, and so on and so forth. I didn't hear the sounds until nearly 5 am. "Who is there and what do you want," I whispered in the darkness wondering what kid was producing the very bizarre noise. "It is the stupid moth the boys caught yesterday," Jon responded,"or rather didn't catch but herded into our bedroom." I had seen the moth the day before. I supposed it had gone into the sunroom which is connected to the sewing room which is connected to the master bedroom and so made its way to our room. Jon got up and headed to the bathroom, and I decided that if there was any hope for another hour of sleep, I would have to get the moth out.
I opened the door to the sewing room, turned on the light, and carefully got back to my bed hoping the moth would be attracted to the light. The moth was incapable of being attracted to anything, his remaining energy being saved for wildly careening into walls and furniture, its final hoo-ray for bidding this cruel world farewell. I must confess that it was alarming to observe something so big flailing about, and I cowered under my blankets with a "please God don't let that thing come over by me!" Yes, it is rather shameful. I had the good sense to at least laugh at myself in a valiantly mocking tone. Thankfully, God either answered my prayer or the moth had pity on me. At any rate it landed under the armoire and breathed its last with a final flutter of its broad wing span.
So back to the boys and the Saturday morning ritual. The noise level had reached that point at which the slumbering teenager decided to take action. He burst onto the battle field hissing threats with an aggression that would have floored most transgressors. But this crew was accustomed to such things and merely blinked back with unconcerned amusement, waited for Jonathan to return to his room, and resumed their battle.
Next up, mom had "had enough!" words frequently heard around our place. So I opened the door and hissed that everyone better get back in bed, NOW. Then I got back to my side, pulled the covers over and attempted to return to Zzzz land. The boys know the drill. They merely must reduce the noise level so that mom reaches a point of slumber such that she will not be motivated to re-emerge. So within short order they were back at it. Finally, the last strains of the last movement in the Requiem gave way, the notes Jonathan and I were waiting for.
The King of the Castle had had enough--words he never says but doesn't need to. Jon got out of his bed with the authoritative air that cannot be mimicked- you either have it or you don't, opened the door and bellowed forth a remonstrance that meant certain execution for rebellion to his supreme command. Silence immediately ensued save a little voice belonging to the pint size prima donna who sang a song of her own spontaneous making with complete calm and unconcern for the uproar. The General delivered another bellow and Vivian was taken from the throne of her imagination and sent back to the reality of the life of the other soldiers. Real silence enveloped the fort, Jonathan and I grinned from opposite ends of the hall in the darkness, and slumber was happily resumed.
My apologies for having relayed this tale with regular changes of verb tense. As it is a scene that has happened, is happening and will happen again, it lends itself to a confusing tapestry of tense that would make every grammar teacher shudder and bemoan any hopes of my children gaining an acceptable command of the English vernacular under my tutelage. It is my hope that this person will soon arrive and take over so I can go back to my other world and have my school room exposure happily reigned in.
Being isolated in Austin affords the opportunity to ruminate and enjoy (or otherwise, as the case may be) this aforementioned interplay as our family is always together. (The exception being Jon who is a field sales man and thus on the road much of the time).
Saturday mornings are essentially one and the same. First, it is the one morning in the week where I do not have to get up at any particular time nor do I need to do anything particular. (The joke every Saturday morning is "What time do we have to be at the abortion clinic? Where's the parade this afternoon? and so on and so forth, the scarring memories of my past life as an activist not being that far removed from the memories of my children).
Of course, the laundry must be done (I stain treat and start the loads and Jonathan Jr. takes over from there), and advance planning for whatever Sunday activities/meals are in store, but there is no agenda per say. Since the master bedroom is in the back of the house and more like a bunker than a bedroom having no windows to the outside world, there is no chance of birds singing or sun shining to beckon me forth (sniff, sniff).
However, there are 3 little boys who share the room down the hall, and they are intimately aware of when the sun rises, the lizards are again in play, and it is time for battles to be staged, pillow fights to be launched, and forts to be erected. Next down the hall the girls slumber peacefully and rarely venture forth of their own will, and at the end of the hall is Bomethius, the resident teenager, who needs vast quantities of sleep within his man cave which is littered with books and musical instruments.
Around 7am it begins. Oliver arises--an occurrence that is heralded by the sounds of someone bounding from his bed, pawing at the bathroom door knob, clunk goes the toilet lid, a sound akin to pressure washing, flushing, and then a return to the bedroom which seems to be a path riddled with potholes, large trees, angry and hostile giants, and perhaps some artillery. Oliver, having safely made it back to the bunker, surveys the peacefully slumbering combatants. Gabriel, being the most accessible in his little youth bed against the wall, is his first victim.
His approach is always the same, and will probably give Gabriel life long nightmares that would give Vietnam vets some measure of sympathy. He bounds atop Gabriel in the spirited exhilaration of a Greek god going into battle knowing himself to be immortal. "Let's fight, let's fight" Oliver eagerly cheers while the little Gabriel in a slumbering haze, emerges from blankets wishing himself in the top bunk.
Charles, having heard the ruckus from his top bunk perch, slowly sallies forth, feeling some measure of defensiveness for Gabriel's plight, and some measure of frustration for Oliver's exuberance. The battle is on, three boys embroiled with an energy field that would challenge black holes or Bermuda triangles. In short order screeching turns to laughing, thunks commence on all 4 walls, and one would think that the half dozen offspring are all in the same room.
The parental units are tired. The night before they were able to enjoy the sounds of a massive moth, whose girth would dwarf a humming bird, going through the 12 hour death rattle, flapping against the blinds, the walls, the fan, and so on and so forth. I didn't hear the sounds until nearly 5 am. "Who is there and what do you want," I whispered in the darkness wondering what kid was producing the very bizarre noise. "It is the stupid moth the boys caught yesterday," Jon responded,"or rather didn't catch but herded into our bedroom." I had seen the moth the day before. I supposed it had gone into the sunroom which is connected to the sewing room which is connected to the master bedroom and so made its way to our room. Jon got up and headed to the bathroom, and I decided that if there was any hope for another hour of sleep, I would have to get the moth out.
I opened the door to the sewing room, turned on the light, and carefully got back to my bed hoping the moth would be attracted to the light. The moth was incapable of being attracted to anything, his remaining energy being saved for wildly careening into walls and furniture, its final hoo-ray for bidding this cruel world farewell. I must confess that it was alarming to observe something so big flailing about, and I cowered under my blankets with a "please God don't let that thing come over by me!" Yes, it is rather shameful. I had the good sense to at least laugh at myself in a valiantly mocking tone. Thankfully, God either answered my prayer or the moth had pity on me. At any rate it landed under the armoire and breathed its last with a final flutter of its broad wing span.
So back to the boys and the Saturday morning ritual. The noise level had reached that point at which the slumbering teenager decided to take action. He burst onto the battle field hissing threats with an aggression that would have floored most transgressors. But this crew was accustomed to such things and merely blinked back with unconcerned amusement, waited for Jonathan to return to his room, and resumed their battle.
Next up, mom had "had enough!" words frequently heard around our place. So I opened the door and hissed that everyone better get back in bed, NOW. Then I got back to my side, pulled the covers over and attempted to return to Zzzz land. The boys know the drill. They merely must reduce the noise level so that mom reaches a point of slumber such that she will not be motivated to re-emerge. So within short order they were back at it. Finally, the last strains of the last movement in the Requiem gave way, the notes Jonathan and I were waiting for.
The King of the Castle had had enough--words he never says but doesn't need to. Jon got out of his bed with the authoritative air that cannot be mimicked- you either have it or you don't, opened the door and bellowed forth a remonstrance that meant certain execution for rebellion to his supreme command. Silence immediately ensued save a little voice belonging to the pint size prima donna who sang a song of her own spontaneous making with complete calm and unconcern for the uproar. The General delivered another bellow and Vivian was taken from the throne of her imagination and sent back to the reality of the life of the other soldiers. Real silence enveloped the fort, Jonathan and I grinned from opposite ends of the hall in the darkness, and slumber was happily resumed.
My apologies for having relayed this tale with regular changes of verb tense. As it is a scene that has happened, is happening and will happen again, it lends itself to a confusing tapestry of tense that would make every grammar teacher shudder and bemoan any hopes of my children gaining an acceptable command of the English vernacular under my tutelage. It is my hope that this person will soon arrive and take over so I can go back to my other world and have my school room exposure happily reigned in.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
School Schedule Begins Tomorrow....Really?
I'm not entirely certain where the summer went. I have a few sneaking suspicions but no conclusive data. Tomorrow we begin school schedule and next Monday we start school. I always need a week to acclimate everyone to getting out of bed at 6:30 and getting chores and instrument practice accomplished by 9. Quiet time is 1-3pm--sometimes I creep around quietly after 3 hoping no one will notice and come out of their rooms, the quietness is so nice. :-) It means going to bed early, which clearly I'm not accomplishing tonight.
This week I finish ordering a few last minute school supplies like a full size skeleton and our science curriculum. I'm returning to the once every other month cooking method after three years off. Have dusted off my old notes and menu calendars, compiled a new latest and greatest 60 day plan and have garnered non-aluminum disposable baking pans to finish off the project. We shall use my two small freezers to maximum capacity.
The new chore rotation is up and running, and Caroline has voluntarily decided she will man the dishes dutifully, with Jonathan deciding the pastures in the laundry room are decidedly greener. So as to save myself some stress, I cleared off some shelf space and moved the melamine camp dishes out of the pop-up camper and into the kitchen for use Monday thru Friday. This way I won't have broken dishes as Caroline gets the hang of things. Today at lunch Gabriel saw the camp dishes on the table and said," Oooh, they're so beautiful." And Oliver said,"Does this mean we are leaving to go camping?"
We are getting settled into our new church very nicely. God is so good. I was convinced that I'd be spending months unhappily visiting one church after another, especially after the regular diet of soul food served weekly by our dear Pastor Bright. Of course, God provided. The church we are attending is really a wonderful fit. The children love their Sunday school classes, and Jonathan and I are getting plugged into the music ministry. The church is full of homeschooling mothers and there is a once a week Classical School that meets at the church. The pastor has an excellent sense of humor and enough scars and callousness that he seems quite battle hardened for spiritual warfare--though perhaps it should be better stated battle softened as we become more tender to the piercing Spirit as we struggle through sin and challenges.
This morning's sermon seemed especially appropriate as we all get into disciplined, structured, industrious mode: Heb. 12:4-29 was the text, though we made it only to verse 14. "My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor be weary when reproved by him. For the Lord disciplines the one He loves, and chastises every son whom he receives.....For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it."
To all you mommies out there taking a deep breath and getting ready to take on a new school year full of challenges, we are more than conquerors! :-) May you always sleep deeply, may your irritating children make you laugh often, and may you never run out of butter when company comes to visit.
~Jenny
This week I finish ordering a few last minute school supplies like a full size skeleton and our science curriculum. I'm returning to the once every other month cooking method after three years off. Have dusted off my old notes and menu calendars, compiled a new latest and greatest 60 day plan and have garnered non-aluminum disposable baking pans to finish off the project. We shall use my two small freezers to maximum capacity.
The new chore rotation is up and running, and Caroline has voluntarily decided she will man the dishes dutifully, with Jonathan deciding the pastures in the laundry room are decidedly greener. So as to save myself some stress, I cleared off some shelf space and moved the melamine camp dishes out of the pop-up camper and into the kitchen for use Monday thru Friday. This way I won't have broken dishes as Caroline gets the hang of things. Today at lunch Gabriel saw the camp dishes on the table and said," Oooh, they're so beautiful." And Oliver said,"Does this mean we are leaving to go camping?"
We are getting settled into our new church very nicely. God is so good. I was convinced that I'd be spending months unhappily visiting one church after another, especially after the regular diet of soul food served weekly by our dear Pastor Bright. Of course, God provided. The church we are attending is really a wonderful fit. The children love their Sunday school classes, and Jonathan and I are getting plugged into the music ministry. The church is full of homeschooling mothers and there is a once a week Classical School that meets at the church. The pastor has an excellent sense of humor and enough scars and callousness that he seems quite battle hardened for spiritual warfare--though perhaps it should be better stated battle softened as we become more tender to the piercing Spirit as we struggle through sin and challenges.
This morning's sermon seemed especially appropriate as we all get into disciplined, structured, industrious mode: Heb. 12:4-29 was the text, though we made it only to verse 14. "My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor be weary when reproved by him. For the Lord disciplines the one He loves, and chastises every son whom he receives.....For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it."
To all you mommies out there taking a deep breath and getting ready to take on a new school year full of challenges, we are more than conquerors! :-) May you always sleep deeply, may your irritating children make you laugh often, and may you never run out of butter when company comes to visit.
~Jenny
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Our New Life in Austin
Where are you? What's your house like? What's been going on? When are you going to call? We need an update. Yes, well, to all these questions, I offer the following.
The trip to Austin was mostly uneventful; we left on Saturday morning and arrived in Austin on Sunday evening. Except for the time the pop-up camper began swaying so horribly that the semi-truck and me in Jon's pick-up truck slowed down considerably as we offered up desperate prayers that Jon would get control of the pop-up and thankful prayers that the suburban is a heavy vehicle, or the time I had to sleep on the bathroom floor at the hotel with Daisy so she wouldn't bark, growl or whine every time a hotel guest walked noisily down the hall, or the time we nearly left Charles somewhere....come to think of it, is Charles around here? Other than that, it went about as smoothly as a trip involving 6 kids, an 80lb red boned hound, 2 parents, grandpa, two vehicles, and a camper can go.
We arrived at our new address under the worst of circumstances. Namely because I'd been averaging 3 hours of sleep a night for quite a few nights running, the kids were very hyper having been cooped up in cars for a couple days, and Daisy was exuberantly sniffing and barking at everything. Furthermore, Jon was tense about my opinion of the house I'd never seen, and the home owners still had two cars parked in the driveway and 3 tiny yippee ankle biter dogs hollering their wee heads off in the sunroom. And so we burst upon the house and yard, party of 10.
Amongst wriggling excited humans dashing about, opening and closing doors, I surveyed the new landing pad. The house is odd and dark, with additions, hallways and extra doors here and there disrupting any sort of modern open flow that characterizes today's architecture. The kitchen is so dark that even I have to turn on lights in the middle of the day, and in a comparison of my past kitchen in terms of brightness and size....it's better not to compare. The master bedroom is a very odd sort, where the windows to the outside no longer look outside as an addition was put on--so the windows look into the small addition (now housing my sewing room) and two windows look out of the sewing room into the backyard. The master bath--hilarity will have to suffice as description since my camera battery died and I cannot download pictures until I unpack the box with the battery. I've no doubt the light fixtures and bathroom counters were the most hip in the mid-70's.
I was rather deflated and distressed. And poor Jon was worried sick muttering, " I should have never chosen the house."
Once I had a moment to catch my breath and rally my spirits, I began in earnest to mentally arrange our stuff in the current landscape since the movers and the semi-truck would arrive first thing in the morning and unpack in a whirl wind of activity that might take me weeks to sort out. Jon went to book a hotel for the night which took some doing since I was adamant that Daisy stay with us and not be left at the strange house alone--but he found a great spot after 45 minutes of phone calls--very clean, perfectly arranged, and dog friendly. Best part, it was the least expensive of all the hotels he contacted.
Daisy was a gem that night at the hotel which was good because I needed to sleep in a bed for a good many hours which I did, and we showed up back at the house to find the moving staff ready and waiting on Monday morning.
We were really blessed with the best moving staff ever. Five guys along with Patty and Dennis, unloaded the truck, and I directed everyone to the right rooms. 28,000 lbs of furnishings, books, and stuff were absorbed by the house in a mere 6 hours. It was remarkable. Then Patty and Dennis bid adieu to the local moving staff, and set to work unpacking; Grandpa, Jon and I assisting that effort.
By Tuesday morning, I had to admire Jon's ability to pick a house that was really very well suited to our "odd" life. The backyard is huge, fenced, with trees, a big shed, and a perfect spot for the trampoline which is up and running. The place is teeming with wild life, and the boys have been catching dozens of snakes, lizards, toads, huge caterpillars, and other assortments which they have to release from captivity nightly. I think all the lizards are tail-less in our yard now.
The three car garage was converted into a one car garage with a big finished off room perfectly suited to homeschooling with built in book shelves and counters, and plenty of room for instruments, books, computer, printer, school supplies, 6 desks, and all else. A little hallway goes from finished garage school room to the small hallway in the house, containing a broom closet, the washer and dryer, and an extra bathroom that everyone forgets we have until the other two are occupied. From there you enter the dinette area which of course has my huge desk, and then the "cozy" kitchen to the right. The kitchen is down right tiny with a set of double ovens from the 70's (which I like very much) that have never been used. They were shocked to be put into play on day 2 of our arrival, and have been turned on at least once a day since.
My kitchen is a tiny contained unit so it is more like a work room which no one can see anyway. Sprouts are in various stages of advance, tupperware rectangles full of sugar, cornmeal and beans are stacked up in one corner with the Berkey water filter, all my electrical appliances line the counters since there's no room in a cabinet, and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, the 4 corners of the small room are essentially unusable because of the way the cabinets were installed. But the very good news is that it has forced me to do what I needed to do a long time ago--purge the kitchen of all things not frequently used and not essential to the daily culinary life of the Hodges family.
The sunroom is housing unpacked boxes, the sewing room doubles as my radio studio and Jon's office when he's working from home, the children's rooms are big enough, and the family room is very large with a high open beamed ceiling and a big brick fireplace. Lots of loaded bookshelves complete the picture. The dining room is the loveliest room in the house with a wide shelf the length of the room under the front windows that holds oil lamps, cake stand, fruit bowl, etc. Bookshelves line two other walls, and the piano is nicely ensconced along the 4th wall. Doors close it off from the kitchen and from the entry way.
Overall I am very pleased with the final product and have congratulated Jon on a job well done. Though we are still unpacking boxes, we are getting ever closer to a routine of music practice, school and play time though we aren't quite there yet.
I've not yet seen a single child in the vast neighborhood except my own. Charles while walking Daisy the other day overheard a neighbor remark to another, "It sure is weird seeing kids around here." We seem to be the odd man out wherever we go, but everyone is fine with that.
One night I went for a jog around midnight and was startled to come upon 4 deer posed in a yard. It really isn't the sort of neighborhood you would find fake deer in the yard but I couldn't believe they were real. They were real all right and having the best time running and playing all over the place. I "ran" into them 3 more times over the next 30 minutes. Very pleasant.
The days are HOT, in the 100's. The nights are very pleasant, mid-70's, and the stars are absolutely divine. We live in south Austin, the farthest you can go and still be within the city limits, which is nice because it puts us farther from the light pollution at night. Most days the suburban sets in the driveway unused, and I'm kept very occupied feeding these people, unpacking, maintaining clean laundry and doing my daily radio show.
Jon is on the road most days, sometimes making an appearance at lunch and home most nights. He loves his job and is ecstatic that he can come "home" rather than stay in hotels as he did for June and July. I like the more leisurely pace of mornings since Jon doesn't have to be out the door as quickly and everyone can have breakfast together after the sun is up.
And that in a nutshell--I guess a rather big nutshell--sums up the Reader's Digest version of the Hodges new life.
The trip to Austin was mostly uneventful; we left on Saturday morning and arrived in Austin on Sunday evening. Except for the time the pop-up camper began swaying so horribly that the semi-truck and me in Jon's pick-up truck slowed down considerably as we offered up desperate prayers that Jon would get control of the pop-up and thankful prayers that the suburban is a heavy vehicle, or the time I had to sleep on the bathroom floor at the hotel with Daisy so she wouldn't bark, growl or whine every time a hotel guest walked noisily down the hall, or the time we nearly left Charles somewhere....come to think of it, is Charles around here? Other than that, it went about as smoothly as a trip involving 6 kids, an 80lb red boned hound, 2 parents, grandpa, two vehicles, and a camper can go.
We arrived at our new address under the worst of circumstances. Namely because I'd been averaging 3 hours of sleep a night for quite a few nights running, the kids were very hyper having been cooped up in cars for a couple days, and Daisy was exuberantly sniffing and barking at everything. Furthermore, Jon was tense about my opinion of the house I'd never seen, and the home owners still had two cars parked in the driveway and 3 tiny yippee ankle biter dogs hollering their wee heads off in the sunroom. And so we burst upon the house and yard, party of 10.
Amongst wriggling excited humans dashing about, opening and closing doors, I surveyed the new landing pad. The house is odd and dark, with additions, hallways and extra doors here and there disrupting any sort of modern open flow that characterizes today's architecture. The kitchen is so dark that even I have to turn on lights in the middle of the day, and in a comparison of my past kitchen in terms of brightness and size....it's better not to compare. The master bedroom is a very odd sort, where the windows to the outside no longer look outside as an addition was put on--so the windows look into the small addition (now housing my sewing room) and two windows look out of the sewing room into the backyard. The master bath--hilarity will have to suffice as description since my camera battery died and I cannot download pictures until I unpack the box with the battery. I've no doubt the light fixtures and bathroom counters were the most hip in the mid-70's.
I was rather deflated and distressed. And poor Jon was worried sick muttering, " I should have never chosen the house."
Once I had a moment to catch my breath and rally my spirits, I began in earnest to mentally arrange our stuff in the current landscape since the movers and the semi-truck would arrive first thing in the morning and unpack in a whirl wind of activity that might take me weeks to sort out. Jon went to book a hotel for the night which took some doing since I was adamant that Daisy stay with us and not be left at the strange house alone--but he found a great spot after 45 minutes of phone calls--very clean, perfectly arranged, and dog friendly. Best part, it was the least expensive of all the hotels he contacted.
Daisy was a gem that night at the hotel which was good because I needed to sleep in a bed for a good many hours which I did, and we showed up back at the house to find the moving staff ready and waiting on Monday morning.
We were really blessed with the best moving staff ever. Five guys along with Patty and Dennis, unloaded the truck, and I directed everyone to the right rooms. 28,000 lbs of furnishings, books, and stuff were absorbed by the house in a mere 6 hours. It was remarkable. Then Patty and Dennis bid adieu to the local moving staff, and set to work unpacking; Grandpa, Jon and I assisting that effort.
By Tuesday morning, I had to admire Jon's ability to pick a house that was really very well suited to our "odd" life. The backyard is huge, fenced, with trees, a big shed, and a perfect spot for the trampoline which is up and running. The place is teeming with wild life, and the boys have been catching dozens of snakes, lizards, toads, huge caterpillars, and other assortments which they have to release from captivity nightly. I think all the lizards are tail-less in our yard now.
The three car garage was converted into a one car garage with a big finished off room perfectly suited to homeschooling with built in book shelves and counters, and plenty of room for instruments, books, computer, printer, school supplies, 6 desks, and all else. A little hallway goes from finished garage school room to the small hallway in the house, containing a broom closet, the washer and dryer, and an extra bathroom that everyone forgets we have until the other two are occupied. From there you enter the dinette area which of course has my huge desk, and then the "cozy" kitchen to the right. The kitchen is down right tiny with a set of double ovens from the 70's (which I like very much) that have never been used. They were shocked to be put into play on day 2 of our arrival, and have been turned on at least once a day since.
My kitchen is a tiny contained unit so it is more like a work room which no one can see anyway. Sprouts are in various stages of advance, tupperware rectangles full of sugar, cornmeal and beans are stacked up in one corner with the Berkey water filter, all my electrical appliances line the counters since there's no room in a cabinet, and so on and so forth. Unfortunately, the 4 corners of the small room are essentially unusable because of the way the cabinets were installed. But the very good news is that it has forced me to do what I needed to do a long time ago--purge the kitchen of all things not frequently used and not essential to the daily culinary life of the Hodges family.
The sunroom is housing unpacked boxes, the sewing room doubles as my radio studio and Jon's office when he's working from home, the children's rooms are big enough, and the family room is very large with a high open beamed ceiling and a big brick fireplace. Lots of loaded bookshelves complete the picture. The dining room is the loveliest room in the house with a wide shelf the length of the room under the front windows that holds oil lamps, cake stand, fruit bowl, etc. Bookshelves line two other walls, and the piano is nicely ensconced along the 4th wall. Doors close it off from the kitchen and from the entry way.
Overall I am very pleased with the final product and have congratulated Jon on a job well done. Though we are still unpacking boxes, we are getting ever closer to a routine of music practice, school and play time though we aren't quite there yet.
I've not yet seen a single child in the vast neighborhood except my own. Charles while walking Daisy the other day overheard a neighbor remark to another, "It sure is weird seeing kids around here." We seem to be the odd man out wherever we go, but everyone is fine with that.
One night I went for a jog around midnight and was startled to come upon 4 deer posed in a yard. It really isn't the sort of neighborhood you would find fake deer in the yard but I couldn't believe they were real. They were real all right and having the best time running and playing all over the place. I "ran" into them 3 more times over the next 30 minutes. Very pleasant.
The days are HOT, in the 100's. The nights are very pleasant, mid-70's, and the stars are absolutely divine. We live in south Austin, the farthest you can go and still be within the city limits, which is nice because it puts us farther from the light pollution at night. Most days the suburban sets in the driveway unused, and I'm kept very occupied feeding these people, unpacking, maintaining clean laundry and doing my daily radio show.
Jon is on the road most days, sometimes making an appearance at lunch and home most nights. He loves his job and is ecstatic that he can come "home" rather than stay in hotels as he did for June and July. I like the more leisurely pace of mornings since Jon doesn't have to be out the door as quickly and everyone can have breakfast together after the sun is up.
And that in a nutshell--I guess a rather big nutshell--sums up the Reader's Digest version of the Hodges new life.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Now That I've Seen The Job, I Know I'm Not Qualified
"Mom, when are we going to get there? Mama, may I have a vitamin? Mom, I thought you said I could shave my legs? Mommy, I don't think you fed us lunch. Did you feed us lunch?"
All questions must be submitted in writing. That's my number one rule, followed by, if you decide to acquiesce to this request, make sure it's in German. I can't really read German, but I wouldn't read it if it were in English, so that isn't really the point.
Who are these people and why do they sit at the dining room table three times a day waiting for yet another meal. More importantly, am I ruining their lives? I try to limit asking myself this question to once an hour.
I distinctly remember the first time Jonathan told me his stomach hurt as if I knew what to do about it. I momentarily panicked. Gee, I'm the mom. My mom seemed so knowledgeable when I told her my stomach hurt. But come to think of it, none of her remedies ever worked. So maybe she was pretending... All of this flashed through my mind as I gazed steadily into Jonathan little upturned concerned face. He clearly thought I knew the answer. I remembered....
I remembered being 4 years old and climbing out of mom's blue mustang at the mall. I needed tennis shoes, and I got some that day at Macy's. The shoes had an appliqued Miss Piggy on each shoe. I really thought this was terrific because I could do the most amazing rendition of Miss Piggy karate chopping Kermit the Frog. I was good. At least my entire Kinder Care class thought I was good.
As I pushed the front seat forward in the Mustang and stepped past the seatbelt out the door, my elbow banged on the latch and it hurt. I yelped a bit. Mom said," I'll fix it for you," and then she kissed my elbow.
I thoroughly expected that the pain would be completely gone upon impact between elbow and lips, but to my complete astonishment, nothing happened. I was shocked and speechless. And then I felt very protective of my mother. She could never know that her kisses were broken. So I pretended that it was perfect and instantaneous healing powers she had, stuck my chin in the air, announced "all better" and took her offered hand though my elbow still throbbed. My mom was so convinced of my act that just two days ago when my daughter Vivian hurt her leg, Nana announced that her kisses had the power to heal instantly. It had always worked for Vivian's mama (me). I decided not to tell mom the real version. It was 30 years ago. Why break the magic now?
So back to Jonathan and his stomach. I realized that I needed Bentanite and I was totally unprepared for this moment. In his 3 year old world, he needed to know that his mother knew exactly what remedy a hurting tummy needed, and I gave it my best shot, and wondered if he pretended it worked so that he could protect me from my failures.
Worn down by years of being a self-admitted failure at this journey called motherhood, a 9 year old Charles announced his stomach hurt, and he bent over in half by the sheer pain of it, and looked at me with the look. The look that says, "you know what to do, now share your knowledge."
I shrugged in defeat. "Charles, I have no idea what your problem is. But I can offer suggestions. Sit on the toilet. Have some Bentonite, lay on the sofa doubled over in half until the pain goes away. I have bad news. When you become a mother, no one hands you blue prints. You just sort of muddle through the thing as best you can, and pray to God that He gives your children the strength to endure you."
Charles accepted this answer with amazing maturity. In fact, I think he appreciated my bluntness. And then it occurred to me. He's probably been protecting me from my ineptitude for years as well, and now it's a relief to know he doesn't have to.
All questions must be submitted in writing. That's my number one rule, followed by, if you decide to acquiesce to this request, make sure it's in German. I can't really read German, but I wouldn't read it if it were in English, so that isn't really the point.
Who are these people and why do they sit at the dining room table three times a day waiting for yet another meal. More importantly, am I ruining their lives? I try to limit asking myself this question to once an hour.
I distinctly remember the first time Jonathan told me his stomach hurt as if I knew what to do about it. I momentarily panicked. Gee, I'm the mom. My mom seemed so knowledgeable when I told her my stomach hurt. But come to think of it, none of her remedies ever worked. So maybe she was pretending... All of this flashed through my mind as I gazed steadily into Jonathan little upturned concerned face. He clearly thought I knew the answer. I remembered....
I remembered being 4 years old and climbing out of mom's blue mustang at the mall. I needed tennis shoes, and I got some that day at Macy's. The shoes had an appliqued Miss Piggy on each shoe. I really thought this was terrific because I could do the most amazing rendition of Miss Piggy karate chopping Kermit the Frog. I was good. At least my entire Kinder Care class thought I was good.
As I pushed the front seat forward in the Mustang and stepped past the seatbelt out the door, my elbow banged on the latch and it hurt. I yelped a bit. Mom said," I'll fix it for you," and then she kissed my elbow.
I thoroughly expected that the pain would be completely gone upon impact between elbow and lips, but to my complete astonishment, nothing happened. I was shocked and speechless. And then I felt very protective of my mother. She could never know that her kisses were broken. So I pretended that it was perfect and instantaneous healing powers she had, stuck my chin in the air, announced "all better" and took her offered hand though my elbow still throbbed. My mom was so convinced of my act that just two days ago when my daughter Vivian hurt her leg, Nana announced that her kisses had the power to heal instantly. It had always worked for Vivian's mama (me). I decided not to tell mom the real version. It was 30 years ago. Why break the magic now?
So back to Jonathan and his stomach. I realized that I needed Bentanite and I was totally unprepared for this moment. In his 3 year old world, he needed to know that his mother knew exactly what remedy a hurting tummy needed, and I gave it my best shot, and wondered if he pretended it worked so that he could protect me from my failures.
Worn down by years of being a self-admitted failure at this journey called motherhood, a 9 year old Charles announced his stomach hurt, and he bent over in half by the sheer pain of it, and looked at me with the look. The look that says, "you know what to do, now share your knowledge."
I shrugged in defeat. "Charles, I have no idea what your problem is. But I can offer suggestions. Sit on the toilet. Have some Bentonite, lay on the sofa doubled over in half until the pain goes away. I have bad news. When you become a mother, no one hands you blue prints. You just sort of muddle through the thing as best you can, and pray to God that He gives your children the strength to endure you."
Charles accepted this answer with amazing maturity. In fact, I think he appreciated my bluntness. And then it occurred to me. He's probably been protecting me from my ineptitude for years as well, and now it's a relief to know he doesn't have to.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
You guess the kid....
"Breakfast is ready," his mother called and the troop came into the dining room with the usual accompaniment of knocked chairs, half hearted arguments, clattered noises thrown together softly enough that mom stayed out of it.
It wasn't much, buttered cinnamon toast on a square of waxed paper and a glass of orange juice. He strolled into the kitchen in underwear. "Good grief, where are your clothes? Go put on your clothes," mom rolled her eyes. He ignored her and sat at the table munching his toast and looking around actively for any opportunity to stir up trouble. She didn't really notice being busy with her coffee and book.
Then she remembered, when breakfast was done and the dining room empty, littered with meal debris. "Go get dressed and then get the math flash cards out of my car door and bring them to me." He trotted upstairs enthusiastically, tripping on the third step, swinging round the half landing on the banister, and hopping up the remaining steps two at a time. A few squeals accompanied his progressive trot across the hall from siblings passed along the way and antagonized in the expected hasty, habitual manner. They practically squealed in anticipation of what would come with his approach.
A short time later he was out the door to retrieve the flash cards. He burst back into the house, tripped and fell scattering flash cards all over. His mother rolled her eyes and went back to her book. He collected himself and his cards. She accepted the cards silently and looked him over. His collar was tucked under the shirt, the buttons crookedly joined, his eyes were bright and his grin was broad.
"How do you manage to put your shirt on like this everyday?" She asked while fixing it, and then started on the flash cards. He enthusiastically fired out the answers only occasionally pausing to search for the right answer. At the end he spontaneously threw his arms around his mother nearly upsetting the coffee cup. " I love you!" he said exuberantly and planted a damp kiss on her cheek.
And you wonder why he's her favorite.
It wasn't much, buttered cinnamon toast on a square of waxed paper and a glass of orange juice. He strolled into the kitchen in underwear. "Good grief, where are your clothes? Go put on your clothes," mom rolled her eyes. He ignored her and sat at the table munching his toast and looking around actively for any opportunity to stir up trouble. She didn't really notice being busy with her coffee and book.
Then she remembered, when breakfast was done and the dining room empty, littered with meal debris. "Go get dressed and then get the math flash cards out of my car door and bring them to me." He trotted upstairs enthusiastically, tripping on the third step, swinging round the half landing on the banister, and hopping up the remaining steps two at a time. A few squeals accompanied his progressive trot across the hall from siblings passed along the way and antagonized in the expected hasty, habitual manner. They practically squealed in anticipation of what would come with his approach.
A short time later he was out the door to retrieve the flash cards. He burst back into the house, tripped and fell scattering flash cards all over. His mother rolled her eyes and went back to her book. He collected himself and his cards. She accepted the cards silently and looked him over. His collar was tucked under the shirt, the buttons crookedly joined, his eyes were bright and his grin was broad.
"How do you manage to put your shirt on like this everyday?" She asked while fixing it, and then started on the flash cards. He enthusiastically fired out the answers only occasionally pausing to search for the right answer. At the end he spontaneously threw his arms around his mother nearly upsetting the coffee cup. " I love you!" he said exuberantly and planted a damp kiss on her cheek.
And you wonder why he's her favorite.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Mom, have you lost your mind?
This afternoon right after my radio show I was devouring a luscious huge piece of cake loaded with chunks of fresh fruit, iced with whipped cream with lots of sliced almonds happily patted into the side. Caroline stood in the middle of the kitchen and watched me in total disbelief.
"Mom, have you lost your mind? Your going to get fat!" She said, continuing with the dropped jaw look of amazement.
"I know. But ya' know, every now and then, it is totally worth it," and I continued shoveling the cake into my mouth with total caloric abandon, happily and loudly ogling over the yumminess.
"Huh," Caroline shrugged," I guess this means you're totally stressed out...or....I dunno what else it could be."
At this, I had to laugh, hard. Us girls really get it, don't we? ;-)
"Mom, have you lost your mind? Your going to get fat!" She said, continuing with the dropped jaw look of amazement.
"I know. But ya' know, every now and then, it is totally worth it," and I continued shoveling the cake into my mouth with total caloric abandon, happily and loudly ogling over the yumminess.
"Huh," Caroline shrugged," I guess this means you're totally stressed out...or....I dunno what else it could be."
At this, I had to laugh, hard. Us girls really get it, don't we? ;-)
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