Reconnecting

What a fun weekend it's been.

C & S arrived around dinnertime on Friday night. As I walked out the front door to greet them, their little girl Julia (4) climbed over the front seat, jumped out of the car with a bouquet of flowers in hand, and shouted, "Hi!" What a welcome. I was shocked to see how big Caleb was. After hugs and handshakes, we went inside. Julia and Caleb inspected the house. Julia found all our books and immediately started pulling them off the shelves for us to read to her. (Ira Sleeps Over, George and Martha. D said she had good taste.) Caleb busied himself with a truck and some play tools.

I threw some Cokes in the freezer to chill quickly. We sat down to a rather disorganized, but pleasant, meal together (thank you, Panera & Kraft Macaroni and Cheese), put the kids to bed, and stayed up chatting til midnight. Right before we went to bed, D and I heard a muffled boom - or thud - or something. We looked around the kitchen and basement but couldn't figure out what happened, so we went to bed.

The next day we trekked over to Cosley Zoo (which S coined Snuggly Zoo - so much more appropriate than the original) a nearby petting zoo geared for kids up to six years old. Horses and llamas and giant Flemish bunnies...?

Oh my.

During our weekend, Julia convinced D to read to her, let her pet Boo & Kanga (the gerbils), and play his guitar. Together they sang Joshua, & Fruit of the Spirit. D was impressed because Julia already knew a lot of the words, although she'd only had the CD a week.

Caleb followed me around the house, laughing and trying to headbutt my knees. C said that was a sign of affection.

At naptime, D & S bonded over Atari (which means I'm off the hook for a few days), and C and I took a walk to a nearby park to talk and pray. It was an encouragement to me. Her words must have been something I needed to hear, because my pastor repeated them almost verbatim in this morning's sermon. God is good.

And of course, you readers must have figured out much more quickly than I did what the muffled boom was...

Yes, Mom. I am my father's daughter.

Weekend Plans

We have friends coming to town this weekend. C & S, whom I haven't seen in at least two years. I think the last time I saw C was in the summer of the year I began dating D. She had just found out that she was pregnant with their little boy. So we planned a visit. They're driving up from Springfield tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it. We'll go to the petting zoo on Saturday, weather permitting.

But I'm realizing my house is in no way baby proof. I'm not worried about my stuff - I'm worried about the kids, particularity baby boy. I went to the grocery store last night to try to find a lock for the cabinet under the kitchen sink (where, as a kidless household, we keep all things smelly and poisonous), and didn't find anything. I wonder if I knot a shoelace around the handles if that will suffice. I don't have those little covers for out outlets, either. That worries me.

I'm trying to stifle my perfectionist tendencies. I want the house to be sparkling clean when they walk through the door, but there's no way that's happening in the next 24 hours. Oh well.

Ramble ramble.

Neighbors

There's a little girl who lives on our street who cracks me up. She's maybe six or seven.

Almost every night around 8:00, I see her outside. She races up and down our sidewalk on a little pink scooter. Her tangled, wavy blond hair streams out behind her as she whizzes past the house. Her outfit of choice for her nightly joyride is a Disney princess nightgown (with Belle and Cinderella's faces across the front) and a pair of high heels.

At first I thought the nightgown meant that mom let her put her PJ's on and then run around outside a bit more. But when D and I saw her on Sunday, it was a hot night. She must have been sweaty, playing as hard as she was. I thought, "Wow, Mom is nice, letting her get all sweaty and then putting her to bed." But then I noticed the high heels. And I realized: This is no bedtime outfit. This is her princess outfit. Who knows what she's daydreaming about as she zips by on that scooter.

I like that kid. I remember the days when a nightgown made me a princess. Or a hoodie towel made me a superhero.

To Each His Own

David makes a CD that 30,000 churches have the potential to hear. What do I make?

A chocolate cheesecake. With homemade whipped cream and dark chocolate shavings.

I personally consider those two accomplishments to be of equal importance. I mean, come on, people. We're talking cheesecake. It was my birthday cake of choice when I was younger. And since Mom is too far away to play chef, I decided it was time to learn.

On Saturday I gathered all the ingredients, bought a double boiler, and a springform pan so I could try this. (I know you can use a metal bowl over a pot, but we don't have one.)

Sunday afternoon while David mowed the lawn, I donned my apron (thank you Rebecca and Rachel!) and spent three hours in the kitchen. One hour to prepare, one hour to bake, one hour to set, and technically, at least one hour in the fridge before serving. But I left the kitchen once this was in the fridge.

I brought half of it to work, and shared it with my friend E who was in town from Texas (Side note: Yay for visits from old friends! An evening chatting was good for my soul.) D made the "I think this is super yummy" noise when he tasted it, and asked, "Can you make this cake every week?"

Yay.

Stronger Than Superglue!

Some of you know that David's been working with Awana lately, writing and recording children's music for their various clubs and programs. Well, last week he received his first ever fan mail! Here it is:

"I'm an Awana Sparks volunteer, and just received the new CD last week. I've been jamming to it ever since! It's awesome. The kids will love it, and their parents will, too. Listening to the music has me really excited to start the new Awana year. What a fun, fun way to teach and learn Bible truths. Thank you!


Sarah, Wyoming"

Isn't it so great?? I'm inordinately proud of this email. When David finished the project, Steve (the producer, aka his guitarist, aka partner in crime) told us that Awana would make 30,000 copies of the CD. At the time I thought, "Wow. That's a big number. Maybe people will hear David's music!" It's totally different to actually receive fan mail. From WYOMING. Who lives in Wyoming?! I mean, apparently Sarah does, but who else? People in other states are hearing my husband's songs. And they like them so much, they're hunting him down on the internet to TELL HIM.

Crazy.

So. You readers of my blog, who have kids under the age of 8, or who know someone with kids under the age of 8, or who have kids who one day may turn one of those ages: Check them out. Puggles is a purple CD one. It's geared towards kids 2-3 years old. The Sparks (Sing It, Tell It, Whisper It, Yell It) cover has a kid on it, who is apparently super-psyched about her super psweet music. That one is geared towards kids about 7 years old.

Buy them. You won't regret it.

**Other fan mail (in form of posted comments) can be directed to: http://www.davidyeagerband.blogspot.com/

Photos of the New Stuff

In case anyone was curious...

And my super-great-surprise-early birthday gift from my wonderful Vid:

Yay for Fiestaware. I think it looks like a duckling. Or a chick.

And I know I'm not supposed to love stuff, but... It was so much fun to invite some friends over on Sunday night and play games around that table. I can't wait to have overnight guests stay in our extra room, and it feels so much cozier and more comfortable with a rug in there. And I'm itching to mix up some Sangria in that pitcher one night when we have friends over for supper. (Hey readers, any takers?) I hope that the "stuff" we get makes other people feel more welcome and comfortable in our home.

So. Stuff. I know I shouldn't love it. And I guess I don't. But I like it. A lot.

Discovery

I learned this weekend what an "estate sale" is.

What a glorious concept.

On Saturday D and I made a list of chores we had to do. Then he ran out to get a haircut. When he returned, he announced, "It's gorgeous out. I feel like garage-saling it." (Ah the annoyance of modern English... changing a noun to a verb in common usage. How do I spell that word? E or no e? That is the question.) I heard opportunity knocking. "Ok. Get on Craigslist and see what big sales are happening in the area." (75 degrees, gorgeous blue sky, sun. Who wants to clean the basement? Not me.)

On Craigslist he immediately found a "High End Estate Sale in Town-Next-to-Us". It had started only two hours earlier. There were photos posted. Lots of lovely antiques that appeared to be in excellent shape. D saw an old an old wooden trunk and I saw a headboard. We jumped in the car. In my head I was chanting, "Don't get your hopes up. There's probably nothing there. Don't get your hopes up..."

We pulled up to a sprawling, yellow brick home sitting atop a small hill. The architecture was probably 1920s. The chant in my head got louder. "There's probably nothing there..."

The trunk was gone and the headboard was too small. But there was something there. There was a dining room set.

I gasped a little when I saw it. Dark wood, six chairs. Lovely, shining condition. I ducked my head under the table. The sticker said Pottery Barn. I gasped again. I glanced at the sticker price. And then I swooned. I tugged on D's arm. "Look at how pretty!" I gushed. And then on impulse I blurted, "And look at the rug under our feet!"

D and I talked it over a while. I stood possessively over the set, as shoppers one after another checked the price tag and commented on how lovely it was. D talked to the director of the sale. She bartered just a bit, and then marked them sold (We got the rug, too. Win!). We raced back home to get the checkbook and find a truck. In just a few hours, our new table was in our dining room, and our second bedroom had a new (old) rug.

And I think I have a new hobby.

Pseudo-Foodie

For those of you who are curious, the fort is being utilized right now. I can hear D working on rerecording some lyrics. I only hope the sound of the gerbils' wheels isn't traveling through to the basement.

And so here I am, posting. Two in one day is probably excessive, but oh well.

I like to cook. I don't do it enough, especially now that I work a normal 9-5 job and don't get home until close to 6:00. As a teacher, I had plenty of time to run to the store and plan a meal and get it started before D came home from work. Not so any longer. I haven't quite figured out the new rhythm of working, planning meals, grocery shopping, and cooking, the latter three all happening between 6-9 PM. D is suffering for it a bit, too. He's lost some weight.

But! I made this super easy soup this evening for supper, and was pleasantly surprised by how good it was. I was a little skeptical when I heard about it. The last time I tried to make an "easy soup", it was awful. (And out of the Better Homes & Gardens Cookbook nonetheless! I can usually turn to them for a good staple recipe, but not that time. I felt so betrayed.) But this, although it had a lot of ready ingredients, turned out to be rather yummy.

I'll post the original recipe below, and then tell you what changes I made to it.

Tortellini Soup

Ingredients:
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbsp butter
48 oz can chicken broth
1 bag frozen tortellini
10 oz frozen chopped spinach
2 14 oz. cans stewed tomatoes
grated Parmesan

Prep:
In a large saucepan, over medium heat, cook garlic and butter 1-2 min. Don't let garlic brown. Add broth and pasta. Bring to a boil, then let simmer for 10 minutes. Add spinach and tomato. Simmer for five more. Ladle into bowls. Sprinkle Parmesan over. Serve.

See? It's a cheater's recipe. Here are the changes I made: Instead of canned broth, I used broth from bouillon cubes and hot water. Instead of frozen spinach, I used 8 oz. of fresh. (Oh, how I would love a food processor!) This time I did use the stewed tomatoes, but next time I plan on trying chopped or crushed. The stewed ones were too big to spoon up. I also think this recipe would be good for winter - I'd add some spicy ground sausage to it to make it heartier.

I made some crusty garlic bread to dip in the broth, and that was it.

I think sometimes I ought to have a plan, or a goal. You know, "Study your photography books and take your camera out and experiment." "Do one small house decorating project a week." "Try two new recipes a month." That sort of thing.

But perhaps that's too lofty. Maybe I should shoot for "Try to get dinner on the table before 8:00 PM."

Finally

The power came back on at 6:00 last night. But by then, everything in the freezer was completely thawed.... Yuck.

I'll be grocery shopping tonight.

Spoilt Milk

We had tornado warnings and storms come through Wheaton last night. We lost power at 7:45 PM, (and I had just gone grocery shopping. Figures.), spent about a half hour in the basement, and then another hour upstairs sitting in the dark, surrounded by candles. But with nothing to do, we went to bed early.

We still have no power. It's nine AM Tuesday. 13 hours and counting...

What are they thinking?

I like visiting house-y blogs. It's Lovely, I'll Take It! captures terrible tear-downs and fixer uppers on camera. One house looked like a human Tetris game, which caused the author to post this. Check out the hilarity.

Productivity... Or, When We Were Six

Saturday was a work day for D and me. Of the many jobs we have still to do, repainting the windows in the living room and dining room was one. Here is a close-up of them before the paint job. I realize that that's only one spot, but trust me - they looked like that pretty much everywhere. We're replacing most of them, but the big picture window is too expensive to fix right now. Something else had to be done.

Saturday morning was beautiful, and I woke up feeling ambitious. The Terminix guy was coming to do a free termite inspection on our house (which no, we hadn't had done, and which, to my surprise, turned into a sales pitch and wasted a good hour of our morning), but after that, we were free. I knew D would probably want to disappear into his music room in the basement, so I decided it was time to tackle those windows. So I donned my painting jeans, grabbed a paint brush, and got to work.

But not really. First I ran to the hardware store to get more sandpaper. Then I sanded the windows down again. Then they had to be cleaned. After that I realized I hadn't pulled out the drop cloths, so I got those. Then I taped up the windows (one million little panes inside that picture window.... arrrgh). Then I began to paint.

During this time D ran out to borrow a drill from our friend J. He came home with an Atari and eight "new" video games.

After proudly displaying his treasures, he went down to work in his music room, and I kept painting.

D was downstairs for a long time. I heard lots of hammering from the basement which, although curious, I took as a good sign. And I (very uncharacteristically) was extremely organized and methodical as I painted. In fact, there was one moment when I was standing at the front window, paintbrush in hand, that was particularly sweet. The sun was shining in, I was listening to Phish's Waste, and standing there covered in paint, painstakingly brushing over one of the crossbeams in a pane of glass, I was absolutely, utterly content. I was exactly where I wanted to be.

Just as I was finishing up the last bits of the trim on the dining room window, D burst upstairs. "Hey hey hey hey hey, guess what?"

"What?" I replied.

"I built a fort! Come see!" I put the last touches on the window and followed him down the stairs. "Ta-dah!" he sang as I walked in. And there it was.

"Will you suffocate in there? Can you see?" I asked. "Don't burn the house down if you put in a light." Such loving support I give!

All right. So I didn't immediately show the appropriate level of excitement at D's accomplishment. But really, it's brilliant. The "fort" as it has officially been coined, is really sturdy. And it blocks sounds. Which means we don't have to spend hundreds of dollars buying insulation or soundproofing material, and it means D can get back to work on music stuff, which is good, because his guitarist/producer, S, seems to be kicking things into high gear.

So now he's got his computer, his CDs, Space Invaders, and a fort in that basement. If he goes downstairs today I might never see him again.

P.S. Scissoring!

That last post I wrote merited a "Scissoring" comment. My best friend, A, coined the term in high school. Basically, in the midst of a crowd, when one wanted to change the subject abruptly, one announced it by saying, "Scissoring!" And the subject was changed.

There was this funny rule, though. A, K and I understood it, but never voiced it. It was unfair, but fun. The rule was this: If you were going to Scissor, you had to switch to a topic you knew would be unanimously appreciated. Otherwise you were just interrupting.

Another high school friend, one of the two guys in our crowd (also A) tried Scissoring many times, but his attempts were always vetoed. In retrospect, I think it must have been because not everyone in the room wanted to talk about whatever his topic was. Or, it might have been because he was a guy. Who knows.