Christmas Vacation

Well, it’s early Tuesday – and the snow is falling fast. D and I are supposed to fly out to visit his family tonight, but I don’t know if it’s going to happen. I mean, I’m sure it will happen eventually. The question is when. How long will we sit at the airport? We’re stocked up with food and comfy clothes. We figured out how to pack only carry-on bags (which we will probably regret when we have to return home with new Christmas gifts… not sure how that will work).

Last night we swapped Christmas gifts. I got the best Christmas card ever. I also got a bunch of fun new books, one of which – a new Wayside Stories book – we are going to read on the plane. Yes, we are that weird.

We packed and got the house ready for our departure. I had a “grown up” moment last night. K, a little girl who lives across the street, is going to watch Boo and Kanga (the gerbils) for us. As I was jotting some instructions and writing the check, I thought, “Oh wow. I’m one of those grown-ups that has pets that need to be taken care of and the kid across the street does it for me. Weird.”

I know, I know. I should have realized it before now. David and I are adults. But still, when I actually think about it, it's strange.

Six

That was the median temperature yesterday, according to the various banks and drugstores I passed as I was driving around. It was so cold that David and I could not scrape the ice off the car, the two back doors stayed frozen shut all day, any slush that sprayed up on my winshield froze immediately, and the ground was so hard that the sheet ice that covered it wasn't even slippery. It was so cold my drivers side window wouldn't go down when I was at the drive through at the bank. I had to pull my car forward, get out and stand at the ATM to make my deposit. And those little touch screens don't work when you have your gloves on. Cold. Burn your face and eyes, make you hate life cold.

Today it's supposed to be more like 22, last I checked. Sad to say, that will feel pleasant compared to Monday.

Today is perhaps the best day ever at work. I teach in the morning, getting back to the office around 11:00. At 11:30 we start a Christmas party (lunch is catered in!), and then at 1:30, we start a staff meeting (which may not sound like fun, but always is) which will go until the end of the day.

David is sick with a sore throat today, and so is staying in to work from home. I'm a tad bit jealous, but not too much.

T-minus 9 days until Chirstmas.

Waiting

New door new door new door new door...!

It was supposed to be rainy and icy this morning, but right now the sun is shining. According to wheather.com there's not supposed to be any real preciptation until around noon. I'm waiting for the guys, hoping they get here in the next few minutes. They said 8:30...

Christmas Time is Here

In celebration of the season, I decided to change my blog (Thanks, M, for the link to the free backgrounds!) I guess I could have gone classier, been more polished... but since I'm around kids all day, think about kids all day, and I named my blog after a kid's book, this design was more suitable for me. It makes me wish I had Christmas Break. Or a pair of snow pants I could don to go roll around (comfortably) in the snow.

And there is snow! Sigh. I love it, and I hate it. It started Sunday and quit last night. We only have a few inches, but the roads are gross. Winter is here. BUT! We have our tree. We put up our Christmas lights. We watched Charlie Brown's Christmas and The Grinch. It feels like Christmas. I have three weeks of work left before Christmas Break. Wonderful, wonderful. I'm totally enjoying the Advent season. My only problem is a lack of inspiration in the gift-giving department. I have no idea what we're going to get people. I have no idea what to get D. Sigh.

Other news: Lord willing, we should be getting a new front door tomorrow (Merry Christmas to ME!). Right now there's about a half inch to an inch of space all around the door. You can see daylight when the door is closed, and the cold blows in. (I feel like we ought to go Ma & Pa style and hang a quilt over the door to keep out the cold.) There's call for more snow on Wednesday, though, so who knows. I'm afraid they'll cancel, though we haven't heard anything yet.

That's what it used to look like. The sink was falling off the wall. The floor was giving way underneath us (but we didn't know it). The tile was cracked, the crumbly grout piled up in the corners. There was mildew under that lovely wallpaper border. And it was sponge-painted.

This is what it looks like now. New floor. New wall. New toilet, sink, cabinet, mirror, curtain, towel rack, and window. New caulk in the tub. It's sooooooooo pretty. The bathroom was under construction for over a month. Now, it's like a surprise party every time I turn the corner and see it.

Miracles

I filled up my tank today - needed about ten gallons - and paid $19.64. Joy.

Dad2 is here this weekend, making great progress on the bathroom. I will post a picture today or tomorrow.

Thanksgiving is on its way! Yay for a 4-day weekend!

Who Knew?

Having a house means working all the time. At least, that's what it feels like.

Maybe one day D and I will be better at keeping up with housework... As it is now, it's all we can do to stay on top of things. And when I say "on top", I really mean, "It's all we can do to keep the house from eating us alive."

Take today, for example. We were out late last night at an Over the Rhine concert with some friends. (Fabulous concert, good times.) When we finally dragged our eyelids open this morning, we were confronted with myriad opportunities as to how we could spend our day:

Cleaning
Grocery shopping
Folding laundry
Raking leaves
Cleaning the gutters
Straightening the house
Sweeping, mopping, vacuuming (I hate those chores with a passion. Not sure why.)
Errands (the bank and the cleaners)
Returning stuff to Home Depot and Menards
Continue working on the bathroom or basement

What fun.

Well, this is what I mean. It would have been great if David could have done a bunch of stuff on the bathroom and the basement. But, truth be told, the leaves had to be raked. Again. And the groceries had to be bought. I had to go to the cleaners. (This week, I managed to seriously stain ALL THREE pairs of dress pants I own - one right after the other. I have to wear a skirt to work on Monday because I will have no pants.) And the bank.

And we had a productive day. It was good. I did those three errands. D raked, did the returns, and bought us a new tall ladder so were no longer the moochers on the block. I straightened. David helped.

And then we crashed on the couch at 2:00, ate lunch, and watched dumb TV for an hour and a half. And then he disappeared into the basement (last I heard, he was trying to play some flute-thing... no idea...), and I decided to clean up the kitchen. And then I messed it up again to make an apple pie. With a brown sugar crumb topping. I'm pretty happy about that.

But look at how much on that list didn't get tackled today. Sigh.

The Heartthrob

So, in my new job I spend a lot of time visiting junior highs and high schools all over the county. For those of you who don't know, I'm now considered an "abstinence educator". I.e. I teach for a local non-profit organization. I go into schools as a guest speaker for health classes. Yes, that means I get to talk about all the creepy things you never wanted your teachers to talk to you about in school. (I also do presentations for adults, but that's something a little different.) I'm supposed to teach in Spanish, but right now, because I'm still in training, I teach in English a lot. And I love it.

I visited a school last week about a half hour from our house. It was a group of about 60 kids - two seventh grade classes combined. As I introduced myself, I jumped right in to explaining how they were supposed to fill out information on a survey we are required to do. (We're funded by the government, so we have to appease them.) It's anonymous, but the kids do have to put the first initial of their first name, and the last initial of their last name at the top. (I have no idea why.) Anyway, it's a direction that most kids have a hard time understanding. So, I explained. "My name is Brittany Yeager." I wrote it on the board. "If I were filling this out, I would mark the B from Brittany, and the R, not the Y, of Yeager. Get it?"

Suddenly a hand shot up. A boy in the front row blurted out, "Do you know David Yeager? Are you related?" Obviously taken off guard (I've never seen this kid before), I responded, "Well, David is the name of my husband... but what David Yeager are YOU talking about?"

He replied, "The David Yeager that wrote the Fruit of the Spirit song - the one from that CD - the one that leads worship at NPC."

"Yes, that's my husband," I replied, flabbergasted.

"I'm in the junior high band. I play the bass. I learned that song so we could teach the kids at BLAST." (BLAST is the ministry I teach - K-3rd graders.)

Just then a cute little brunette sitting nearby realized something interesting was going on and popped into the conversation. "Wait, what are you guys talking about? Why are you talking about The Fruit of the Spirit song?"

"Her husband is David Yeager," Bass Player explained again, pointing at me. "He wrote it."

Little Brunette gripped the sides of her desk in utter raptures. "YOUR husband is David Yeager? Oh my gosh! He is SO COOOOL!!"

"Well, thanks." I grinned. "I'll tell him you said that."

"Oh my gosh. Well, I mean, uhm, he doesn't know me." She waved her hands in front of her, urging me not to do such a thing.

"It's okay. He'll still want to know he's cool." I answered.

And he did.

Oh, stuff...

Here, folks, are some pictures of our still half finished bathroom. Since these were taken, D has managed to put another coat of paint on te walls and sand the window trim, but sadly, that's all. As you can see, I haven't written in a while because, well... there's not much to say, or show.

Since M2D2 left town what... two weeks ago? Three? I've been working late, then been sick. Vid's been swamped with music stuff: gigs, church stuff, and the album. And then he got sick, too. We earned some newlywed points, we did, taking care of one another's gross-ness these past few weeks. Everything has suffered for our lack of free time/energy, though. The bathroom, obviously. And the house is a wreck (I can actually see the dust and dirt on the floor, and the paths where our socks keep it fairly clean), everything is buried in leaves (Vid's car, the lawn, the garage...), and the laundry is threatening to take over my closet and eat my clean clothes.

But tonight is election night. I can't spend tonight doing chores. I got my hair cut, and now I'm parked in front of the TV listening to people ramble. And Vid is recording some violin stuff for the album, so he's not here to help me. (We haven't seen each other since 6:45 AM.) We'll start on chores tomorrow.

A funeral home in our town is already decorated for Christmas. There's a light up Nativity scene on the front lawn and everything. It's too soon, I say.

I was craving Taco Bell tonight. So I got some on my way to my haircut. I haven't eaten Taco Bell in years. No joke. Baja Gordita and some Mug root beer. Man, was it good.

Next post I will tell you all why David is a junior high heartthrob. Who knew?

The Flu

Is no fun. Especially on the weekend.

I know, I know...

I'm supposed to be blogging. I'm supposed to be posting pics of the bathroom. I will. I promise.


I don't know why I don't feel like blogging. Well, yes I do. I'm pooped. I'm feeling under the weather. Work is wearing me out - traveling from school to school, translating, trying to remember all the things they're paying me to do. The weather is wearing me out. It's drizzly and rainy and gray and chilly. Lovely fall, but not exactly energizing - more like nap-inspiring.


Vid's parents left Monday morning. Dad2 made great progress on the bathroom for us (I will post pictures). We have a working sink, toilet, and lamp, and a half-painted room. I have two fun (yes, I really mean that) projects ahead of me. I get to paint the rest of the bathroom and caulk the tub.

Incidentally, I will be calling my grandmother for tips on that little project. According to my mother, she's a whiz with the caulk gun. Who knew?

Surprises

Hello family, friends, readers.

I'm sorry for the hiatus. After the flood, life got very, very busy. Lots of house projects, lots of family, lots of... stuff.

Tonight I have some pictures for you.

First surprise: the bathroom.

Impressively gross, no? I wasn't a fan of the powder blue sponge paint and navy flowered border. But, it gets worse. On Thursday night David and his friend, R, set about banging and cracking things. When they were done, the bathroom looked like this.

R could actually stick the broom handle through a hole in the rotted wood. And see the basement. Oh boy.

Vid's parents are coming this week to help with the final projects of the fall - a new bathroom, and a new attic fan. I'm pretty excited about that. Good thing Dad2 knows what he's doing.

Second surprise:

We found this (an old wooden sewing machine crate) in our attic. What would you do with it?

Where's Elijah When You Need Him?

Check out what happened to us this weekend:

It started with a small puddle in the laundry room. 20 minutes later, the dam broke.

("You might be a redneck if... during a flash flood, you carpe diem and build your own Slip & Slide out of PVC, spare rain gutter, and plastic tarps.")

(This was taken after we jerry-rigged the super-pump. The water had gone down about an inch.)

I'll write out the whole story later. I don't have the energy right now...

Minor Annoyances

We started working in the public schools on Tuesday. This week I have to travel back and forth to a Catholic high school three times a day. I have to carry many things back and forth. Today, I lost my lunch. I had a bag full of fruit and vegetables. I knew I had seen it in my tote bag earlier that day. But by noon, it had disappeared. I searched my car twice, my bag three times, and the disgusting office fridge twice.

Long story short? I found it stashed on the bookshelf next to my coworker's desk.

Tonight D had to work in S's studio. He tells me they only have Long Island Lullaby left to record, but that they must "nail down" all the bits and pieces of the other songs. Fine. He must be picked up from the train (6:35) and eat before he leaves (7:30). We munched on baked potatoes and corn on the cob. (I actually baked a sweet potato, and covered it in butter, a pinch of cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar, and crushed pecans. It was, as a sidenote, delicious. Today dropped down to the 60s. It feels like Fall. It was perfect.) He left.

At 7:50 I began looking for my cell phone. I wanted to call my mother, and then maybe catch up with a few friends. I looked in my purse. In the office. In the kitchen. In the closet. In my tote bag. In my bedroom. I started to get angry. I called it from the land line. I listened.

Silence.

Then I called D. "Yes, I have your cell phone. Here. In the car. But I'm almost at S's house. Your mom's number is 4crackle-9crackle-873." (We don't have the best land line ever.) After three tries for a repeat, knowing I was wasting precious studio time, I jotted my best guess and hung up.

The crackly number didn't work. So, I called my father (the only phone number I can ever remember). No one answered. I start to leave a message for him to call me back with Mom's cell number. But, as I reach the end of my rambling message, I realize: I don't even know my home phone number to have him call me back.

I am more than mildly annoyed.

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.

Addictions, August, etc.

I decided on Monday that maybe it would be a good idea to go off caffeine. When I started at CareNet, I resurrected the habit of drinking coffee all day long. What else does one do when confined to a desk? I'm so used to moving around... I couldn't stand it. Anyway. It got bad. In barely a month I reached the point where I was getting headaches if I didn't get some coffee in my system by 7:30 AM.

On Tuesday, when I got up, I thought I'd start weaning myself off the stuff. So I only had a cup and a half - which is the amount I manage to drink before I leave the house. I was fine. No headache, nada. Que bueno, I thought. Today I did the same, expecting to sail through my day. Not so. I spent the day bleary-eyed, slow witted, and fighting off a throbbing headache. All this only convinces me all the more that I should kick the habit. But it's going to be hard.

You know what I find to be one of the saddest sounds in the world? The trill of cicadas. I don't know if I've always felt that way, but I do now. I hear them, and a sense of disappointment and dread fills my stomach. I first heard them in mid-July, and it surprised me. They are usually out in August, and anyway, in our other town we never heard them - there weren't enough trees. Here, the trees are old, and are well stocked with all things good old trees have - squirrels, birds' nests, bats, tire swings, and lots of cicadas. Cicadas mean August, and August means the end of summer and the beginning of school. August also marks the certainty of the coming of Fall. This month always meant a return to the grind for me (both as a student and later as a teacher). And once school started, we hit the ground running - which meant it felt as though Fall had hardly begun before it was time for Thanksgiving. Sigh.

All these bummer feelings associated with August means that my birthday is always rather depressing. I've felt that way for a long, long time. I suppose it will get worse. I'm not 30 yet, but it's not far off. And then I'll have to add "getting old" to the list of Things That Stink About August.

On another note, I saw the trailer for the new Harry Potter movie. That makes me happy. November 21st. I think I'd seriously consider a midnight showing.

I Call It Bonding

Okay, I have to tell this story, because... I have to. I'm hoping my dear sweet husband will forgive me for it. It will reveal some extreme nerdliness on my part, but I'm willing to make the sacrifice.

For those of you who don't know (which would be, um, all of my side of the family), I now watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. I think. I'll go check the box...

Yup, that's it. (There are many eras of Star Trek, I'm told.) D and his roommate, Michael, tried to get me hooked back in our dating days. I started watching for him,because he's persuasive, and I loved him, and I could call it bonding. And it worked... kinda. In my opinion, Star Trek: TNG runs hot or cold. An episode can be great (by ST standards, of course) and the very next one ridiculous. I'll admit - I enjoyed an episode in which the holodeck recreated a Sherlock Holmes story for Geordi and Data. (I am aware of how I sound, family. I'd appreciate no comments from the peanut gallery.) I actually cried in another episode in which Data created a daughter, and then had to deprogram (euthanize?) her. It was sad, darn it!

Anyway. So, we're watching an episode the other night after dinner (we both needed some serious down time), and here's what happened. We're in the middle of an episode, the basic storyline is about this lovely young blond intern that joins the Enterprise. She has some super-amazing powers and voips some things from here to there, and (gasp!) the crew discovers she's a Q! (For my non-Trekkie family, a Q is an omnipotent alien race. Don't ask. It doesn't make much sense to me, either.)

Anyway, she goes through some sort of identity crisis. Turns out that nasty alien race killed her parents by playing God and issuing forth a freak tornado over their home in Kansas while they were assuming human form. Poor little blond Q was left an orphan. Not quite human, not quite Q. Or something.

Moving on. The show is not actually pertinent to my story. Here's what I need to say: Star Trek, by now, is dated. (How much can I hate Counselor Troi? Very much.) Everyone looks very late 80s/early 90s. Pretty blond Q-girl was no exception. She even had this little dark brown beauty mark by her mouth, near her chin. Very Cindy Crawford.

As I sat on the couch next to Vid, I sort of admired it. I reminisced a bit about the days when beauty marks were "in", and thought that perhaps her little mole was rather more flattering than the mole above my right eyebrow (which the dermatologist has assured me is no threat). I never really think about my "beauty mark" except when some little kid points out wonderingly, "Why do you have that above your eye?" Then for a day or two I worry, and get over it. Thank goodness, I thought, that Vid doesn't say anything about it.

So just as I'm finishing these thoughts, my dear sweet husband beside me blurts out, "If she's omnipotent, maybe she should use some of her superpowers to voip that mole off her face!"

"What did you just say?" I squawk, and suddenly, my beloved realizes his slip. He apologizes rather quickly, pecks me on the cheek, and I begin to laugh inside.

And even though I'm not in the least bit upset, I'm once again curious if I should go see a doctor. But even more so, I'm disappointed. I'm sure I missed an opportunity to work that situation more to my advantage, somehow.

Mostly Unpacked... Sort Of

Finally, finally, I have some pictures of the house for those of you who have been curious. Not too many, because, frankly, they're a pain to upload, but enough to give you an idea of how things changed. As I was choosing what to post, I came across the old "before" photos. It was startling, really, to see how much has changed. It is starting to feel like home.

Remember the periwinkle blue master bedroom? Here is what we decided to do. I would have taken a picture from the other direction, but D's somewhat nebulous pile of laundry (Is it clean or isn't it?) was in the way. Sorry for that admission, Vid. You know I love you.

Remember the purple room that took four coats of yellow to cover? We finally got it right. This is my office. Notice Biff and Eeyore in their places of honor.

Here's the living room. The dining room off to the side is nothing more than a table and chairs. Not very exciting really, I promise.

We still have so much to do. My next tasks involve painting the windows in the living room, dining room, and the walls in the bathroom, to be exact. I'm a little tired of the sponge-painted blue polka-dots.

Heading to bed, me. Or, actually, heading to bed with a book to read, me. Wendy Shalit's A Return to Modesty has got me hooked.

WE HAVE INTERNET!!!

And there was much rejoicing.

P.S.

There was more to our trip to the beach than just eating, I promise. Games and movies ("Hancock" is the worst movie I have seen in years.), walks on the beach, Guitar Hero, book reading (a new Lauren Winner find for me - yay!) - lots of good times. And my Uncle Bruce showed mercy and did not throw me in the water.

Greener Grass

I made a discovery yesterday: Coming back to work after a lovely relaxing vacation always stinks.

I used to think that was only true in the teaching field. I hated taking sick days, because it meant typing sub plans the night before, organizing all my stuff for the other teacher, and then cleaning up the mess anyway. (Subs almost never seem to accomplish what you want them to. Maybe my expectati0ns were too high, I don't know. But I can count on my hand the number of times I have walked into my classroom after a sick day and found the my plans actually done.) I thought that it must be better with a nine-to-five job.

But it's not. I mean, not having to make sub plans is great, let me tell you. Before leaving for the beach, I basically stacked my papers on my desk and walked out the door. But coming back was just as rough as always, in some ways. Sure, there aren't 25 eight-year-olds clamoring for my attention, tattling on one another, telling tales of how rotten everyone was the day before. But there was still the sense of being behind the game, having missed something. There was still a mountain of new work on my desk, new tasks to remember and appointments to keep.

Our friend J picked us up from the airport on Wednesday. We started talking about work - about Vid's work being fun, in particular. I made a crack that I wanted to find a job that was fun all the time. Then J reminded me of something important: aiming to find a job that was so much fun it didn't feel like work ever was basically the same as desiring industry pre-Fall. He's right, you know.

Work is work. No matter how much fun it can be most of the time, it's still going to feel gross at times. Especially compared to a trip to the beach.

Ocean City, MD

We're at the beach.

We've had beautiful weather so far, but today is cloudy. D is Guitar Hero-ing it, so here I am.

Being at the beach with my family means three things. Eating, sun, and mini-golf. It's hard to say whether those are written in order of importance or not. I think they are.

The eating never stops: full breakfasts of fresh fruit, donuts, eggs, Taylor's Pork Roll, blueberry buckle, coffee, juice, whatever you want, may beloved Ganny will dish up. I think she's probably earned sainthood from the Catholic church just from the number of made-to-order breakfasts she's cooked in her lifetime. We hungry masses descend upon her every holiday. Lunch usually consists of a visit to the local Italian deli, DeVito's (quick description here) over on the next block. It's wonderful. There's a woman who is usually behind the counter (I don't know her name), who I love seeing each summer. She has a tall gray bun and a long, soft, wrinkled face. She is always in a dress and full white apron. She was old and gray twenty years ago when I first began noticing her; I'm sure she was there prior to that, and so she must be about 80 now. She and her sons run the business that her father began. Subs and pizza, with Utz's potato chips and a Coke - make up the late afternoon lunches. And of course, we are on the east coast, so what would an evening be without a cocktail hour at five PM? Complete with cheese and crackers, of course. Dinner arrives shortly afterwards. After so many years, we have our routine. One night is fried chicken and sweet corn, one night steamed crabs and shrimp. Grilled hamburgers and Veinies (steak sandwiches) another evening. One night is appetizer night - a smorgasbord of yummy all for my grandmother, who always schedules beach week over her birthday. So much food, so little time. The dinner list goes on, but I think I should move on.

I got creamed in mini-golf last night. I scored a whopping 47 on 18 holes, the lowest score of all nine of us. Even my 9-year-old cousin beat me. By five strokes. Yeah, I know.

In spite of my love of being here, the beach illustrates a paradox in my life. I love the beach. But I hate the ocean. I mean, I don't hate the ocean. I love standing on the shore, looking out at that great expanse, listening to the surf. I love the sand under my feet, I love the look of the beach after a storm. But don't ask me to go in there. I hate the feel of the salt and sand scraping against me. I hate the thought of all the creatures that swim in it swimming with me. (Although I am amazed by the quantity and diversity of life that must lie under the surface, I don't actually want it near me. And yes, I know a lot of it is far away, but much of it is far too close for my liking.) I am terrified of the strength of the water. This week, the riptides are frequent and strong, which adds to my awe and respect for the way God created the oceans and tides. I'm staying away, thank you very much.

Stay away, that is, unless my Uncle Bruce decides to throw me in. There's absolutely nothing I can do to avoid that force of nature.

Rocking the Suburbs

Let's admit it: I'm sooooo suburban. And I think I like it.

Case in point: I drove to work early today so that I could run by the Starbucks near the office to get two bags of coffee beans ground. (We were receiving a monthly supply of beans from my friend Shauna... bless her. I didn't have to buy coffee or tea for a year. These are the last two bags.) I pulled my little Sentra up next to a blue Mini Cooper and got out of the car (feeling particularly professional in what I had decided to wear to work today). Even though this morning is overcast, there were several people - two business women, a guy with his laptop, and a biker - all sitting outside the Starbucks. I went in, passed the coffee over the counter, ordered my Chai Tea Latte, glanced at a Starbucks compilation CD (80s punk - D might like it), heard my order called, grabbed it, took a sip, pushed the door open, beeped my car fob to unlock the doors, sat down in the driver's seat and thought, "I like being a grown-up."

Then I realized that this morning was not so much a picture of being a grown-up as it was a perfect snapshot of life in these (suburban) United States. I like to pretend I'm more of a hippie than I am. But it might be time to own up to the facts.

We are (finally!) getting Internet on Wednesday, so I should be able to post some move-in day pictures soon. However, we're going with AT&T, which we (read: David) has to set up. And we leave for Ocean City on Friday (woot!) so I don't actually know when we will have Internet access at home. Soon and very soon, that much I can say.

Death by Frustration

We do not have Internet yet.

I'm going slowly insane. I had no idea how addicted I was (am) to communicating via email. I've been driving myself crazy. Each morning when I get up, I automatically head towards the computer to check the weather, or the news, or my email... and I can't do ANY of it! Auuurrrgh!

I brought my camera to work today to load pictures onto the hard drive, so I could post them. But I found out there's no photo software loaded into our computers, so I don't know if it's legal for me to do that. So... no photos yet, folks. Sorry.

And my work day is beginning. Sigh. Better go.

Last Saturday

We are doing well. The kitchen, office, living room, and master bedroom are all unpacked. Our basement is a big huge mess - a dumping ground for all the boxes and other junk that dooesn't yet have a home. Our dining room table is piled in garbage. The second bedroom is a maze. I'll put some move-in day pictures up soon, if I can. It's difficult, because we don't have internet at home yet, and I can't really blog at work...

Move in day for me was the easiest one ever. I woke up early and finished packing up random kitchen items, then sat down at the computer to post. Just as I finished up, Pam came to the back door, bringing with her, much to my surprise, my mother and sister. They had bought Krispy Kremes, bless them, which I don't think I'd had in about four months. And so the three of us started loading up cars. By the time David came home and picked up the U-haul, there was only furniture left to pack.

My mother and I planned on going to the house ahead of time and getting food for all our movers, but when we got to the car, we realized that I had a very flat tire. And when Frank so graciously replaced the tire with the spare, we realized that was extremely flat, too. Long story short - after some time on the phone with AAA, a tire store, and a towing company, I ended up in the waiting room of Discount Tire, waiting as they replaced the flat.

About an hour into the wait, one of the workmen came out rolling some of my car's tires with him. It turned out that the walls of my tires were cracking and wearing away. (He circled all the big holes and showed me, saying, "I've never seen anything like this. Goodyear insures their customers for this kind of wear, but I've never seen it this bad.") Tire Guy told me that all my tires really ought to be replaced in the next few months. He also told me that Goodyear could give me a credit towards the new ones. So, half an hour later and $250 poorer, I walked out of the store with not one, but four new tires.

When I got back to the new house, all the stuff had been unloaded from the truck, and they had arranged the living room just the way I wanted it. And there were M&Ms, chips and salsa, and Cokes sitting out on the dining room table. Nice.

Biscuits & Gravy and Gringotts Bank

Those were our ducklings. They're all gone now. Even the little loner. It's kind of sad.


Why biscuits, gravy, and Gringotts, you ask? They're inside my brain. I'm not sure if this happens to other people, but I personally feel like my brain fixates on things. Especially when I am driving to work. Wherever I let my mind wander is where it stays that day. So, for example, yesterday as I drove to work, I passed a Holiday Inn billboard advertising free breakfasts. Three plates heaped with yummy breakfast foods. One of those plates was piled with biscuits and gravy. I know it's awful, unhealthy, fattening, etc, etc. but I love biscuits and gravy. Food makes me happy. I look forward to a good meal more than I sometimes look forward to... oh, vacation, maybe. And man, a morning with biscuits and gravy is a good morning.

I'm still thinking about them.

As for Gringotts... well, I've been packing. And packing. And packing. Every time I open a cabinet, I find something else to pack. Every time I turn around I see one more thing on the counter that needs to go in a box. I open a drawer and voila! more stuff. Stuff I swear wasn't there a minute before. I began feeling like Harry Potter. You know, when he, Hermione, and Ron break into the goblin bank Gringotts in order to take back the sword. The vault is enchanted against potential thieves. Every time they touch treasure, it multiplies hundredfold and turns burning hot. They almost get buried inside the vault. I almost got buried in my kitchen yesterday.

You know what else I'm fixated on lately? CraigsList. It's a little vouyeristic on my part. I love seeing what people are chucking for free. Some of it's so much junk... and some of it is just so weird. I keep hoping, though, that I'll find some kind of treasure. Not that I'm very skilled at the wow-look-at-that-cool-thing-thrift-store kinds of finds, but I can try.

It's moving day. It's drizzling, but not storming. Yay.

Boxes Boxes Everywhere...

And not a box that fits. I.e. we have boxes. Tons of boxes. We filled fifteen of them with books and then found two more crates in our storage space. But now what's left isn't working. The boxes are too big for things we need to pack. I still have some kitchen stuff left over - I don't know where that's going. I'm hoping that the plastic bags I used to wrap our glasses (We forgot to collect newspaper. We didn't want to spend money on packing paper.) will actually work. I don't want to arrive at the house with boxes full of broken glass.

The move is on Saturday from 12-7, we think. D scheduled movers a week ago. I celebrated. I hate moving day. Packing a van up with boxes is a gigantic real life spatial puzzle and I stink at it.

Then suddenly he decided to send out a mass email to all our friends to ask for their help. He received, I think, about five responses. So he cancelled the movers and rented us a van. He emailed me to let me know just as I was checking Saturday's weather. It's supposed to storm.

No movers. A 15 ft. U-haul and two or three cars. Thunder and lightning. Should be fun.

And Then There Was One

The Loch Ness Monster lives in our apartment pond.

It's really rather distressing. We have this lovely little retention pond behind our apartment that exists as this miniature ecosystem. The water is murky and dark, thick with reeds. The workmen here stock the pond with goldfish, and somehow, other animals are drawn here.

We've seen blue and white herons, turtles, bullfrogs, bunnies, and of course, ducks. Recently a mallard pair laid some eggs (seven, I think) in the reeds. We waited around, wondering when they'd be born, until one day. David was working from home. I suddenly got a one-line email on my work computer: "We have ducklings!"

He took pictures. Lots. And then he told me they were no good and I needed to get a telephoto lens for my camera. I know this.

Last night, we decided to eat our dinner out on the back porch. (Yay, summertime!) As I set down my plate, I caught my first sight of a duckling. He was bigger now. Excitedly, I jumped down to the side of the pond to search out his brothers and sisters... but there were none. Patito was solo.

I watched our patito truck across the water. It was a gusty day. His little body waved back and forth with the effort required to move against the wind. He was headed straight for something splashing and flopping in the water. It wasn't a goldfish. It was big. I worried that perhaps it was a wounded duckling, one of his brothers. 

Then suddenly, our little duck startled and started swimming in the other direction. Whatever had been splashing suddenly disappeared. I think perhaps that patito was so focuses on swimming and searching for food, he hadn't actually seen this other animal. When he finally did, he fled.

Moments later Vid came out the door with his plate. "What was that?" he shouted, pointing out at the pond. He was looking off to the left, and I turned just in time to see a large furry dark shape flip its long slick tail into the water and disappear. Vid turned and looked at me, "What was that?"

We went down by the pond again to investigate, but to no avail. We have some theories, though.

1. We think we have a muskrat living here, entering through a pipe that is half submerged in the eastern wall of the pond. At first we thought maybe it was an otter. But after doing some research with highly reliable Wikipedia, we found they don't choose to live in retention ponds. And weasels, as far as we know, don't swim.

2. As for our pobre patito, at first we thought the muskrat was attacking the babies and had left only this lone duckling and his parents. But muskrats don't eat birds. At least, not according to Wikipedia. Plus, the grown mallards currently in the pond are mean to our little duck. So, we don't think they are his parents. Patito doesn't seem old enough to be on his own yet.

3. Vid now thinks that perhaps the family fled the muskrat, and our little duck was a straggler who missed the boat (train? flight?). The other two mallard ducks living here just live here. We're not sure if patito is trying to connect with them, but don't seem to be letting him. Poor little orphan.

We leave for MA soon. I hope when we come back, our little duck is still there. I also want to catch another glimpse of Nessie.

There's This Chair...

There it is.

It's a comfy little chair, perfect for our library/office. (The little yellow room is my room. I wanted a place to sit and enjoy reading all our books.)

It was practically free. Our neighbors, K & Ed, were having a garage sale on Saturday. When they found out we had nephews, they dumped some toys on us. And then I looked at that chair. I suddenly wanted it. It had a good shape. It was a good size. It was an ugly color, but I had this wonderful vision of it recovered in some funky fabric. I asked K how much she wanted for it, and she said, "Oh, maybe $5? Really, you could just take it."

So I did. I was suddenly enthralled with the idea of recovering this chair with a fun, bright tapestry-type fabric. I carted the thing over to our house and plopped it in a corner of the yellow room. I stared at it fondly. I heard the voices of my friends ringing in my ears, complimenting me on my creativity, my style, my domestic-goddess sewing skills.

Sewing skills?

In all my excitement, I somehow forgot that desiring to recover the chair doesn't actually endow me with the skills to do it. Sigh.

I'm on the lookout now, to find a friend who can help with this little domestic dream. And until then, maybe my dear sister can teach me to crochet a really large, comfy blanket to throw over my comfy chair and cover up all that nasty sea-foam green?

Hallelujah

It finally feels like summer! Hot, sticky, heavy, slow-down-to-a-crawl, summer. Barefoot, black-bottomed feet, fire-up-the-grill summer.

Today was the kind of humid that makes every paper in the house feel like Kleenex, and turns all your cookies turn to mush in 30 seconds. A tantrum of a thunderstorm marched its way through town this morning after church and blew away, leaving behind an 85 degree, mercilessly sunny day. It's eight o'clock and still 80 degrees. Kids are playing Marco-Polo in the pool across the street. Dragonflies are zipping over the pond. The bullfrogs are arguing. The sun is moseying in the west, turning the sky a burning orange. I just sat on my back porch and ate a cold avocado sprinkled with salt and lime, and drank a beer. Even in the shade, I was sweating.

I couldn't be happier.

Anyway.

June 21st. That's the day. That's the move-in day, Lord willing. D and I sat down a few nights ago and eked out the most important jobs to finish before moving in, and we realized when push came to shove that there wasn't much more we needed to do. So on Friday and Saturday we finished up two big jobs (cleaning the floors and painting all the trim in the house) and we called it quits. For now.

I'm itching to put things in boxes and get moving. I have a feeling the process will look a little nuts - a lot of back-and-forth. I'm sure we'll take car loads of junk over this week, simply because now that we've deemed the house livable, we want to live in it. We will also box up and wait for the actual move weekend. We haven't decided yet whether we will get movers or not. It's a busy weekend for many, and our friends have already helped us so much... it's hard to think of asking for more. We'll see.


On another note entirely, Friday was my last full day of school. What a funny mixture of feelings I dealt with that day. The kids come on Monday to pick up their report cards, but are only with me for five minutes. So, for all intents and purposes, I'm done. Done being an elementary school teacher. I start my new job on Tuesday morning.

I'm terrified.

Friday was awful. I cried a lot (in private, where no one could see me). Yes, I have often hated my job over the past four years. But at least now I'm familiar with that enemy. And in spite of all the difficulties, I have made friends, and I have loved some of my students. I know my weaknesses and faults in my job, but I know how to work in spite of them.

This is the unknown. The unknown has always frightened me more than anything. (I don't know how I ever had the courage to go overseas to Turkey or even to Spain. Really.) What if I don't connect with junior high and high school kids? What if my language skills fail me? What if my job description is beyond me? What if my new colleagues and I don't connect? What if I get lost every time I have to visit a new school? These are the questions that ran through my head on Friday, causing the tears, I suppose.

Today is better. I know that the transition may be rough, but that's okay. Because I know that God is in control, that He is good, and that He had this plan in mind for a long time. (Please don't anyone email me to remind me of that. I know that.) I do believe. If you want to encourage me, pray for my unbelief.

Oddities of a Teacher's Mind

I would just like to state for the record that I am fully aware that last blog needed more paragraphs. For some unknown reason, Gmail wouldn't let me format them. I can hardly look at that last entry because it annoys me.

Anger Management?

Right now our apartment is carpeted. Yes, it's comfortable, but I grew up in a home with lots of hardwood. I prefer it. David prefers comfy feet.

When D and I first began looking at houses, we had a (friendly) little debate about hardwood vs. carpeting. When we bought this place, I had a little niggling sense of guilt. There was a lot of bare floor in the house, and I knew we would have to tear up carpeting, too.

After church and a leisurely lunch this Sunday, D and I made a run to Home Depot to buy some work gloves. Then we set to work tearing up the carpeting in the 3 bedrooms and hallway. We had no idea what to expect. We knew the carpet had been down for a very long time. The question was, why? What was hiding beneath all that woolly, dusty mess? We weren't sure how easily it would come up, either. We assumed it would be quite a chore, because it seemed as though almost every other project we'd tried just revealed our ignorance and ineptitude.

The carpets were old. Some of them had been there before the previous owners. Clouds of dust (and who knows what else) flew into our eyes, noses, and mouths until we finally thought maybe it'd be wise to use masks. The padding literally crumbled in our hands. We created a little moldy mountain outside, and then lugged the mound of ick into the equally icky garage. (I really, really need to pick up some garbage stickers. Soon.)

But - look at how pretty the floors are! We really lucked out. The third bedroom's floors were actually refinished once, 15 years ago. The other two bedrooms were not, as far as we can tell, but they've been covered by carpeting for the past 18+ years, so they still look good.

Personally, I thought the carpet project the most fun so far. Sort of cathartic, really. When we threw the last load out onto the front lawn (I'm sure our neighbors were cringing for a bit), David looked around and said, "They're so pretty. Just look at our house. It's finally starting to look like a place where I want to hang out."

"It'll be colder on your feet in the winter," I warned him.

He glanced at me, then back at the floors. "Enh, you can buy me those fuzzy-on-the-inside slippers."

Victory.

No, That's Not the Primer

We're moving slowly, but here are some of the after pictures. This is the master bedroom. It's RED! Yay!

For the keen of eye, we chose to only paint the trim on the windows, since we were replacing them in just a few months. I figure window coverings will help hide the contrast. And if they don't, and I can't stand looking at the old paint, I'll do the insides.







I don't know how well you can see if from the picture, but that big window was in sad shape. Vid spent several hours sanding and scraping it yesterday so we could paint it. We want to replace most of the windows at the end of the summer - but that one stays a while. Vid sanded down to bare wood in some places because it was so bad.

Yellow! Let's sing a little song about yellow!

I love this color. Love it. I have no idea if it will actually go with any of the stuff in my kitchen, but I don't really care. John (a friend from church) came over yesterday and painted almost the whole kitchen for us. He's about 6'4", so he didn't even have to use a ladder. Well, hardly. He stepped on the bottom rung and reached over the cabinets that way. We found out yesterday that John is a talker. Every time one of us walked into the kitchen, he'd stop and tell a funny story about something - his house, his wife, his kids, whatever. I was afraid he was lonely while the rest of us worked in other parts of the house.

So there it is, folks. It's finally coming together. We might actually be able to pack this week.

I think one of the best things about this time has been getting to know people. Yes, our old friends came and helped. But so many people from our church - people we hardly knew - came and pitched in. It was sort of incredible to see the church behave that way. I don't know that I have ever been in a situation like that before. Like Ed. Yesterday Ed knocked on our door, introduced himself, and told us Paul had sent him. He handed us a pipe bender/cutter thing (Yes, dads, I'm sure there's a word for it - I just don't know what it is.), told us we might need it. Then he tipped his hat (literally) and left.

Dan, a guy who is our age and went to Wheaton when David did, was over for ten hours yesterday. Among other things, he offered to cut the lawn. At one point, I ran out the front door (I needed a drop cloth from the garage). I arrived just in time to see Dan rev the lawnmower and run it right over the large ant farm in the front yard, forwards, then back, spraying the dirt up around the lawnmower tires like sand in a monster struck rally. He had this little Calvin-like smirk on his face.

I wonder what those ants were thinking. Invasion? Earthquake? Apocalypse?

Probably it was the wrong thing to do, and it will just spread them around. But I was proud of Dan. It looked like fun. I was a little jealous that I hadn't offered to mow the lawn.