Saturday, August 5th: 17 hours of tiling my first job - our new shower. Talk about a learning curve... I got home after midnight with my fingertips throbbing from all the thinset cement contact.
Sunday (6th): helped with set-up and take-down at church (8 a.m. to around noon), then hosted small group at night (5:30-8:30)
Monday (7th): up at 5, over to the house to mark lines for the faux finish painted stripes in the living room. Home by 6:30 a.m. to talk with Trent before he left for work, went through the morning routine with Nathan (up, change, feed, read, play, feed) and back to the house with Nathan and my mom. Nathan napped, I tiled and Mom taped in the living room. Home to do laundry, tried to cut the one remaining tile I needed cut, back to the house to paint a bit in the living room, home for supper and back to the house to continue tiling until just after 10.
Tuesday (8th): up to talk with Trent, morning routine with Nathan, then back over to the house to (finally) finish tiling. Cleared space in the living room for carpet to be delivered, then home to spend the afternoon with Nathan. Friends came over for supper, and Trent & I went to the house after supper to check over things and make lists for a (hopefully) last trip to Menards, etc.
Wednesday: During Nathan's morning nap, I'll be painting at our house; after Nathan's in bed at night, I'll be over at the house grouting the shower tile.
Thursday: carpet can be laid, and Trent & I drive 45 miles with Nathan to get things from Menards, etc.
Friday: carpet laying finished, items moved from my parents' front room and some of Nathan's room into our house.
Saturday: a crew of unknown size will be at our house at 8 a.m. to help us move all of our items from storage (where they've been since a year ago last May) into our new house.
I have no idea if I'll be able to find sheets for us to use to sleep at our house Saturday night or not. Why is it that no matter how much planning you try to do, everything lands at the last minute?
August 08, 2006
August 03, 2006
Last-Minute Renovating
This last week has been a slew of home renovation-related tasks, and I suspect it will continue to be this way up through the 16th of August. We need to move in to our house before the 17th/18th of August - as in, two weeks from tomorrow.
As of 11:00 this morning, no flooring material was permanently installed in any of the rooms, only the microwave/fumehood is installed of the sundry appliances destined for kitchen or laundry room, no furniture is anywhere in the vicinity of the house, and the garage is a confused labyrinth of cardboard boxes (some empty, some not) and torn-out counters and old housing paraphanalia.
Two. Weeks. From. Tomorrow.
This week? Two trips (~1 hr's drive each way) to Home Depot and/or Menard's for various supplies, vinyl flooring being laid in three of the rooms, ceiling fans and other electrical fixtures installed, furnace vents being cleaned of their foot-deep accumulation of dust, rooms being painted, plumbing hooked up, and (still to come this week) tile installed in the shower, new circuitry being run and laminate being laid in three more areas. Carpet, the last bit of painting and moving are all supposed to happen next week. -Oh, and my mom's helping me refinish the dining room set in the meantime. Plus figure out window treatments. Plus watch Nathan.
Did I mention that I'm the one who will be laying the tile in the shower? I volunteered in a moment of bravery that I might later regret. Neither Trent nor I have laid tile before, so we're starting at the same skill level. He's got so much to do and so few Saturdays to do it... This seemed like a big job I might be able to do instead of him. I've purchased my materials, read up on techniques and do's and don'ts, and have invited two girlfriends over for moral support on Saturday.
If you read a news story this weekend of a woman in the Midwest who tried to slit her wrists with a shard of tile, it might be me.
As of 11:00 this morning, no flooring material was permanently installed in any of the rooms, only the microwave/fumehood is installed of the sundry appliances destined for kitchen or laundry room, no furniture is anywhere in the vicinity of the house, and the garage is a confused labyrinth of cardboard boxes (some empty, some not) and torn-out counters and old housing paraphanalia.
Two. Weeks. From. Tomorrow.
This week? Two trips (~1 hr's drive each way) to Home Depot and/or Menard's for various supplies, vinyl flooring being laid in three of the rooms, ceiling fans and other electrical fixtures installed, furnace vents being cleaned of their foot-deep accumulation of dust, rooms being painted, plumbing hooked up, and (still to come this week) tile installed in the shower, new circuitry being run and laminate being laid in three more areas. Carpet, the last bit of painting and moving are all supposed to happen next week. -Oh, and my mom's helping me refinish the dining room set in the meantime. Plus figure out window treatments. Plus watch Nathan.
Did I mention that I'm the one who will be laying the tile in the shower? I volunteered in a moment of bravery that I might later regret. Neither Trent nor I have laid tile before, so we're starting at the same skill level. He's got so much to do and so few Saturdays to do it... This seemed like a big job I might be able to do instead of him. I've purchased my materials, read up on techniques and do's and don'ts, and have invited two girlfriends over for moral support on Saturday.
If you read a news story this weekend of a woman in the Midwest who tried to slit her wrists with a shard of tile, it might be me.
August 02, 2006
Killing Superwoman
From Rob Bell's book Velvet Elvis:
I realize this is true for me. However grisly and macabre it might sound:
Supermom, you who never let your child utter a second wail before you are crib-side with comforting words and an always adequate milk supply, who always sets aside any task from clipping toenails to disarming a nuclear bomb in order to play with your tot in mind-building activities - I place my determined hands firmly around your throat and happily, gleefully choke off all rivulets of air making their way to your lungs.
Superwife, you who can still wear every perfectly-mended item of clothing from your size-4 days in college, who looks alluring enough to draw other manly gazes yet never the slightest bit indecent, who answers sweetly to every request and never, ever, ever refuses to fill any perceived need of your husband's if it can be accomplished within the laws of physics, who knows intuitively when to speak and when to be quiet, who never manipulates to get her own way and lives only to serve others - I have a gorgeous hollow-head bullet with your name on it. I savor the clicks as I lock and load the gun, then pull the trigger without hesitation, aiming right between your eyes.
Superhomemaker, you who maintain a spotless domicile with glossy floors that never see more than a week between in-depth cleanings, who has perfectly matched furniture sets and costly, coordinated decorations in each room, who always stays within budget for groceries and makes even breakfast a well-balanced, home-cooked meal - I gladly entwine my fingers in your hair and embed my fingernails in your scalp as I push your perfect head under ice-cold water and hold you there until the bubbles stop coming to the surface.
My superimages have been killing me.
I meet so many people who have superwhatever rattling around in their head. They have this person they are convinced they are supposed to be, and their superwhatever is killing them. They have this image they picked up over the years of how they are supposed to look and act and work and play and talk, and it's like a voice that never stops shouting in their ear.Bell goes on to say that they only way to avoid being killed by this superimage is to kill it first.
I realize this is true for me. However grisly and macabre it might sound:
Supermom, you who never let your child utter a second wail before you are crib-side with comforting words and an always adequate milk supply, who always sets aside any task from clipping toenails to disarming a nuclear bomb in order to play with your tot in mind-building activities - I place my determined hands firmly around your throat and happily, gleefully choke off all rivulets of air making their way to your lungs.
Superwife, you who can still wear every perfectly-mended item of clothing from your size-4 days in college, who looks alluring enough to draw other manly gazes yet never the slightest bit indecent, who answers sweetly to every request and never, ever, ever refuses to fill any perceived need of your husband's if it can be accomplished within the laws of physics, who knows intuitively when to speak and when to be quiet, who never manipulates to get her own way and lives only to serve others - I have a gorgeous hollow-head bullet with your name on it. I savor the clicks as I lock and load the gun, then pull the trigger without hesitation, aiming right between your eyes.
Superhomemaker, you who maintain a spotless domicile with glossy floors that never see more than a week between in-depth cleanings, who has perfectly matched furniture sets and costly, coordinated decorations in each room, who always stays within budget for groceries and makes even breakfast a well-balanced, home-cooked meal - I gladly entwine my fingers in your hair and embed my fingernails in your scalp as I push your perfect head under ice-cold water and hold you there until the bubbles stop coming to the surface.
My superimages have been killing me.
August 01, 2006
Afternoon Delight
With Nathan down for his afternoon nap, I thought I'd get on the stick about finally painting the rest of the dining room set I'm redoing.
Immersed in my task, I suddenly heard baby chortles over the baby monitor.
Funny... he was silent just a moment ago.
Silence again.
More baby chuckles.
-This continued for several minutes, until my curiosity was piqued. I trekked upstairs quietly, brush in hand, to see if it was a stuffed animal, ceiling fan or something else that had him so amused.
None of the above. He apparently had the hiccups and that sensation was what was making him laugh.
[Hiccup] baby belly giggle
I love those laughs.
Immersed in my task, I suddenly heard baby chortles over the baby monitor.
Funny... he was silent just a moment ago.
Silence again.
More baby chuckles.
-This continued for several minutes, until my curiosity was piqued. I trekked upstairs quietly, brush in hand, to see if it was a stuffed animal, ceiling fan or something else that had him so amused.
None of the above. He apparently had the hiccups and that sensation was what was making him laugh.
[Hiccup] baby belly giggle
I love those laughs.
July 29, 2006
Carpe Vita
Somewhere in the craziness of pulling long hours for the sake of home renovation this last week, I realized something.
I've been thinking, If I can just get these rooms painted, the flooring in, furniture moved in, family settled - then I can focus on what's important again.
There isn't much I can do about my canine buddy Jasper sleeping alone outside in my parents' shed right now. I can't even say I'd love to have him indoors with us; I'd be too paranoid that something would happen - it's not our house, after all.
Spending time with Nathan and Trent, though, that's a different story. All too often this week I've tried to push through the task at hand with Nathan - c'mon... eat faster! - or put him down for naps early, get him up later. I'm trying to get through this list of tasks at hand so I can get back to living my life.
That's my problem. There will always be tasks. There is always something else begging to be done, to take priority over what I tell myself is most important to me. Every moment like this that I have is an opportunity to set aside the task and live my life.
Nathan won't always be eager to spend time with me.
I've been thinking, If I can just get these rooms painted, the flooring in, furniture moved in, family settled - then I can focus on what's important again.
There isn't much I can do about my canine buddy Jasper sleeping alone outside in my parents' shed right now. I can't even say I'd love to have him indoors with us; I'd be too paranoid that something would happen - it's not our house, after all.
Spending time with Nathan and Trent, though, that's a different story. All too often this week I've tried to push through the task at hand with Nathan - c'mon... eat faster! - or put him down for naps early, get him up later. I'm trying to get through this list of tasks at hand so I can get back to living my life.
That's my problem. There will always be tasks. There is always something else begging to be done, to take priority over what I tell myself is most important to me. Every moment like this that I have is an opportunity to set aside the task and live my life.
Nathan won't always be eager to spend time with me.
July 14, 2006
Blog School
And here I thought I was somewhat cool because I have a blog and didn't require the further explanation from long-suffering individuals that it meant "web log".
Once again, I am humbled.
I have no way of knowing if anyone even reads what I write. The chances of someone just happening to come across it are small to none. I've considered putting a counter on the site just to see, but that could just confirm to me that no one but myself and my husband read these posts. If I don't try to find out, I can convince myself that many people wander through the witty verbiage of my phrases, marveling over this or that well-turned word.
Nah... I'm what Electric Venom would call an iso-blogger.
-If the numbers of readers were just about this site, it wouldn't matter quite as much. Writing is primarily for me; it's a safety release. That purpose is accomplished just by thwacking keys on a keyboard.
Trent and I want to generate some income if we can through reference-type sites, though, and let's be honest: building a better web site doesn't make the world beat a path to your door. I'd love to believe we'd hit the Truth-Laid Bear's list, but I don't see it happening in this lifetime.
Wonder how long it would take me to become proficient in Perl or PHP...
Once again, I am humbled.
I have no way of knowing if anyone even reads what I write. The chances of someone just happening to come across it are small to none. I've considered putting a counter on the site just to see, but that could just confirm to me that no one but myself and my husband read these posts. If I don't try to find out, I can convince myself that many people wander through the witty verbiage of my phrases, marveling over this or that well-turned word.
Nah... I'm what Electric Venom would call an iso-blogger.
-If the numbers of readers were just about this site, it wouldn't matter quite as much. Writing is primarily for me; it's a safety release. That purpose is accomplished just by thwacking keys on a keyboard.
Trent and I want to generate some income if we can through reference-type sites, though, and let's be honest: building a better web site doesn't make the world beat a path to your door. I'd love to believe we'd hit the Truth-Laid Bear's list, but I don't see it happening in this lifetime.
Wonder how long it would take me to become proficient in Perl or PHP...
July 13, 2006
Out-standing
Nathan stood up for himself for the first time yesterday!He's been working his way up to it for a while. He'll play with toys on the floor, then push up to a legs-extended crawling position reminiscent of Mowgli in the Jungle Book. Yesterday he pushed himself up to a standing position, legs spread wide enough that we could slide a small dog under him, and arms wavering back and forth in mid-air to maintain his balance.
He's been practicing his new skill regularly ever since. He gets such an excited and pleased grin when he succeeds. It's "I never knew I could be this tall!" crossing over into "I can see my house from here!"
Ten months old. I'm sure walking isn't far behind...
July 11, 2006
George
I was upstairs sleeping when I heard someone at the garage door. By the time I got downstairs, our neighbor across the street was halfway back to his house. I called after him, and George asked if he could use our phone, since they don't have long distance service.
George is the epitome of a Midwestern American farmer. His kids and grandkids are everywhere in this town. This man taught me how to walk beans the summer I was 14. I was riding in his pickup truck over bumpy country gravel roads when the news came over the radio that United Flight 232 had crash-landed 45 miles away in Sioux City, IA.
More than a decade later, this man still helps out on the farm that was his for many years. It's his pickup truck my family borrows when we have hauling to do. He's the one who uses his snowblower to clear neighbors' driveways, edges their lawns for them (he's out there anyway, he figures; why shouldn't he do it?) and helps pull out stubborn bushes or trees with a chain hooked to his truck. I don't know how old he is, but he must be in his 80s by now - and his energy level puts my generation to shame.
He came over this morning to call a family member; he wanted his wife home, but he didn't want her driving at an unsafe speed. He got the news this morning that the brother he was closest to was killed this morning. Pete was 10 years younger than George. Though he gave the farm over to his boys last year, Pete said he'd still come back and help them out. He was there this morning driving a tractor when he got too close to a ledge. The tractor rolled backwards on top of him. It's possible that he had a heart attack and was already gone when the tractor rolled, but it's still an unexpected shock for his family.
It hit me hard because of how it hit George.
Don't ever make the mistake of thinking farmers are dumb hicks. They're among the smartest, most hard-working, and most reserved and controlled people I know. They think long and hard about things, and most of them have huge amounts of determination and capability.
This morning was the first time I've ever seen George cry. It wasn't sobbing, just tears making tracks down his cheeks and a slight quaver in his voice as told the person on the other end of the phone that his brother was dead.
We talked for a very brief bit, and he went back to his house to wait for his wife to get home. I went over later with Nathan to see if he wanted company while he waited, but he said he was fine and could take care of himself. He was courteous, but there was steel and decades of reserve behind the courtesy. He's a wonderful man, the sort that not only fought in WWII but managed land and family after coming home.
I'm glad I was home this morning, even if there was little I could do.
George is the epitome of a Midwestern American farmer. His kids and grandkids are everywhere in this town. This man taught me how to walk beans the summer I was 14. I was riding in his pickup truck over bumpy country gravel roads when the news came over the radio that United Flight 232 had crash-landed 45 miles away in Sioux City, IA.
More than a decade later, this man still helps out on the farm that was his for many years. It's his pickup truck my family borrows when we have hauling to do. He's the one who uses his snowblower to clear neighbors' driveways, edges their lawns for them (he's out there anyway, he figures; why shouldn't he do it?) and helps pull out stubborn bushes or trees with a chain hooked to his truck. I don't know how old he is, but he must be in his 80s by now - and his energy level puts my generation to shame.
He came over this morning to call a family member; he wanted his wife home, but he didn't want her driving at an unsafe speed. He got the news this morning that the brother he was closest to was killed this morning. Pete was 10 years younger than George. Though he gave the farm over to his boys last year, Pete said he'd still come back and help them out. He was there this morning driving a tractor when he got too close to a ledge. The tractor rolled backwards on top of him. It's possible that he had a heart attack and was already gone when the tractor rolled, but it's still an unexpected shock for his family.
It hit me hard because of how it hit George.
Don't ever make the mistake of thinking farmers are dumb hicks. They're among the smartest, most hard-working, and most reserved and controlled people I know. They think long and hard about things, and most of them have huge amounts of determination and capability.
This morning was the first time I've ever seen George cry. It wasn't sobbing, just tears making tracks down his cheeks and a slight quaver in his voice as told the person on the other end of the phone that his brother was dead.
We talked for a very brief bit, and he went back to his house to wait for his wife to get home. I went over later with Nathan to see if he wanted company while he waited, but he said he was fine and could take care of himself. He was courteous, but there was steel and decades of reserve behind the courtesy. He's a wonderful man, the sort that not only fought in WWII but managed land and family after coming home.
I'm glad I was home this morning, even if there was little I could do.
July 07, 2006
Unheard of
I'd heard of it happening once before, but I've never seen it happen before. Apparently it's even more flabbergasting to the people around my hometown. I doubt they've ever seen it happen."So wait a minute... you're saying he likes his job, he likes the people he works with, he just doesn't like the time away from his family?"
No, that's not the unbelievable part. This is:
"He's looking into other job possibilities so he can be with his family more?"
Utterly incomprehensible, especially in this Dutch ghetto, we-work-80-90-hour-weeks-on-the-farm-and-we-thrive-on-it area of NW Iowa.
Me? I do have some concerns, but mostly I'm proud and humbled, too. I'm part of the family that my wonderful husband wants to be with more often.
I think even my parents are shaking their heads at times over us, in thought if not in reality. I hope for their sake as well as our own that we're able to finish the work on our house (mudding, painting, flooring, appliance installation, lighting, trim work, and then moving in) SOON.
[The obligatory picture is of Nathan, happily banging on the piano]
June 29, 2006
Sweet Relaxation
Home improvement tip for free: if you should ever have sheetrock with the paper covering ripped off, and if you should decide to attempt putting joint compound (also known as "mud") over the said exposed sheetrock rather than replacing it--seal the paper down with a liquid primer before you mud.
Not that I'd know from personal experience or anything.
Today has been a day of black paint & chocolate. Black paint because I'm painting the chairs for our steal of a dining room set, chocolate because... well, because. Who needs a reason to include chocolate in their day?
Come to think of it, chocolate has bled into my day in several forms. I'm re-reading Mort Rosenblum's book on chocolate (highly recommended); I've downed a few dark chocolate candy sticks to console myself this morning; and my mom made the most divine chocolate mousse. Anything with 17 egg yolks, dark chocolate and a quart of heavy cream is OK by me!
In fact, I'm off to live in a chocolate world for a while - book, mousse, and maybe even a luxurious soak in my cocoa bubble bath later this evening.
Ahhh...
Not that I'd know from personal experience or anything.
Today has been a day of black paint & chocolate. Black paint because I'm painting the chairs for our steal of a dining room set, chocolate because... well, because. Who needs a reason to include chocolate in their day?
Come to think of it, chocolate has bled into my day in several forms. I'm re-reading Mort Rosenblum's book on chocolate (highly recommended); I've downed a few dark chocolate candy sticks to console myself this morning; and my mom made the most divine chocolate mousse. Anything with 17 egg yolks, dark chocolate and a quart of heavy cream is OK by me!
In fact, I'm off to live in a chocolate world for a while - book, mousse, and maybe even a luxurious soak in my cocoa bubble bath later this evening.
Ahhh...
June 27, 2006
Inauspicious Beginnings
Today didn't begin well. The inauspicious rating was mostly due to the time it began: 4 a.m. I woke up from a dream and fully intended to get back to sleep. The cricket who lives near the gas grill on the patio below our bedroom window decided last night's late-night concert wasn't sufficient and required an early-morning encore. I kept hoping his legs would get tired or eventually fall off, neither of which happened. When 4:40 rolled around (cricket still chirping, Susan still fuming), Nathan woke up. I changed and fed him, put him back to bed after a brief snuggle time, then dragged my sorry self downstairs.
As I said, it wasn't a good beginning. Thankfully, it improved. We managed a 90-mile round trip between 8 and 10:30 a.m. to purchase the last [fingers crossed] out-of-town home renovation supplies. One bathroom sink and 17 sheets of 4'x4' birch ply underlayment later, we came home. I've had a quiet afternoon, sorted through old clothing and (the icing on today) fit into many of my pre-pregnancy clothes. Woo-hoo!
I love my mom dearly; her inestimable way with words makes me laugh. I tried on the dress I hope to wear for my brother's August wedding, and showed my mom. Her encouraging response was, "Well, you still have two months before the wedding."
I'm glad it made me smile rather than feel miffed. OK, then, sit-ups it is... : )
As I said, it wasn't a good beginning. Thankfully, it improved. We managed a 90-mile round trip between 8 and 10:30 a.m. to purchase the last [fingers crossed] out-of-town home renovation supplies. One bathroom sink and 17 sheets of 4'x4' birch ply underlayment later, we came home. I've had a quiet afternoon, sorted through old clothing and (the icing on today) fit into many of my pre-pregnancy clothes. Woo-hoo!
I love my mom dearly; her inestimable way with words makes me laugh. I tried on the dress I hope to wear for my brother's August wedding, and showed my mom. Her encouraging response was, "Well, you still have two months before the wedding."
I'm glad it made me smile rather than feel miffed. OK, then, sit-ups it is... : )
June 26, 2006
Only Children
I'm a lonely middle child in the midst of only children. Trent's an only, Nathan's an only, and now Jasper's an only dog - and loving it.
In the last couple days we've spent more time with him than we have in a long time. We knew it would happen; there's something about having two dogs and a baby that cancel each other out when it comes to outings. One dog and a baby on a walk? No problem. Two dogs and a single walker? OK. Two dogs and a baby controlled by a single person? Never gonna' happen, my friend.
I'd avoid brushing either dog because I couldn't get the time to do both of them, but didn't want to make either feel left out. Same with walks, play time, treats... Jasper's gotten more attention and more peace & quiet since Sugar's gone to her new home. That alone could account for some of the change to his personality, but not all of it. We feel like Jasper's a different dog - so happy, playful, relaxed, obedient. He's acting more like a Lab now than he did before. He was more irritated and snappish before, always looking for an escape route.
So... apparently we find a new home for one dog and both dogs are happier. Who'd a thunk it?
Bedtime for me. I did final demo on our bathroom today - pulling out plastic tile, old adhesive, old flooring, and yanking up insanely long staples meant to hold old linoleum in place a long, long, long time. It's done - depressing that I can only showcase a bathroom sans any bathroom applicances for five hours' work. Peh.
In the last couple days we've spent more time with him than we have in a long time. We knew it would happen; there's something about having two dogs and a baby that cancel each other out when it comes to outings. One dog and a baby on a walk? No problem. Two dogs and a single walker? OK. Two dogs and a baby controlled by a single person? Never gonna' happen, my friend.
I'd avoid brushing either dog because I couldn't get the time to do both of them, but didn't want to make either feel left out. Same with walks, play time, treats... Jasper's gotten more attention and more peace & quiet since Sugar's gone to her new home. That alone could account for some of the change to his personality, but not all of it. We feel like Jasper's a different dog - so happy, playful, relaxed, obedient. He's acting more like a Lab now than he did before. He was more irritated and snappish before, always looking for an escape route.
So... apparently we find a new home for one dog and both dogs are happier. Who'd a thunk it?
Bedtime for me. I did final demo on our bathroom today - pulling out plastic tile, old adhesive, old flooring, and yanking up insanely long staples meant to hold old linoleum in place a long, long, long time. It's done - depressing that I can only showcase a bathroom sans any bathroom applicances for five hours' work. Peh.
June 24, 2006
Sugar
I feel a bit like singing Mike Wazowski's song from Monsters, Inc.: She's out of our hair... And just when we dared... to care...Sugar's gone.
This past week I finally called the vet's to make an appointment for putting her to sleep; I was pretty controlled through most of the conversation, then started crying when the scheduler asked if we wanted them to take care of the body or did we want it. Fighting tears, I said we wanted to bury her at our house. I sobbed when I hung up the phone. I felt like a traitor whenever I fed her or put her to bed the next several days.
Last night while talking to friends, they asked how the search for a new home for our four-footed girl was going. We told them about the appointment. One of the wives was so aghast at the thought of Sugar being put to sleep that she said she was going to talk her dad (a local farmer) into taking her after all. We took Sugar out to our friend's parents' farm tonight so they could meet her--and we drove away without her.
Neither Trent nor I thought tonight was going to be the final goodbye, but... it's probably better this way. Now I don't have two or three days of thinking, In two days Sugar is no longer ours... Tomorrow Sugar is no longer ours...
I'm happy beyond words for her. There's so much space to run, there's another farm dog she can race and play with; there are even ducks for her to investigate! We can still drive out to see her, which is a definite plus... Watching Jasper to see how he adjusts may be interesting the next few days. He's been her protecter and quasi-older brother since we brought her home four years ago.
I'm just sad for us. If it were Jasper who was gone, I'd be inconsolable tonight; he's the one I've always considered my dog. Still... Sugar was such a sweetheart.
I love you, sweet girl. Run like the wind and be who you were created to be.
June 22, 2006
National Geographic
Hungry Wadsworth Longfellow is my parents' cat. The name was chosen by my mom, a former English teacher. He showed up as a stray, was fed a meal by my soft-hearted mother, and has stayed ever since. He sleeps in my dad's woodshop or the garage, is litterbox-trained and Purina-fed (with a can of Fancy Feast on Sundays), and has a full set of claws. He allows us to be his family; he has no need of us. I've seen this cat climb trees for fun.
We call him Wadsworth - and the cry of, "Wadsworth! Here, kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty!" is a familiar one in this neighborhood.
Since there's a leash law in our town, my dad came home several weeks ago and laid down the law: Wadsworth couldn't be outside unless he was on a leash. This is one of those ideas that's good in theory, but not in practice. The cat escaped from not one, but two different types of harness leashes my mom bought. Since he won't succumb to a leash, he's stuck being shut up in the shop. Stuck in the shop and mm-row-ow-ling most of the day.
Mom (and I) feel sorry for him, since he basically went from the run of the neighborhood to being in solitary confinement. We try to be judicious about it, but both of us have let him out to run at some time or another. We usually wait for afternoon so birds and rabbits have a better shot at escaping him.
Today as I was cleaning the bathroom, I heard Wadsworth meowing loudly over something; I'd let him outside before I went to the grocery story around noon. When I heard him I just hoped his loud voice wouldn't wake Nathan up from his nap.
I went outside to put something in the recycle bin, and surprised Wadsworth in the midst of a feast. Apparently he killed a bird in my honor, brought it to me as a thank offering, then decided to start without me. Feathers strewn everywhere near the door and under my car's front bumper; very purrrr-y kitty maw-deep in avian dissection. I yelled at him, pulled him away from his kill, and hauled him back to solitary (trying to scrape his front paws off on the garbage can edge, since they were clutch-full of feathers). Sweeping up the remains and bagging them to put in the trash can had me literally gagging. I haven't been that close to throwing up since the first trimester of my pregnancy more than a year ago.
Wadsworth is a very cool cat, and I like that he's still a "functional" cat; he could fend for himself pretty nicely. I still want him to keep his wildlife documentary material away from me. I don't care if it is denial.
We call him Wadsworth - and the cry of, "Wadsworth! Here, kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty-kitty!" is a familiar one in this neighborhood.
Since there's a leash law in our town, my dad came home several weeks ago and laid down the law: Wadsworth couldn't be outside unless he was on a leash. This is one of those ideas that's good in theory, but not in practice. The cat escaped from not one, but two different types of harness leashes my mom bought. Since he won't succumb to a leash, he's stuck being shut up in the shop. Stuck in the shop and mm-row-ow-ling most of the day.
Mom (and I) feel sorry for him, since he basically went from the run of the neighborhood to being in solitary confinement. We try to be judicious about it, but both of us have let him out to run at some time or another. We usually wait for afternoon so birds and rabbits have a better shot at escaping him.
Today as I was cleaning the bathroom, I heard Wadsworth meowing loudly over something; I'd let him outside before I went to the grocery story around noon. When I heard him I just hoped his loud voice wouldn't wake Nathan up from his nap.
I went outside to put something in the recycle bin, and surprised Wadsworth in the midst of a feast. Apparently he killed a bird in my honor, brought it to me as a thank offering, then decided to start without me. Feathers strewn everywhere near the door and under my car's front bumper; very purrrr-y kitty maw-deep in avian dissection. I yelled at him, pulled him away from his kill, and hauled him back to solitary (trying to scrape his front paws off on the garbage can edge, since they were clutch-full of feathers). Sweeping up the remains and bagging them to put in the trash can had me literally gagging. I haven't been that close to throwing up since the first trimester of my pregnancy more than a year ago.
Wadsworth is a very cool cat, and I like that he's still a "functional" cat; he could fend for himself pretty nicely. I still want him to keep his wildlife documentary material away from me. I don't care if it is denial.
June 21, 2006
Subtle Seduction
He'd passed it before, and it never failed to catch his eye.
Today he saw it out of the corner of his eye when he was en route elsewhere, and it called him back once... twice... three times. He finally gave up all pretense of resistance and stopped directly in front of the silver-cloaked temptress: the little boy in him responded to the allure she offered. He'd never been able to forbid himself anything having to do with progress... technology... toys for men.
He stopped in front of the object of his desire and gazed helplessly at the controls and mystical, flickering blue splashes of light. This machine was crafted for him. Its design, its performance... he could go anywhere and do anything with this piece of equipment. The world would be his to command.
Drawn closer by its siren song, he lifted his hand to caress it, to feel the throaty hum of its engine--
--and was pulled back by his mother and told not to touch the computer for the umpteenth time.
Unbelievable. Only 9 months old and he's more drawn to computers than his uncle, the computer science major.
Today he saw it out of the corner of his eye when he was en route elsewhere, and it called him back once... twice... three times. He finally gave up all pretense of resistance and stopped directly in front of the silver-cloaked temptress: the little boy in him responded to the allure she offered. He'd never been able to forbid himself anything having to do with progress... technology... toys for men.
He stopped in front of the object of his desire and gazed helplessly at the controls and mystical, flickering blue splashes of light. This machine was crafted for him. Its design, its performance... he could go anywhere and do anything with this piece of equipment. The world would be his to command.
Drawn closer by its siren song, he lifted his hand to caress it, to feel the throaty hum of its engine--
--and was pulled back by his mother and told not to touch the computer for the umpteenth time.
Unbelievable. Only 9 months old and he's more drawn to computers than his uncle, the computer science major.
June 19, 2006
Trying to Listen Rather than "Finish"
Friends of ours are in the process of adopting a child (or children) from Africa. The dossier's completed, they've been fingerprinted, had their house visit--now they're waiting. The hope is that they might travel to Africa yet this summer. While they wait, one spouse is planning: books on Africa purchased from Amazon, running through possible names to whittle down the ultimate list, trying to calculate for what might be and how to respond to it. Spouse #2 is trying to live in the moment, not setting up expectations that could be disappointed. Focus on the 2-yr-old in front of us and let God take care of however many family members we'll be adding.
I myself am a planner. If Trent dies next week, how will I feel? What would I do? How would I help Nathan know who his dad was? (Sorry for such a downer example; it was the first that came to mind!). I'm usually planning for things I can't control and that involve lots of potential emotion.
Today I had a mental slap upside the head about this mix of plan vs. live in the moment. Why don't I live in the moments of my planning? I often shift into task mode; complete this task to move on to the next one, etc. I live when the 'to do' list items are crossed off... I realized today during my devotions that life should be more about listening, not finishing. When I do chores around the house (doing laundry, folding clothes, loading the dishwasher), am I trying to listen, to see God in whatever it is I'm doing? More often than not, I'm more likely to be pushing through this task to get it finished. I operate as if I only hear God in certain situations. Who am I to say he doesn't communicate to me while I'm scrubbing out the shower? Just because I haven't heard him doesn't mean he isn't there; it's more likely that I'm not listening.
Time with Nathan makes it easy for me to listen for God - Nathan's vocabulary is pretty limited. His smile sure makes up for a lot of it, though!
I myself am a planner. If Trent dies next week, how will I feel? What would I do? How would I help Nathan know who his dad was? (Sorry for such a downer example; it was the first that came to mind!). I'm usually planning for things I can't control and that involve lots of potential emotion.
Today I had a mental slap upside the head about this mix of plan vs. live in the moment. Why don't I live in the moments of my planning? I often shift into task mode; complete this task to move on to the next one, etc. I live when the 'to do' list items are crossed off... I realized today during my devotions that life should be more about listening, not finishing. When I do chores around the house (doing laundry, folding clothes, loading the dishwasher), am I trying to listen, to see God in whatever it is I'm doing? More often than not, I'm more likely to be pushing through this task to get it finished. I operate as if I only hear God in certain situations. Who am I to say he doesn't communicate to me while I'm scrubbing out the shower? Just because I haven't heard him doesn't mean he isn't there; it's more likely that I'm not listening.
Time with Nathan makes it easy for me to listen for God - Nathan's vocabulary is pretty limited. His smile sure makes up for a lot of it, though!
June 15, 2006
Tension
I was in a pretty good mood--a straightforward good mood--and then I came home to find my brother's fiancee watching Larry King Live. The debate topic (never something innocuous) was about homosexuality in the church.
Words won't express for me how much I dislike the whole topic. I've never seen a debate change anyone's mind on it, and tension builds and builds for me (as does anger) until I'm left in a mental steam.
In the manner of "We Believe", here's the pith of my thoughts and wrestlings with the topic -
- I do believe homosexuality, consensual or otherwise, is a sin. I won't get into scriptural references, because that line always gets muddy. I just believe that it's a sin. Right now my thoughts have me pondering the whole human body design angle... I find it hard to believe that God would create someone for a purpose of a particular relationship if (by acting in that relationship and within the body's design) no further generation was possible.
- I believe people can have a genetic propensity toward homosexuality, but not a genetic trait of homosexuality. My family has a propensity toward addictive behavior that makes drinking alcohol a really dangerous idea--we don't stop when common sense says we should.
- I have a good friend who is gay, was in a long-term relationship for a number of years with another man, and who is not a Christian. We've been able to talk honestly about some of our issues, and still be friends. I value his friendship and don't at all consider ignoring him because he's homosexual.
- I wrestle with what Jesus' response would have been - not to les/bi/gay people who didn't claim to be believers, but to those who did. I feel angry--sometimes even feelings of rage--at the comments of, "I feel sorry for you, that you can't believe in a God who loves everyone."
I feel angry because this displays a childish lack of understanding about God. I don't consider him an angry, white-bearded old man trying to hurl lightning bolts at us from heaven. I also don't think he's the sort of being who will ever pat me gently on the shoulder and say, "There, there."
There are accounts of people dying, on the spot, for treating God's holiness with less respect than it deserved. Cherubim - not roly-poly cherubs with dimples and golden curls, cherubim with multiple wings and four faces - are in charge of protecting God's glory and holiness. I don't have the smallest percentage of a clue how ably God ensures and protects his glory. If I'm able to say anything at all when I'm finally in his presence, I'll be amazed.
I believe in a God who loves everyone, but I do not believe that love to be a blanket of fuzzy blankets that hands out bon-bons and barricades us from pain or consequences. He loves me fiercely, and he gave me the free will to choose to surrender to him or not.
That list in 1 Cor. 6 that the NIV translates to contain "homosexual offenders" among those who won't see heaven? I'm elsewhere in that list - slanderers, idolaters. The crux point for me comes down to this: in my sins, do I acknowledge them as sins and try to surrender them to God as often as needed - or do I insist they're part of who I am and how God made me?
See? I told you I dislike this topic. I end up all fractious and irritated.
Grr.
Words won't express for me how much I dislike the whole topic. I've never seen a debate change anyone's mind on it, and tension builds and builds for me (as does anger) until I'm left in a mental steam.
In the manner of "We Believe", here's the pith of my thoughts and wrestlings with the topic -
- I do believe homosexuality, consensual or otherwise, is a sin. I won't get into scriptural references, because that line always gets muddy. I just believe that it's a sin. Right now my thoughts have me pondering the whole human body design angle... I find it hard to believe that God would create someone for a purpose of a particular relationship if (by acting in that relationship and within the body's design) no further generation was possible.
- I believe people can have a genetic propensity toward homosexuality, but not a genetic trait of homosexuality. My family has a propensity toward addictive behavior that makes drinking alcohol a really dangerous idea--we don't stop when common sense says we should.
- I have a good friend who is gay, was in a long-term relationship for a number of years with another man, and who is not a Christian. We've been able to talk honestly about some of our issues, and still be friends. I value his friendship and don't at all consider ignoring him because he's homosexual.
- I wrestle with what Jesus' response would have been - not to les/bi/gay people who didn't claim to be believers, but to those who did. I feel angry--sometimes even feelings of rage--at the comments of, "I feel sorry for you, that you can't believe in a God who loves everyone."
I feel angry because this displays a childish lack of understanding about God. I don't consider him an angry, white-bearded old man trying to hurl lightning bolts at us from heaven. I also don't think he's the sort of being who will ever pat me gently on the shoulder and say, "There, there."
There are accounts of people dying, on the spot, for treating God's holiness with less respect than it deserved. Cherubim - not roly-poly cherubs with dimples and golden curls, cherubim with multiple wings and four faces - are in charge of protecting God's glory and holiness. I don't have the smallest percentage of a clue how ably God ensures and protects his glory. If I'm able to say anything at all when I'm finally in his presence, I'll be amazed.
I believe in a God who loves everyone, but I do not believe that love to be a blanket of fuzzy blankets that hands out bon-bons and barricades us from pain or consequences. He loves me fiercely, and he gave me the free will to choose to surrender to him or not.
That list in 1 Cor. 6 that the NIV translates to contain "homosexual offenders" among those who won't see heaven? I'm elsewhere in that list - slanderers, idolaters. The crux point for me comes down to this: in my sins, do I acknowledge them as sins and try to surrender them to God as often as needed - or do I insist they're part of who I am and how God made me?
See? I told you I dislike this topic. I end up all fractious and irritated.
Grr.
June 14, 2006
Happy Thoughts
Trent & I had an episode of "intense fellowship" last night (as one of our friends has labeled it). The pith of the matter was that I was whining about how my day went as opposed to how I wanted it to go. Most of the blame for this was laid at Nathan's door. Trent (though less graciously than he might have, since he also was tired after a long day) pointed out that I make more negative comments about my days with Nathan than I do positive ones.There were tears and martyrish remarks in last night's response, but I realize today that he's right. I think about the positive things, but I don't often articulate them.
As a means of fighting that, allow me to share this positive moment with you: my unbelievably active 9-mo-old child crawled around his grandparents' gargantuan leather sofa, rounded a carved piano that belonged to his great-grandmother, and (working past the cardboard box of his uncle's Nintendo games) found his toybox. I try to rotate through his toys fairly often. He just found the mother lode of plastic and fuzz fabric. When I pulled out his toy elephant, which shakes and plays music when you pinch its nose, he practically bounced as he hyperventilated.
How great must life be if the best part of your day is getting to gnaw on a musical elephant's shaking ear? -Oh, wait: he just pulled his other musical toy out, a key that plays interminable versions of "The Wheels on the Bus".
What a kid... : )
June 13, 2006
Paint Spots
Painting houses is filled with adventurous moments. Every trip to a mirror results in a new discovery. Hmmm... how did paint get just there on my elbow? You might find that paint has somehow migrated through the clothing you were wearing and implanted itself on your right thigh. Perhaps you find that spot of paint on the tip of your nose when brushing your teeth before bed - after a day filled with errands. They don't come off easily, either. Showering alone with soap and water doesn't seem to remove my paint spots, despite what latex manufacturers tell me.
I feel like journaling is the same way. I think I know myself so well, and then - wham. Spots where I least expected them.
I try so hard to manage the image I project. I want my writings to be clear, thought-provoking, coherent, pithy and piquant. Piquant I can usually get without trying, but linear is a hard-fought battle that's often lost. It's only clear to me this morning that teachers are the ones who try to make things linear and coherent. In my times with God, I am the student - not the teacher. If I journal with the hope of someone else reading my words and learning something, my primary focus isn't on learning or sorting through new thoughts for myself, but on teaching someone else. It's akin to learning that pushing the yoke forward makes the plane go down, then turning to a student sitting next to me and demonstrating how a plane can dive - without knowing how to pull out of it.
I need to be willing to seem foolish, to be focused on learning and the humility of learning, the receptivity of it. I'm too focused on appearing pulled together and instructive. As my friend Jeff Shrout often said, writers (particularly those who want to be instructive) must be the first learners of what they write.
I feel like journaling is the same way. I think I know myself so well, and then - wham. Spots where I least expected them.
I try so hard to manage the image I project. I want my writings to be clear, thought-provoking, coherent, pithy and piquant. Piquant I can usually get without trying, but linear is a hard-fought battle that's often lost. It's only clear to me this morning that teachers are the ones who try to make things linear and coherent. In my times with God, I am the student - not the teacher. If I journal with the hope of someone else reading my words and learning something, my primary focus isn't on learning or sorting through new thoughts for myself, but on teaching someone else. It's akin to learning that pushing the yoke forward makes the plane go down, then turning to a student sitting next to me and demonstrating how a plane can dive - without knowing how to pull out of it.
I need to be willing to seem foolish, to be focused on learning and the humility of learning, the receptivity of it. I'm too focused on appearing pulled together and instructive. As my friend Jeff Shrout often said, writers (particularly those who want to be instructive) must be the first learners of what they write.
June 12, 2006
Dog Tired
I saw the date of my last post, and my shoulders slumped. I hadn't realized it had been so long since I posted. I'm in the midst of Paint World 2006 these days, and days pass quickly when you're actually working with paint instead of watching it dry.
I've Kilzed (if it wasn't a word before, it is now) most of the upstairs surfaces that might have been considering harboring mildew or mold. That took 7 hours last Thursday. I intended to paint some of the ceilings this last weekend, but Trent had a cold and Nathan was snerfy, too, so I stayed home with my men. Down time. Much needed.
Today I went back over to finish up priming a closet interior and pull all the staples out of Nathan's bedroom floor (curse those carpet layers who actually want the flooring to stay in place, using 50-bajillion staples to do so). It actually took me over an hour to pull every single staple out. An hour of yanking staples individually with a pair of pliers. I must be insane.
I finished my day around 5:30 this evening by (finally!) painting our bedroom ceiling.
The plumbers came today to put shut-off valves on everything that didn't have it (which was most of the water-related aspects of the house); a flooring specialist took a look at our floors and told me I was going to hate him. If a flooring specialist ever tells you this, don't ask him why. He'll actually respond.
Turns out we need new vinyl underlayment. For all of the rooms where we want vinyl. All. of. the. rooms. Laundry room plus hallway plus kitchen plus bathroom equals ~250 square feet... Underlayment comes in 4'x4' sheets at $8 a sheet... If the vinyl isn't laid correctly, you can detect even a grain of sand underneath... -Trent heard this last comment and told me to ask the guy how much he'd charge to lay it for us; Trent doesn't want to lay it under that kind of pressure. So... underlayment plus labor cost plus needing the money on hand because the guy would do it on his own time and (of course) couldn't take a credit card payment... Final sum? One swirling mass of misdirected mental mess.
Bed. Now. Me--and my scratchy throat.
I've Kilzed (if it wasn't a word before, it is now) most of the upstairs surfaces that might have been considering harboring mildew or mold. That took 7 hours last Thursday. I intended to paint some of the ceilings this last weekend, but Trent had a cold and Nathan was snerfy, too, so I stayed home with my men. Down time. Much needed.
Today I went back over to finish up priming a closet interior and pull all the staples out of Nathan's bedroom floor (curse those carpet layers who actually want the flooring to stay in place, using 50-bajillion staples to do so). It actually took me over an hour to pull every single staple out. An hour of yanking staples individually with a pair of pliers. I must be insane.
I finished my day around 5:30 this evening by (finally!) painting our bedroom ceiling.
The plumbers came today to put shut-off valves on everything that didn't have it (which was most of the water-related aspects of the house); a flooring specialist took a look at our floors and told me I was going to hate him. If a flooring specialist ever tells you this, don't ask him why. He'll actually respond.
Turns out we need new vinyl underlayment. For all of the rooms where we want vinyl. All. of. the. rooms. Laundry room plus hallway plus kitchen plus bathroom equals ~250 square feet... Underlayment comes in 4'x4' sheets at $8 a sheet... If the vinyl isn't laid correctly, you can detect even a grain of sand underneath... -Trent heard this last comment and told me to ask the guy how much he'd charge to lay it for us; Trent doesn't want to lay it under that kind of pressure. So... underlayment plus labor cost plus needing the money on hand because the guy would do it on his own time and (of course) couldn't take a credit card payment... Final sum? One swirling mass of misdirected mental mess.
Bed. Now. Me--and my scratchy throat.
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