Morrow years

The girls are with my mom for the weekend, so when Jake went to work with his dad today, I got a day of my own. Of course it started out with me taking Jake to work then obediently staying for lunch so he could 'wait on' me. Naturally, I had to hang out a little while to watch him work - my little man with his choo-choo train apron with one side pocket packed full of straws, a pad and pen in the center, and the world's sweetest "What can I get for you to drink?" (The left side pocket of his apron was left empty for holding tips he was sure to get).
It's impressive, watching my kids work. Emily is a whirlwind of working girl, dead serious about The Job from the minute she walks in the door until she walks out of it (which is usually at least ten hours later...she gets the work-a-holic thing from her dad). Both Em and Leirin can take the place of any scheduled staff with the exception of prep-cooks and line cooks, and I'm quite sure that's only because by law (and insurance) they aren't allowed to.
Eric, one of the cooks, is always saying he has to stay on Emily's good side so that she doesn't fire him when her dad turns the running of the restaurant over to her. She's that serious.  Doug is pleased to know that at least one of the kids have the restaurant bug. A family needs two work-a-holics, I suppose.
But today I was watching Jake - the last of my babies - as he took his turn at being part of the work force. It's hard to imagine that my kids are all big enough to carry drinks without having to worry about spilling them.
People love Jake. They think he is cute, precious, such a sweet little server, and he has the coolest choo-choo apron in the whole world. And they tip him for it.
Now anybody that knows or has read anything about Jacob knows that money is the big motivator. He came home with 20 bucks in that left apron pocket (and a nickel) folded neatly and already warm from the burning to be saved. His eyes they glowed with possibility. Job = money = dollars = happy Jake. He wants to do more of this working thing.
I'm proud, his dad is proud. He's a hard working little man according to all of the staff. Every one stops me to say they are amazed that kids their age can come in and do the work they do, love it so much, and do it so well.
Doug beams as his little restauranteur comes around the corner carrying a stack of empty cups and silverware talking about what a mess the party in the banquet room left behind. In Jake's eager eyes he sees the future of our business.
It is a moment, you realize as it happens, that will be a cherished memory in the morrow years.
I'm not sure if Jake's future will find him running the restaurant or not. It will be his meantime job like it is for many wannabe actors and actresses, but I look at the gleam in his eye as he pats the apron pocket to hear the solid little jingle and I'm thinking banker.
Don't tell Doug though. He has years to entertain the possibilities.

I wanna know

How come my EIGHT YEAR-OLD can get a shirt that says "Hot & Flaky Cutie Pie" with various slogan-like terms scattered about the central 'ad' that says things like "Served Hot", "Careful", "Served Fresh Daily". I can't buy anything like that in the grown-ups department but they make'em for the kids?
What's up with the Big Clothes Design People?
I'm guessing the people that design little girls clothing definitely DO NOT have little girls of their own.
Innocent. Sweet. Little girls.
It would explain why I find it just about impossible to find a pair of jeans that actually covers her ass.
They're kids Big Clothes Design People, not runway models or a street corner crack ho. LITTLE GIRLS. Get with the program. Please! My baby is liable to be kicked out of school for the trash that passes for clothes that are available around here.

I'm too sexy for my Yoda

I took it twice and opted to go with Galadriel because, well, she's hot. Yoda is cute and all, but...

My desk, still in need of much cleaning. I can't sit on the couch either. One day soon I'll have the mess put away and it will be the cozy room I see in my mind. The pictures posted one at a time and backwards from the way I intended. If I was smarter I could do nice side by side before and after pics. 

The bookcases have much work to be done still. I have shelves and molding to add. Even so they're doing a great job of keeping things out of my way. 

This is the library which you can see is still a work in progress. I have to finish adding shelves to the bookcases and clean my desk, but it's the last room in the house that needs major work. I'm not sure if this will post all three pictures but I'm going to give it a try 

It is finished!!!!!!! The kids even let me tell the best part of my day first at dinner. Bet you can't guess what that was :) It's got it's share of mistakes but that just makes it mine. I am so proud!
copyright 2003

In a Rush

The kitchen is freezing because somebody forgot to turn the air conditioner off last night before bed. The gurglin of the coffee pot as it spits out the last bits of that heavenly nectar that is Costa Rican La Lapa reminds me of the beginning of that Rush song. I overslept. Waaay overslept.
Something came up yesterday and I didn't get to grout the floor yet again. But as soon as I strip the bed in the first room this morning (it's Bedroom Cleaning Day) I'll be grabbing my cat litter pan, I mean the grout mixing pan, and getting jiggy with it, or something like that.
Am calling the repair shop today to ask AGAIN if our tractor will ever be fixed. He's had the blessed thing since May. We're working on long enough now that tractor is going to be irrelevant. We're going to need a bush hog (bushhog? bushog?) Why do they call them bush hogs anyway? Weird name. I've never seen a hog eat a bush. Goats will, why aren't they called bushgoats? It would be easier to spell. Ah the mysteries of life.

Anyway, time to get jiggy, or busy, or something.

Laundry Day

Tuesday, the day I have declared Laundry Day. One of two days, anyway, Friday is an official Laundry Day too. I’ve tried laundry every way conceivable. Everything from ignoring it to having a washing going constantly, you name it, I’ve tried it and failed miserably at it. Though I was pretty good at the ignoring it part.
In the midst of the move and work the house requires, I’ve completely lost sight of my schedule – not that the one I had before was so great. I’ve just never been able to stay on top of things. If I’m running behind, I must be on track because behind is the norm for me. So I’ve been working hard at developing a system. I want to be sure I continue to get time to sit on the porch in the evenings or curl up in the cozy leather chair with a book.
I started by designating a laundry day – two of them.
Today was the first occurrence of the normally dreaded Laundry Day. I was surprised to find that when I gathered clothes I only had three loads. It’s been 4 days since I last did laundry and I had expected at least 4 because I’ve always managed to was at least one load, if not two, every day.
I washed the first load of clothes and walked out into the blistering heat of the sun to hang them on the newly reworked clothesline. I have to admit to wondering if I was insane when the blast of heat hit me in the face upon opening the back door. I high-stepped through the tall grass (the boob of a guy STILL hasn’t finished repairing the tractor). Beads of sweat trickled down my back as I sat the basket of clothes on the ground.
“I must be crazy,” I thought for a minute. I hadn’t picked the first wet piece from the basket and I was sweating. Profusely. I tried to look on the bright side – at least the clothes will dry fast.
I reached into the basket and picked up the first piece to be hung on the line, snapping it in the air to knock out the wrinkles. Instantly, there was a breeze…like the snapping of a wet piece of clothing was the ON switch for outside dryers. I looked ahead of the line and out into the field that soon (I hope) will be pastured, watching for signs of rabbits or squirrels or whatever little furry creatures might be out hiding amongst the tall weeds. Before I knew it, the clothes were all hung, flapping lightly in the breeze that hadn’t stopped. I had looked forward to hanging clothes out to dry, I remembered, and now I remembered why. I remember our clothes drying on the line when I was little, but I've never hung my own laundry out to dry. It used to be such a common thing to see clothes stretched out in rows, waving slightly like flags beside people's houses. I stood for a minute looking at the line filled with our clothes and was flooded with memories that this single act brought back to me. I remember clearly the slightly rough feel of sun-dried towels and jeans and sliding my legs under the crisp white sheets that smelled like outdoors after a summer rain storm.
When the second load was finished, I switched it out and went to hang it out also. I was amazed to find most of the laundry that had been hanging for less than half an hour was already dry.
I just finished bringing in the last of the clothes from the line. I was right; they smell like sunshine.
I won’t be doing the bedclothes today though. I’ll wait until tomorrow to do them. Wednesday is Bedroom Cleaning Day.

Perfect days and perfect nights

Taking forever to lay tile in the entry isn’t the only thing I’ve been doing these last two weeks. A lot of exciting things are happening here. There is our bedroom – finally painted and looking yummily relaxing. The living room and music rooms actually look like they should too. And the library is coming right along.

Some mornings I wake up, the sound of crickets still thrumming along outside our bedroom window, and I can’t believe I actually get to live here for the rest of my life.
Somehow, this place makes everything good. Life here is so easy.

The kids have bikes. Three days ago, Jake learned to ride a two-wheeler. Actually, I think he must have known all along how to ride without training wheels because he hopped up on that bugger and took off like he’d been riding two-wheeled bikes all his life.
Two days ago he had his first wreck and practically ripped a hole all the way through his knee. He wears that boo-boo like a badge though. It might be gross, but he got it RIDING A TWO-WHEELER!
Emily, being the thorough little thing she is, has wrecked and skinned her same knee THREE times. I wonder if it may never heal.
And, just so nobody is left out, Leirin had a nasty crash of her own and got some seriously wicked bruises on her belly from being thrown into the handle bars. They’re still all “Yay! We’ve got bikes!”
We were never able to have bikes where we lived before so I guess they figure they have a lot of catching up to do.
They just ride and ride and they never even consider turning on the television until after dark (two of our major crashes happened after midnight and can be blamed entirely on the dark, so now they watch television instead of riding at night). They gather hickory wood for grilling, pinecones for Allie to chew up, blueberries and blackberries from the end of the drive and grapes and figs from out back. Before too long we’re going to have pears and apples. We’re going to learn to make wine. I want to try to do a sweet Blackberry Merlot.

We get thunderstorms just about every day. And every time they’re over, we walk outside to find a rainbow over our house. Perfect rainbows every time, and we’re smack in the center of it. If you go to the end of our street and take a left, just a little ways down there’s a road named Rainbow’s End. Apparently the rainbow has been here for a while.
There are lots of neat little things we’ve discovered since moving here. A porch can make even the hottest days bearable. Nothing feels like summer more than the juice of a soft, sweet peach dripping into the palm of your hand when you bite into it.

Bees build nests EVERYWHERE. Gimli has been attacked by a bunch of ground bees already. His head swelled up into a knotty mess, but he was ok about it. He liked getting to spend the evening inside while we doctored him and monitored his reaction.
My clothesline poles were full of bees. For weeks I tried to get out there and take down the old rusted line so I could replace it and paint the poles but every time I got near it bees would come pouring out of the holes. Yesterday we picked up a can of that spray foam insulation stuff and I filled the holes full. No more bees will be nesting up in my clothesline poles and now I can finally hang out laundry. I love the smell of laundry dried under the hot summer sun, the look of freshly washed linens waving in the breeze. The poles are primed and if I can get them painted today I’ll be ready to hang laundry out tomorrow. By Wednesday night, if all goes well, I’ll be sleeping on sheets that smell like sunshine.

A homing pigeon has shown up here so now I think I have to build a roost. It is not afraid of us, but it won’t let us close enough to touch him (her?) yet. It will, however, walk around in circles about an inch or so out of reach for a good 15 minutes before he tires of that little game. Evidently I find it a great deal more entertaining than he does because I seem perfectly willing to continue walking around in a circle trying to convince him to let me pet him.

Evenings here, though busy, find me sitting on the porch for at least a little while. Sometimes I’ll watch a dry storm light up huge thunderheads off in the distance. Sometimes I’m out in time to watch the sunset. Sometimes I sit on the porch, surrounded by the dark of midnight and just listen to the sounds of the night. It’s so nice here.

My fingers are covered in mortar so thick I’m afraid I might need to be scraped down with a putty knife before I can be allowed a shower.

For over two weeks I’ve worked on it a little bit at a time, nursing my back for days afterwards because it’s a killer, that floor. Each day it seemed I’d accomplish less and less and take more time to recover. When I woke up this morning and looked again at the remaining 1/3, I decided it had to be done tonight (I work at night to lessen the chance of it being walked on…never works, but I try). For the last 4 hours I’ve trimmed, notched and carefully shifted tiles, trying to maintain straight lines (impossible).
I’m almost looking forward to the grouting. It’s gotta be easier than this.
It’s not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve seen high dollar pros set crooked tile of varying heights so you can bet your britches I won’t be complaining about the imperfections. No way. They are there because I’ve done it myself - all while working around a husband, three kids, three curious cats, and six stubborn-as-mule dogs.
But the floor is beautiful. And it’s finished. Nothing left but the grouting of it. Go me!

And dial up still sucks.