I've been bitten by the Spring Cleaning Bug. I would love to hate it, but I'm having a grand old time making the house all organized and clutter free. Except that you can't really tell unless you've previously been looking in closets and the deep and dark corners of the basement. And it needed to happen, trust me. It's funny how accumulation collects so quickly, and even funnier how there is always at least one corner that gets neglected when the Big Cleaning Spree comes along and you find things from Way Back When and wonder why on earth you hadn't found them earlier.
Today's great find was a bag of gloves and boots from when Becky showed the ponies. That was a few years ago. And the really yummy part is the mouse holes chewed into the bag. Trash. All of it.
How can a family have so much stuff? Seriously, it's like we're personally hoarding for distribution after the apocalypse. I'm finding toys from when Sam and I were kids that our own kids have stopped playing with. And yet we keep them. They're sentimental at this point. There are books that the kids will never read but I can't bring myself to part with because of all the hours I spent reading them before naptime daily. The expensive toys we buy the kids for holidays that they don't use but we need to keep to justify the cost a little more. The extra televisions that were given to us and we have no use for, but they work so we can't throw them out.
Stuff. So much stuff. What would happen if we would pare down to the barest essentials, allowing the kids to keep a handful of toys, we would each have two pair of shoes, clothes that fit in one dresser? Why do we need to be so materialistic? How did we get to this point that we think we need things to make us happy?
I wonder if all the world is like this, or just we Americans? Deep thoughts. Deep thoughts.
Materialism
Wanted: Friends With Time On Their Hands
Extreme couponing is an intriguing concept. I mean, face it, a family of 6 eats a lot. We go through a lot of laundry soap and dishwash detergent. We use toilet paper by the megapack and paper towels in bulk. Sam's Club sizing is perfect for us. And if I can get all that (and a few bags of chips for the weekend away) for mere pennies, I'd be thrilled nigh unto death.
But have mercy, people, there is way too much time involved to save that kind of money. If anyone has 4 kids, they have no time to research coupons because they're too busy doing laundry, or washing dishes because of all the cooking you do to feed them (which is why we could benefit from extreme couponing). It's a round and round kind of dilemma, really.
So here's the thing, if you have absolutely zero to do with your time and feel the need to find coupons to coordinate with my grocery store's sales and want to share it all with me out of the goodness of your heart, I'd be extremely grateful.
What? You have a life, too? *sigh*
Gardens Make Me Happy. Very Happy.
Today I visited Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Garden in Pittsburgh for the very first time ever. How I managed to live before now without seeing those gardens is beyond me. Oh, gosh, what a gardener's dream.
The online tips said to allot 90 minutes to see everything. We enjoyed every minute of the 3 hours we were there. I wish we'd have had more time. So many plants. So many gardens. So many styles. So much fun.
I kicked myself every fifty eight seconds for not taking the other lens for the camera. I also failed at working the twenty-five-cent lockers and had to break a $10 to get another quarter to try again. We had a picnic lunch in the sunshine on the patio.
We wandered around and around and around, and looked at everything twice. Or more. The gardeners redoing the seasonal room finally asked us if we were looking for anything in particular. Then they wondered if we were lost. I'm pretty sure they came to the final conclusion that we were demented, but they kept that thought to themselves. And still, we wandered around and around, looking and touching and oohing and aaahing.
And then we had to come home because our children were due home from school. I pulled into the drive and realized that Sam has just mowed the lawn for the first time this spring. The daffodils are in full bloom and the hosta are coming up. The azalea are blooming and the forsythia are glowing yellow. And for the first time in gardening history, I loved my gardens just as much as the professional ones I drool over. No, my humble place isn't perfect, or even completed, but it makes me incredibly happy. And really, that's what a garden is all about.
The Annual Peep Jousting Competition
I know I posted this last year, but it's definitely worth revisiting, because it's that time of year again.
With all the Easter clearance going on, I urge you to go buy some marshmallow peeps. I know they're not edible and are the grossest things ever created, but they're not to eat so stand down. Peep jousting is definitely worth the ninety nine cents you're going to spend on those nasty things. Behold.
You'll want two peeps, two toothpicks, and a paper plate. I recommend paper based on our experiment with plastic. Trust me. Set things up like so:
It's important that the toothpicks won't come out of the peeps, but not touch the other one. Close, obviously, but not touching. This is important. Then you'll pop that plateful of marshmallow nastiness in the microwave for about 3 minutes. STAND BY. If you've ever nuked a marshmallow you know the importance of this. If you haven't, you're about to learn. Plus, the whole point of this game is in the watching.
The first peep to explode and thrust it's spear into the heart of the other is the winner. Having a clean microwave door is of utmost importance. Taking pictures through even a clean door obviously leaves a lot to be desired. The beauty of a paper plate is that it's completely disposable when you're done with that round. Plastic plates will melt right along with the marshmallows. Trust me. I know whereof I speak.
Peep Jousting. The first real use for marshmallow peeps I've found. Go, have yourself some fun.
Wallowing Under the Bookshelf
I'm on a cleaning spree here. I know why women do spring cleaning - it's like a nesting instinct that we can't control. The sun shines, the temps warm up, we feel the need to clear winter out of the house like a down coat out of the closet. I don't hate housekeeping when I'm in the mood.
I was weeding through decades of books the other day when I came across my Anne of Green Gables series. Wow, I loved those. They made the keep stack, which was incredibly short. Since being introduced to the free Kindle app for the iTouch, I've been a convert. I rarely pick up the printed and bound word anymore, but instead reach for over 100 books at my fingertips, and they all store so neatly and compactly that I carry them with me no matter where I am. So because of my new Kindle love, I pared down my book collection to favorites and sentimentals. The bookshelves are sighing happily with the weight reduction.
But that Anne of Green Gables set gave me a dose of reality for a moment. I may never read them again, but I did truly love them at one time. I thought I'd keep them for my little girl to love some day. My mind filled with futuristic thoughts of sunshine and happy meadows of flowers and quiet moments of getting lost in a good book. (What? Your happy place doesn't look like that?) But just as quickly as that image filled my head, the backdrop was kicked down and I realized that it was a stage and I was the lone actor. The reality is that my little girl is 16 and not into reading.
I had a moment of panic as I wondered how on earth that happened. The first part. The part where I have a 16 year old. I mean, we were just married yesterday, right? So that means I'm not 21 anymore either, huh? And then the worst thought of all struck me. I nearly had to sit down.
I'm closer to having grandchildren than I am to the day my first child was born.
I'll be balled into the fetal position in the corner if you need me. But it had better be good.
The Spidered Crack Mystery
Last night we were running late to get to Wednesday night kids' club at church. We looked for shoes, and grabbed gear, and herded 4 kids plus 1 to the van. On the way up the driveway we were strapping on seatbelts and gathering the mail to put in the box for the next day. While sitting at the mailbox, I had time to look up for a minute, and that's when I saw it. The spidered crack in the bottom corner of the windshield, emanating from an obvious direct blow in the center of the long streaks.
"Crap! What happened to the windshield!" I said with class, as I pointed to the mess. Yeh, pointing and slang words are what I'm reduced to in moments that matter.
So the entire drive into town (we're rural - the drive is about 20 minutes) we discussed the possibilities. It was determined that most likely it was Micah because the other kids know their lives would end rather abruptly if they'd do something that stupid. Plus, Micah has had a fascination with throwing tiny pieces of gravel at the cars in the drive. Trust us, we don't encourage this in the least. In fact, it's highly discouraged. As in PUT THAT ROCK DOWN NOW AND STEP AWAY IF YOU WANT TO LIVE. And yet, the boy just does what he wants.
But here are the logistics. Micah's head is about level with the bottom corner of the windshield, so to have hit it with something, with that much force, was not as feasible as all that. Especially considering that the crack is in the very corner. He'd have had to almost bounce a (stick? rake? his brother?) off the edge of the van before he'd hit the glass. It didn't make sense.
So that brings us back to him tossing gravel. Except that gravel doesn't do that kind of damage. And if it was a rock (we all know there's an abundance of them at our place) he'd have to throw it pretty hard. Now, the boy has an arm on him, but it takes a lot to crack a windshield. And the center chip was as big around as the tip of my pinky finger. It couldn't have been a very big rock. Which brings us back to gravel.
The plot thickens.
It's been terribly windy this spring. Trampolines are blowing into people's houses, and full trash cans are rolled around lawns. Could something have been blown into the van? But it wold have been pretty big, and we would have seen something lying nearby. Right?
Color us baffled.
At church, Sam took the time to look over the crime scene. Dents riddled the van hood. Little tiny ones. So not good. I looked up from the dents Sam was pointing out and what to my wondering eyes did I see but a rock chunk in the wiper well. A rock chunk that was actually a man-fist-sized piece of concrete with a sharply pointed corner that perfectly fit the center of a windshield crack.
That boy is darn lucky that the van is only awaiting a tax return to purchase it's replacement. He's even luckier that the van will be driven directly to the scrap yard rather than sold or traded. And because he's a lucky little boy, he can also be grateful that it's not in the line of vision and won't have to be repaired.
We, however, will be trying to figure out how to keep a certain rock throwing scoundrel from throwing rocks when we're not there to see said scoundrel throw.
Spiraled Right Out of Control
It's spring, for better or worse. This means that it rains every other day (if not every day) and my floors are covered in dog prints and mud. It means that snow is fairly common, although definitely not welcome. It means that we get a warm and sunny day on rare occasions, and on those days I get the urge to garden and do all manner of outdoor activities.
We had one of those fun and warm days this week, and I took advantage during the 2 hours I had that evening after a full day of running. I started the stone fireplace that I was dreaming of.
Just hush about that whole big stone stove design being reduced to the simple and easy. Sometimes one has to realize their limitations, and it's better up front than a year into a project. But when I ran out of wonderfully perfect rocks at my fingertips (without having to actually go look for them in the hedgeline and woods) I decided to move on.
I have gardening ADHD.
You know those fun spiral shaped shrubs? Love them.
Beautiful, no? And just look at it - it's gotta be simple, right? I mean, you just trim branches from the trunk in a spiral shape the whole way up the to the top. I had the perfect shrub to spiralize, and it was in need of a trim anyway. Behold, my masterpiece:
It's spring, for better or worse. The time of year when it rains almost daily, and the days it doesn't rain I find a plant to humiliate. That poor shrub is now the laughing stock of the neighborhood. I actually pity it. And considering that it's still April and there's a lot of season left in Spring, it could be a very bad year for the plants at my place.
Backpacks Carry a Lot of Baggage
When Micah started going to preschool, I made him a backpack. It was corduroy, of several different colors. I appliqued a star onto the front pocket. I love that thing. He carried it through two years of preschool and started kindergarten with it. It's smaller than a regular pack - sized just right for a toddler and early learner. Even now, its the perfect size to hold my second grader's daily notebook and his 3.5 pound Voice. But while it's absolutely wonderful for his second grade gear, Micah is outgrowing it. I noticed a few weeks ago that it was difficult for him to get his arms in the straps, even though he insisted on wearing it anyway. And today I saw that one of the straps was ripping. It needs replaced, and quickly.
Last year, Micah went through a spell where he refused to carry his mom-made backpack. He insisted that he carry something more like the other kids were carrying - like the Lightning McQueen one he had for an overnight pack to Grandma's. I wasn't too happy about that little period of his life. You'd think it would be because he shunned something that I made him for something store-bought, but you'd be wrong. It was very much so because my baby was setting aside yet one more little boy thing and preferring to take another step toward big boy land.
My boy just keeps growing up.
So now that Micah needs a new backpack, I'm faced with some decisions. Do I get him a character pack like another Cars, or Woody? He loved his Cars pack, but the character ones aren't made for durability, as we learned the hard way. The one he had last year died a quick death once loaded with his Voice and toted daily. The other option is to go with durability and get him the lifetime guaranteed ones from L.L. Bean like the other boys are carrying. I know that's the wiser choice, but I just can't do it.
People, my boy might be growing up, but he's just too little to carry a big backpack like that. It'll swallow him up.
Of course, Luke has the Bean Jr. sized pack, and it's smaller for smaller boys. Maybe Micah would be able to tote it, and it would fit him better than the mom-made with the too-tight straps (that are tearing from the strain).
But it's so plain, and not cute or fun. A solid color just screams grown-up big-boy. My boy is not that. He still loves Woody and Lightning McQueen. He plays with Matchbox cars and reads toddler books. Would he like a plain pack? Would I?
In reality, I'm pretty sure that Micah is very much ready for a big boy pack, but the problem lies in the fact that I am not. Hold me while I cry over the loss of my baby. Who gave him permission to grow up again?
Who Knew Thievery Had Such Blurred Lines?
We've been in this house for 6 years now, and there is no landscaping at the front of the house. The backside of our abode sports a patio, pond, several gardens, brick and stone pathways and all manner of fun. I know where my priorities are. We spend all our time relaxing out back rather than sitting awkwardly in the front yard watching traffic go by. Plus, when we built, there were plans for a wrap around porch. I figured that I wasn't going to landscape only to have it dug up in a few years when the porch went on. The 5 year plan morphed into the 10 year plan for the porch, and then got nixed altogether. It's now time to do something about the ugly that everyone sees from the road.
So I was perusing the trees at Lowe's, oohing and aaaahing over all the fun that I could have, when I spied a beauty of a specimen just waiting for me to take it home. It was small, and bent and twisted in almost painful ways. I loved it. Immensely. Right up until I saw the $80 price tag. I am the Queen of Cheap, and practicality raised its ugly head, telling me to just walk away already. I tried. I really did. As I was taking a step away my eyes lingered on it's beauty, and then I saw it. A branch of that beautimus tree was snapped off and dangling. It detracted from the beauty of the thing, and because I'm a gardener at heart, I reached out and broke it off so as to avoid the unsightly. A tree has to look it's best to sell itself, and dead, hanging branches won't make a good impression.
As I was holding that twig in my hand, wondering where a trash can would be (because I'm a mom, and we never just toss things onto the ground), Becky said, "you should plant that and see if it would grow." Much as I loved that idea (and wished I would have thought of it on my own), I told her that it wouldn't work because the branch was dead. At the break, the inside of the twig was brown. Never a good sign. But in order to teach, I showed her how to check for signs of life. "See, if you use your fingernail and scrape the skin off just a bit, a live tree will be green underneath. Something dead like this will be brown." Except that dead twig was green when I scraped back some bark.
My heart started racing, as did my mind. First of all, I had a live cutting off an $80 tree that I muchly coveted right there in my hand. Secondly, I needed to get it into some growth hormone STAT. Thirdly, did I just steal? I mean, I had no intention of taking that branch to grow. I was just trying to help out by making things look tidy. Should I just throw it away? Should I ask an employee to salvage it? Should I tape it back onto the tree? Should I run, screaming, from the building?
So now I have a stick in a flower pot in the middle of my dining room table. From what I understand, its chances of growing are pretty good. Someday, I may or may not have a walking stick tree in my landscape. And I may or may not have stolen it.
Give Me a D!
A few years ago, when Micah was very much nonverbal (like now) and I didn't have answers on why, I wondered about the day he'd learn to talk. Would he babble like a baby did when it was learning to talk, even though he was older and obviously knew some words? (That would seem wierd, but it's all my mind knew.) Would he just figure it out someday and start speaking in full sentences? (Because THAT wouldn't be weird at all.) My mind had a million possibilities of strange and normal all mixed together into a stew of confusion and wonderment.
As time went by, I gave up that silly notion of baby babbling. Especially when apraxia was diagnosed. The funny thing about babbling is that kids are practicing sounds, but not just any sounds - beginning consonant sounds. M's and D's and B's are so common. A little apraxia trivia for those who don't know - kids pick up ending sounds and not beginning sounds. Way back when we were trying to be Incredibly Helpful Parents for our nonverbal son, we tried shortening Becky's name to one syllable like her brothers' were. We figured Beebee would be a nice shortened version. (Hush with the "it's the same number of syllables" talk - it's a single sound at least. AND WE WERE JUST TRYING TO BE HELPFUL.) Turns out, the joke was on us since the boy shortened it himself to EEEE. You know, the ending sound of Becky. We're pleading ignorance, because it applied.
Micah has been in speech therapy 2-3 times a week for the past 6 years. (Wow, where does time go?) They've been working on things like M's and D's and B's for quite some time. Sometimes he'll repeat them, and other times he just can't. (Apraxia Trivia Bit #2 - the brain has problems remembering how to make a sound that the mouth has already made.) While we're incredibly grateful to the therapists who invest so much time into Micah's nonverbal state, I really have to wonder at times if it's doing any good. My boy is motivated. If he *could* talk, he would. He doesn't take "you can't do that" very well at all. I'm thinking that when the boy is ready, he'll figure it out, and in the meantime nothing we can do will make a difference.
Still, we've gotta try. We're parents.
Last week, while listening to Micah playing, I heard a break from his usual constant yell of AAAAAAHHHHHH. You've no idea how old that AAAHHHHH gets. Probably because it can be heard all over the house and OH MY GOSH THERE IS NOWHERE TO GO TO GET AWAY FROM IT AND FOR THE LOVE OF SILENCE CAN YOU JUST TONE IT DOWN WHILE I'M ON THE PHONE kind of loud. Seriously, I lock myself in the laundry room while the washer and dryer are running just to be able to hear. But last week I heard something altogether new. In 8 years, my boy has never said Dadada. Last week he did. It happened in a split second, and in that tiny moment my world stopped while my mind went back to the babbling days of the other kids, and I marveled at what my youngest son just said.
My boy. He babbled for the first time in his life last week.
And over the weekend he continued to AAAAAAHHHHH right up until Sunday morning when the van was overheating and we had to pull off along side the road (stupid van. I don't want to talk about it) and while everyone was busy being upset at the incompetent and ancient piece of transportation, I marveled at my son who, from the back seat, said, "mamamama" and "bababa."
After all these years, and all my silly wonderment, babbling is really happening. I can't wait to see what's next.
The Mouse Rocks
Since being introduced to the wonderful iWorld, we've been eyeballing the Proloquo2Go app. Okay, in reality, we introduced ourselves to the iWorld in order to GET the app. Cart, horse, it makes no difference.
This app is part of the wonderful world of AAC, where nonverbal kids have a voice to talk with. While this is far, far, FAAAAAAR less expensive than Micah's Voice, it's still a spendy little app. We're talking three digits kind of spendy, which is why we've put off buying it for so long. But Micah's Voice is on the fritz and needs sent back for repairs, and while Prentke-Romich rocks and will be sending a replacement for ours while it's being serviced, we've realized that it's probably very wise on our part to have a back-up voice for the kid. Yesterday, I pulled that trigger.
I used the Disney Visa to make the purchase, because HELLO. If I can get free things at Disney for simply spending money, I'm going to be all over that. Except there was a problem and the card was declined. Funny, because just that morning I used it to purchase tires, and according to the online statement, that purchase was pending (which means it worked perfectly.)
I tried again to purchase the app, and again the card was declined. Well crap. This particular card was hacked into twice in the past and was shut down by Disney because of random, unauthorized purchases. Was this happening a third time? So I called, because what else was I going to do?
"Ma'am, it looks as though there was an attempted purchase in the amount of $201 to iTunes. We declined this attempt because we are not aware of any app costing that much. We weren't sure that it was an authorized purchase."
People, I am very grateful to our credit card company for making my life difficult like that at times. I think it's far, FAR easier to call and get the hold taken off with a simple explanation than it would be to have to deal with the mess of a stolen credit card. So today, we gained enough in Disney points to buy a drink in the Magic Kindgom, and Micah has a backup Voice now.
Yes, he's thrilled. But he still prefers to watch movies on the iPod, which is why we'll never be sending that Voice option to school with him.
The Ring of Fire. It's Harder Than It Looks.
See that? It's beautiful, no? (Insert sarcasm here. I'm aware that it's just a pile of stones in a semi-square-ish shape, doing nothing at all and interfering with the garden.) That would be the start of my newest rock project.
Yes, here I go again with the rock talk.
I have a plan to make an outdoor fireplace. Something small and modest, like this:
See? Nothing elaborate. Much. And while I've got a good start on the project with those 8 rocks I laid down, I had to stop at that point because I already ran into problems. What does one do to elevate the fire area? You don't put the fire down in the ground - obviously it's build up. See that above? Yeh, how does that happen? Is concrete involved? Fire bricks? Concrete blocks?
So I asked Mr. Google, because he knows everything. This is the answer I got. "Set the fireplace, and put stone around it." Well thank you, Captain Obvious. If I *had* a fireplace to set I'd be doing that very thing. (Okay, I actually do have a fireplace insert to set, but I have grand plans to turn that into an outdoor pizza oven. Try not to be jealous of my ambition. Just know that the grill surround I started 2 years ago still isn't finished. It may never be. I'm a starter, not a finisher.) So I'm back to Square One on the fireplace. I fear I'll end up with something more like this:
Which, you know, isn't as bad as all that. Right? Except for the stone that fell out of the top there. But mine will probably have that as well. I do have questions on how to make those stones stay. Probably with cement, but is that fire resistant? I mean, I know cement doesn't burn, but will it withstand the heat and still hold rocks together? So many questions.
And because I'm in charge of the project and I have no clue what I'm doing and Google is no help at all, this is probably what I'll end up with:
Which is okay, because it's also pretty. I prefer the chimney version, but can certainly live with a well made fire ring. Except mine probably wouldn't have the purty top stones on it. And my rocks won't fit together so perfectly because I'll be using real stone and not premanufactured already-curved ones. Which also means that the sides won't be flat and smooth. So that leaves me with this:
Which is a shocking resemblance to the first picture that I have going, no? So I guess I really do have a good start. Actually, I'm almost done. Go, me.
Picking and Choosing My Future Memories
Motherhood knows no privacy. It begins with pregnancy, when every doctor and their assistant want a peek at your nether regions. From there, you'll never have a private moment in your life. Or at least until the kids are grown and out of the house. And maybe not even then.
Just the other morning, I was leaning over the bathtub washing my hair (what? You've never done that in a pinch to save time?) when Becky walked in to use the facilities. (Because we don't have two other bathrooms in the house.) Micah found me (Hide and Seek!) and pushed Lightning McQueen around the bath rug at my feet. Luke hunted me down to ask The Most Important Question Ever. (I don't even remember, and yes, it definitely could have waited. It always can.) Three of the four kids joining me in the bathroom. It doesn't matter if I'm showering, or getting changed, or trying to get some private time on the porcelain throne - the kids will hunt me down and invade my space. I guess it's nice to be wanted.
They tell me that I'll miss these days when the kids are gone. I can believe it, because THE KIDS WILL BE GONE. But really, there are parts of my day that I'll never miss. Ever. Trust me.
The Age of Lazy
Remember way back in the day when the kids were young and thought imitating mommy was the best thing ever? (If you're still in the stage, enjoy it, please.) If mommy was vacuuming, they wanted a turn because vacuuming was cool. They wanted a hand at unloading the dishwasher, and mopping the floor, and chopping onions...
I remember being frustrated most of the time, knowing that any job they did would be far inferior to anything that needed to be done, and I would have to re-do. A re-do was a tricky thing to navigate, mind you. I could play the Lets Take Turns card and have them sweep for a bit, then I'd take over, but the downfall of that was my smart kids. "Mom, I already did that part." *Busted* Or I could wait until they weren't in the room and do it over, but by then I just wanted the job done so that I could move on to other things. Nothing like having to do the same dishes twice. And then you have the dirty dishes stacked with the clean and have to re-wash ALL of them.
And the dilemma came in because while I could clearly say, "No, I'll do it" and send the kids on their way, it was training skills that they would need later in life. Teaching while they're willing to learn is always a bonus. And I played that card well. Chores were a privilege earned only by the best of kids. (Yeh, I'm evil.) I'd build up the hype. "Do you think you can handle the vacuum? Maybe you're just not big enough yet." Or "I don't know, this is such a big kid job. Maybe you should wait until next week to try." That, of course, made them want to work even more.
That. That desire to work. Where does it go? At what age do kids realize that it's work and they want nothing to do with it?
This morning I was sorting clean laundry into piles to be put away. Micah was taking the empty baskets and filling them with dirty laundry as fast as I was unloading them. He even turned the laundry hamper upside down to get the last sock out of the bottom. He stacked the empty hampers neatly together, and saw that the floor needed swept where they were sitting. A broom would not be my first choice to sweep a carpet, but that was his choice and he did a good job with it, too. He then tried carrying full hampers downstairs to the laundry room, but navigating steps is difficult enough for him without bearing a load like that. I instructed him to just set them at the top of the steps for me. That was the only thing I asked him to do, and he was none too happy about it. Clearly, I was holding him back from completing a task.
Can I bottle this enthusiasm somehow?
Everyone Will Be Wanting One Now
Puppies rank among Micah's favoritest things. He has a 6th sense when it comes to newborn puppies. A dog can give birth in the wee smalls of the night, and he'll magically be up an extra hour early, making a beeline for the correct kennel just to see the newborns. And he's so incredibly gentle when he holds them that I have no qualms about letting him hug and pet to his heart's desire. Ironically, as the puppies get older, I put a stop to this.
Micah thinks playing with puppies is much like playing with the Round Up Gang. He can put them in boxes and carry them around, he can give them rides in his trucks, he can put them to bed when they're tired. (That was a fun day, looking for three missing puppies, only to discover them under Luke's covers. Yes, we changed his sheets.) By the time they've been given a grand tour of the house and inadvertently lost once or twice, I finally get smart and put a lock on the crate.
This morning, Micah brought me a puppy as a wake-up call. I knew the boy was up, mind you, because I was laying in bed wishing I could get more sleep, listening to him make his way from room to room downstairs. I heard him unlatch the kennel door and figured he was letting mama dog outside. I waited for the door to open, and waited, and waaaiiiittttted. Huh, maybe he was feeding her instead.
And then there was a puppy on my face. That's an effective alarm clock, right there.
"Thank you, Micah. What a sweet puppy. The black one is your favorite, isn't it? Can you put him away, please? Take him back to his mama." And he scooped up the black puppy and gently carried it out of the room. And down the hall. I heard a few bedroom doors open and realized that the black puppy is now the latest model of alarm clocks. Everyone gets a puppy on the face!
It's time to put the lock on the crate.
Cheeseburger Soup
This recipe has been a family favorite since the very first time I made it. Everyone loves it, which is rare. It's a great go-to for entertaining or a quiet evening at home. (What? You don't serve soup to guests? You really should.)
Cheeseburger Soup
1/2 lb. hamburger
3/4 c onion
3/4 c shredded carrots
3/4 c celery
1 tsp each basil and parsley
4 T butter
3 c chicken broth
4 c potatoes
1/4 c flour
8 oz cheddar cheese
1 1/2 c milk
3/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
1/4 c sour cream
First you'll want to brown the hamburger. And while it's frying, it's a good time to chop carrots, onions, and celery. If you toss things into a food processor it makes short work of it all. I'm all about taking short cuts.
When it's sufficiently browned, carefully scoop out the burger, leaving behind the grease. You'll want to saute the vegetables that you just chopped in that pan. Don't stress over frying in grease - it's no better or worse than butter or oil. For real. Plus it's saving those other ingredients for another recipe.
When the veggies are softened a bit, mix them with the meat and add the chicken broth. Chop potatoes and toss in as well. And it's a good time to add in the basil and parsley, too.
Turn the heat waaaay down low and simmer that stuff until the potatoes are soft.
While the concoction is making a soup of itself, it's a great time to clean up dishes. Multitasking. It's what women do.
When the dishes are done and the potatoes are soft and delicious, sprinkle on the salt and pepper, and dollop in the sour cream.
Put the flour in a cup and add enough milk to stir it into a thin paste. This is best done with a fork, or a tiny little cup-sized whisk. This prevents flour clumps in the soup.
Add the remainder of the milk and the cheese to the soup, as well as the flour mixture. Yum, cheese. The original recipe calls for American or Velveeta, but we're huge fans of cheddar here and it's what we love. Feel free to experiment. Or add more. We do that, too.
Getting the kids involved is always a good idea. They are good at stirring things well, which is good because there's a lot of stirring to do at this point. You don't want the cheese to stick to the bottom. And the flour mix needs distributed evenly.
When it's done, it'll look much like this.
And now you just need to enjoy it.
Today. It Was Glorious.
Today Spring finally came to Ponyville. We actually put the real ponies out to pasture, and they were very, very happy. They ate grass for the first time in months.
The temperatures registered somewhere in the 70's, and considering that just yesterday it was still snowing, this is major, and very welcoming, news. I spent the day outside. Today, I cleared six of the twelve gardens (which, too many gardens much?), but they were by far the biggest and worst jobs. The remaining half dozen are very small and inconsequential. They will also take less than no time to clear.
Today, we got two huge loads of cut stone. The fun just keeps growing. All the things I'll be doing with those stones are exciting to even think about. Stone walls, retaining banks, garden borders, grill surround, stone walkway... Be still my beating heart.
Today, we cleaned out some of the hoarded mess and hauled in $100 worth of scrap metal.
Today, I bought 3 trees to finally make the front of the house as beautifully landscaped as the back is. Priorities. I has them. (Hey, *I* don't see the front of the house, so it's fallen far down on the list of Things To Do.)
Today, Micah had a turn with the camera. I love to see what he takes pictures of.
Today, I vowed to find a way to rid our acreage of rabbits. I loved those things right up until today when I realized that 3 weeping cherry trees, 1 weeping willow, 3 holly bushes, and 2 forsythia were eaten off by those winter-starved rodent cousins. Vengeance will be mine. I only need to figure out how.
Today, I spent the day outside. Which means that I got zero done inside. The results are not pretty. It seems that no matter what I do, there's a lot that I don't do.
Family Dinner
There is evidence that sitting around the dinner table at the end of the day will bring a family closer together. I do know that it's something our kids will remember all their lives. Whether it's a fond memory or a repressed memory is yet to be determined. It's all Micah's fault.
Micah adds so much color to our lives.
The boy is way more comfortable in his underpants than he is dressed, so he brings his tidy whities clad self to the dinner table. This is good to keep in mind as I give you a glimpse of our evening meal together.
Once the family is gathered, we hold hands and pray for our meal. Things get interesting right up front when Becky feels the need to comment on the state of her brothers' hands. "Why do we have to hold hands? It's so gross. When is the last time you even washed, Luke?" (Luke's hands are visibly dirty, and we send him to the sink to wash up before proceeding on.)
Someone is designated to pray. If it's Micah, he'll either pray for the food, or be funny. Funny is when he chooses to elaborately bow his head, close his eyes, pause dramatically, then utter a single word while laughing hysterically. Because it was funny the first time, we laughed. It's quickly becoming his standard, and we don't consider it a real Thank You For The Food prayer. Someone else is then designated to pray. Halfway through this prayer Micah raises his hand and starts with the Ooooh! Oooh! Oooh!ing until the prayer is done and we call on him. He then insists that he gets another turn.
Once we pray, we begin dishing out food. Generally people pick up a dish that's near them, help themselves, and pass it on. We never pass everything in one direction. You'd think that after years of family dinners we'd have this down to a science. You'd think wrong. We are still struggling with Which Direction Do You Pass 101. Micah is Mr. Independence Personified, and insists on helping himself to everything. In triplicate. He will, however accept help from Josh, who sits on his right, but never from Luke, who sits on his left. If Luke attempts to help he will get a tongue lashing (OOOOOKKK!!!!!) and a finger wagging. This happens approximately five dozen times per meal, mostly for things that Micah imagines in his head.
We discuss all sorts of various things during the meal. Micah needs to be part of each conversation, of course. Up goes the hand and out come the Ooooh! Oooooh! Oooooh!s. By about the third contribution to our dinnertime conversation, Micah is now standing in his chair for more emphasis. (In his underwear, of course.) The boy is incapable of talking without pulling a Michael Jackson crotch grab move. He's just not. So Micah is standing on his chair, in his underwear, playing with his junk, and elaborating on a story of some sort or other. After uncountable reminders to sit down and finish eating, the command comes out that nobody else would think of saying around the dinner table. "Put that thing away!"
I'll let that up to your imagination, but yes, it's probably what you're thinking.
Life at our house is never dull. Ever.
