tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-355815612024-03-13T19:13:22.859-07:00Rooting About, Becoming Rooted. Rootsome.<p align="left"><i>My land is bare of chattering folk;<br>
The clouds are low along the ridges,<br>
And sweet's the air with curly smoke<br>
From all my burning bridges.<br><br>
~Dorothy Parker</i></p>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-90396155348403404342013-02-26T20:09:00.000-08:002013-02-26T20:09:26.993-08:00Sacred trust.I kept him out too late last night, visiting with friends while I let him play games on my phone. His red eyes drooped by the time I scooped him into his booster seat for the quick ride home. "Thanks, mama," he said, already leaning his head against the side of the seat. He barely woke up to be carried to bed once we were home. Sorry, buddy.<br />
<br />
Maybe those missing hours of sleep messed with his sleep cycles. In the dark of the night, I hear little feet running. He clambers over his daddy to get to me, and I can hear his short wheezing breaths, feel the tremor in his hands as he tries to get to me. It's a Bad Dream Night.<br />
<br />
"It was a fire," he gasps, and settles his forehead against mine, his little hand still trembling against my cheek, gasping for air-- whether from allergies or panic I'm not sure. I whisper reassurances with each breath... it's over now, it wasn't real, we're all here together, you can stay here with us... while Daddy goes in search of the inhaler. A breath or two of the medicine, and a snuggle with me, and he's back to sleep in moments. Waking up several times through the rest of the night, I always feel his hand, a foot, or his head pressed against me. Making sure I'm still there.<br />
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There is something so unspeakably precious about this time to me, when I am the biggest part of Making It All Better in his little world. I know it will not always be like this.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-68101503775774511432013-01-03T23:39:00.004-08:002013-01-03T23:39:59.491-08:00Latest obsession.I have a private obsession. Lately at night, after the rest of my family goes to sleep (for my husband has turned into an early bird, and my tendencies are so "night owl" that I almost hoot and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pellet_%28ornithology%29">hack up pellets</a>), I get something hot to drink, throw the blanket over the grateful dog, and settle in for at least two (but sometimes four) rounds of my addiction.<br />
<br />
I am deep into the first season of Parenthood. I laugh, I cry, I pause the show to get a closer look at the incredible old houses they live in. Will Sarah ever begin living like she's aware of her worth as a parent and a human being? When will Adam snap under the pressure from his unsteady work environment, crazy Braverman family, Aspie son, and teenage daughter? Can Amber keep it together long enough to get into college? Does Crosby grow up into Awesome Father and Husband or lapse and screw up his amazing good luck in the ready-made-awesome-family department?<br />
<br />
Don't answer ANY of those questions. I realize I am a good four seasons behind the rest of the show's fans. This is why I mention it on this nearly-dead blog instead of asking my friends if they watch it.<br />
<br />
Don't tell me a thing. I'm going to watch it ALL play out, late at night in a dark room, drinking hot tea next to my snoring dog.<br />
<br />
<br />Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-17079730054133425182012-08-16T23:44:00.001-07:002012-08-16T23:44:30.887-07:00What am I going to do when I grow up?Aaron's squirreled me away at Big Cedar for two nights, this first without the kids, for rest and sleep and rejuvenation. I am so thankful. Big Cedar is inexpressibly beautiful, if a bit "Big Fish" (Q's word for Bass Pro) overdecorated. The valley dazzles with the lake below and the steep hillsides and tonight's stormclouds racing around punctured by flashes of orange lightning. I don't even care that it's raining and we haven't been able to enjoy the pools, etc. The scenery is just stunning.<br />
<br />
But... I'm not cooperating by sleeping. The steriods meant to ease the inflammation in my lungs keep me awake, sometimes all night. We're on day 8 now, with four more days to go, and it's hard to keep going on such little sleep. There are dark baggy circles under my eyes... a first for me. Nothing to be done about it-- lung health trumps shuteye at this point-- so I'll stay up a bit, till my eyelids grow heavy again, and head back into the bed to see if I can grab another few hours of sleep before morning.<br />
<br />
He asked me at dinner tonight what I'd like to do when the kids are off to college. We're years from that, and I was a little flummoxed by the question. Um... "something creative," I said, "something fun. I really would like a serious garden...."<br />
<br />
I'm a little surprised by my own lack of vision.<br />
<br />
I do have one little idea, though: I would love to somehow be involved in recording the history and music and culture of our region. Some of my most electric moments, when I felt most fascinated and most thrilled, have been when I was learning and connecting to Ozark history. Dr. Bob Cochran's Folk and Popular Music class in college, discovering the wonder that is Winslow's Ozark Folkways, Still on the Hill's Ozark project, hearing stories about the old times and ways that Aaron hears as part of his work with local seniors. All of this feels like a tuning fork that makes me quiver inside somehow.<br />
<br />
That's a weird statement. Ever feel like you were made FOR something? This is about as close as I get to that, other than the simple but intense joy of having a husband and children of my own and the spiritual peace that comes from knowing Christ. <br />
<br />
Ever since we returned from Florida, I can feel my roots growing into this place as surely as if there were taproots coming off the tips of my fingers and toes. My genealogical roots are a few hours further south, but I feel a connection to these hills that I can't really explain. My mother-in-law feels it too, and we've talked about it: this is HOME, and our soul rings truest here.<br />
<br />
So, late at night, in this overly woodsy little condo, being stared at by various local dead animals on the walls, I got up to write this down. Who knows, really, what the future will bring? But perhaps:<br />
<br />
Something about history.<br />
Something about the Ozarks.<br />
Something about writing.<br />
Something about music?<br />
Something about stories.<br />
Preserving it before it is lost.<br />
<br />
Food for thought, anyway. We'll see what comes.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-81478715207167357152012-08-01T02:14:00.004-07:002012-08-01T02:14:52.661-07:00Rain and mutinae in the midst of the night.The rain just started falling, softly, with thunder rumbling far-off in the background. It's 3 am, but I've had a night's worth of sleep, having gone to bed just after we put the kids down. A headache woke me, but Alleve's beaten it back (or else "faster EFT," a bizarre little method which I'm experimenting with but not so confidently that I don't still take the Alleve)... so I have space to hear the rainrops and feel thankfulness, to feel the silence of the house without the guilt of being awake so late/early.<br />
<br />
The chalk sticks the kids left outside on the sidewalk may be ruined. I guess there's a lesson in that, so I won't scuttle out there in the downpour trying to find them. (I warned them to pick them up today but I think we all got distracted.)<br />
<br />
Parched, from six days without my best friend and love, six days of company staying and adventures happening and kids needing and there not being a scrap of time to myself that didn't have a necessary task attached. It was wonderful to see friends, celebrate a family wedding, help with the cake, go swimming, play tourist, and cook for a houseful, but goodness am I bone-tired. I wish I could tumble back into bed for another four hours of sleep, but at the moment that's not likely. <br />
<br />
My Kindle's MIA after this week's craziness. I have no idea where I put it. Last saw it in the passenger's seat of the car, which worries me. Did someone snatch it? (Random thoughts at three a.m. ... this will not be a deep post.)<br />
<br />
Our little garden's a maze of beautiful flowers, gorgeous but fruitless okra, corn with unharvested ears slowly drying, and bermuda grass rampantly overtaking it all. I want a cool kidless morning to spend restoring it, but August in Arkansas does not lend itself to cool mornings. September will do, and I'll have to fight back a jungle by then, but that's the nature of the beast.<br />
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My children and I have had a glorious summer of swimming lessons, pools, theme parks, bikes, crafts, travel, family, and fun. I feel both triumphant and wrung out like a dishrag. Bring on the predictability of school season, please.<br />
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Ah, the rain's stopped. Had a feeling the thunder wasn't close enough to bring much to us.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-38871962365256204842012-06-29T23:59:00.000-07:002012-08-01T02:19:10.123-07:00A list of good things.It's past midnight, and I really should head for bed. But the crickets are singing, the house is cool and quiet, and I don't feel quite settled yet after day 3, hours 7-9 of helping with Vacation Bible School at church. For an introvert who didn't grow up around kids' church activities, being Happy 3rd Grade Leader every evening, all evening is more than a little exhausting. I love much of it, but it also wears me out.<br />
<br />
May I list a few things I enjoy about myself, please? A day or two ago, I could not think of a single thing that made me a useful part of my family. (That sounds awful. It felt awful, in that moment. I'm sure you've had them yourself. Let's leave it there for now.)<br />
<br />
Tonight, though, I can think of a few... and I'd like to take the luxury of pondering them for a moment while the crickets sing and the dog snores at my feet.<br />
<br />
1. I make a mean chicken soup. And the leftovers, after a day or two to deepen in the fridge, are even better. (Everybody in my house likes my chicken soup. I think it is just about the only food that we will all eat. Food is an issue these days, a source of stress and judgment and rejection and cajoling and bribing and insistence and frustration and, some days, maternal surrender. It is nice to remember, tonight, that if I set a bowl of chicken soup in front of everybody in my house, everybody will be happy.)<br />
<br />
2. Things grow for me, most of the time. I have a garden that's fed us with broccoli and collard greens all spring, and is about to burst forth in tomatoes and basil and hopefully cucumbers and cantaloupe and squash and corn and okra and potatoes and onions. I help make our little town's first community garden happen, where anyone with the will to get a little dirty can have their own full-sun garden plot, for free. Old folks and young families and grieving fathers and locavores gather all together, dig and water, harvest and visit, and the diversity and harmony make my heart sing. I am not quite sure why I love it so much, but I do.<br />
<br />
3. My kids always want me to tuck them into bed. I turn them down regularly to let my husband have the honor (and me have a break), but they would prefer me, even though I tend to make them tidy up as they get ready for bed and often tell them there's no time for stories if we've stayed up late. I think that means I am doing things mostly right.<br />
<br />
4. I think I'm pretty good at bargain hunting and finding cool ways to furnish the house and clothe the folks on the cheap. (Yawn, I don't feel like bragging/elaborating on that.)<br />
<br />
5. Adventures happen in this family because of me. I make sure that we get up and go do something occasionally... I think without me around there'd be very little of the new or different experienced. This weekend, we are going to experience... a timeshare presentation! (wheee.) Also, two nights for free at a hotel, a day at our favorite theme park, the kids' first experience with an indoor/outdoor swim-through pool, and $75 worth of gift certificates. I think we'll have a blast.<br />
<br />
6. I love my dog... my aging, arthritic, blinding, deaf-ing, seizure-ridden, peeing-in-the-house dog. I watched videos of young minpins on YouTube the other night and laughed and cried. Was she ever that nutso, that blinding fast? Yes, this fat little sleepy thing was once lightning and hell on paws, humping her giant grasshopper pillow in front of visitors and dragging my underwear through the house. Because she's licked my tears off my face and warmed my feet a thousand nights under our covers and caught frisbees from my hand over and over and overandoverandover, today I clean up her (occasional) messes and endure her erratic barking and her demands to go out, come in, go out, come in with some patience. She's given us so much... I can offer her grace during her most graceless time.<br />
<br />
7. Despite my fears that I had lost the ability, I am in fact still capable of cleaning out a closet or desk or drawer and putting it into orderly condition. I am actually excited about my summer because there are some hours available for this. I am thankful to find that I still am able, still enjoy it; the constant press of meeting homeschooling deadlines had made me doubt I could ever be that type of person again. I can.<br />
<br />
8. My daddy likes my fudge better than anyone else's. Also, I make the most amazing Thanksgiving turkey. (I am not out to best my mother in the culinary arts, but I am tremendously proud of the areas where I've managed to do so. That is an accomplishment.)<br />
<br />
9. I write. Actually, at the moment, I don't, much. But I am able to write, and working out something on paper feels sure and certain, like it's something I'm supposed to be doing. I suspect that there's a purpose for that out there somewhere in my future. Don't know how, don't know when.<br />
<br />
10. My kids are my primary accomplishment during this phase of my life. And you know what? I am supremely pleased with them. Don't misunderstand me; they are not flawless angels. But my gal is sharp and passionate and kindhearted, and my fella is gentle and sweet and jolly and fun. I'm proud that they're mine, and proud of the way that they're learning to get about in the world. We raise them a little oddly compared to most... no cable tv in the house, no Barbies, no Little Mermaid, no Pee Wee Sluggers baseball teams or Little Diva Dance classes or the like. And Gracie's homeschooled, of course, which protects her from all the drudgery of today's schools (and the drama and despair of today's vicious little girl cliques). I worry sometimes that I'm oversheltering them... but for pete's sake, they're tiny, and I'd rather none of that imprint deeply on their sense of normality this early in their life. ...I'm digressing. My point is, I like who they are, who they appear to be becoming. I think perhaps we're pretty good parents, giving our kids a pretty special childhood.<br />
<br />
11. I keep going. I may not do all things well (or even most things well), but I do not throw in the towel. Marriage and family means that you get up every morning and you keep going whether it pushes your happy buttons or not at that particular moment. Life is exhausting sometimes, and periods of life feel more like a desert than Fantasy Island. Still, I am called to this family, this house, this set of things-to-be-done. And I keep trying. Kudos for that, at least, because some folks don't.<br />
<br />
It's a satisfying list, and a weapon to wield if the Uncertainty comes knocking again. Get back, you. I am too worth something.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-20844954516850856292012-04-23T21:03:00.001-07:002012-04-23T21:03:21.505-07:00A smattering of updates.Spring's sprung early, at least three weeks early, and it's fascinating watching what's popping up when. The flowering things seem to be flowering with extra abandon, enjoying the extra energy left over after the mildest weather anyone seems to remember here. The growing things are likewise growing with abandon; grass is already being mown for hay in the fields here, and our side yard is looking more like a meadow than a vacant lot. The kids are playing in the sandbox and getting ticks already (how I hate ticks; after battling tularemia and Lyme's disease with Gracie, we only have one major tick-borne disease for her to catch; she is apparently irresistibly tasty).<div>
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<div>
I went last week with 9000 other women to receive the Word through a woman. I'm still chewing on her words, thinking about what God would have me learn. One thing: a spiritual life lived alone, without connection to others, will on some level lack maturity. I'm prone to this and it rings like a warning bell in my head.<br /><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I requested a second 10x20 plot in the community garden this year, bringing my total to 400 square feet of responsibility. I think I may be certifiably insane. If we don't get a significant harvest out of this year's efforts, I will be hard to console. I've been watching <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGZ1Wy0WES0">Back to Eden</a> repeatedly and pondering this good ol' boy's <a href="http://www.blogger.com/"><span id="goog_384537405"></span>rain gutter grow system<span id="goog_384537406"></span></a> and am experimenting with both in this year's gardens. Hopefully at least one of the methods does well, as my plot looks markedly odd compared to the straight rows and unmulched soils in most everyone else's. I'm holding my breath and praying that my larder be filled and my vanity coddled.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We're on the home stretch of a year homeschooling kindergarten. It's challenging, I'm feeling somehow both triumphant and a failure. She's reading well, she's smart and fabulous, but I'm tired and I feel keenly my failures in time management and consistency. Next year we'll do some things differently and try to cut fewer corners. I'm sure that, without the accountability of this program, I'd be a feeble homeschooling mama. Next year: a stricter schedule, piano lessons, community youth choir tryouts, and a stricter schedule. Oh, and did I mention a stricter schedule?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My little uncommunicative boy is suddenly full of words, big and small, speaking in full sentences and full of "please" and "thank you" and all kinds of personality. My mouth gapes open regularly. This boy I'm fully conversing with, in some ways meeting, for the first time, deeply pleases me. He's funny, sweet, gentle, good-spirited, loving. Careful, always, but also enthusiastic and willing to try to please. Stubborn as hell occasionally, but all in all, a beautiful little soul. I am so, so proud of him. I knitted him a sweater with a huge Q on it this spring, and I bask in his delight in it as if it was warm sunshine. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Looking forward to summer: a week at the beach next month, a Daisy Girl Scout day at Build-a-Bear, swimming lessons, cookouts, picnics, river loungin', NO school requirements, adventuring sort of summer. Bring it ON.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But until then, a few more weeks of tracking school hours and marching with Gracie through curriculum that neither of us have a particular taste for. Summer beckons, and spring is doing a pretty good job of seducing us as well. It's time to resist their siren calls and buckle down for the home stretch.</div>
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</div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-60071909854362823022011-08-07T23:16:00.000-07:002011-08-07T23:16:02.175-07:00Bated breath.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFZviwXatjNeKbZ81HYdlWW6CGH7ydMEtwSU7_XbYGnXy9pdXxqvZRw3fRchdV1CZoIk9hCWew0KtANyKnkqeGSd3SOR3AtLRmYg3ncWwpMPeDv5hWLxy3jQYchyPVfhKyWB8/s1600/IMG_0640.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFZviwXatjNeKbZ81HYdlWW6CGH7ydMEtwSU7_XbYGnXy9pdXxqvZRw3fRchdV1CZoIk9hCWew0KtANyKnkqeGSd3SOR3AtLRmYg3ncWwpMPeDv5hWLxy3jQYchyPVfhKyWB8/s320/IMG_0640.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hating being told to sit still for a picture. 2009.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I think we nearly lost our little dog this afternoon.<br />
<br />
ClaireDog's been with us since Thanksgiving weekend 1998, when I scooped her out of a pen outside Wal-Mart and decided that I couldn't wait until Christmas to bring her home to Aaron. I went inside, bought a tiny harness and some food, and brought her home in a cardboard box. She was six weeks old and could fit in the palm of my hand. We wouldn't have kids for another seven years, but suddenly we had a baby.<br />
<br />
She's been with us ever since, and her antics always entertained. She was a tiny puppy fireball who could hurtle herself over the back of the couch without touching it at all (skidding across the house on our hardwood floors on her rear end afterwards) and a "heat-seeking missle" that laid, panting, with her belly turned toward the flames of our gas space heater, baking herself until you couldn't touch her. (Then she'd stretch out belly-down on the coldest section of floor, recovering. Spa treatment, I called it.) She chewed on electrical cords until she shocked the tar out of herself on the a/c cord in her metal crate while we weren't home. She caught mice and floppy orange frisbees with wild and endless abandon. She fought the leash at first, hopping down the street on her hind legs, gagging, embarassing us to no end. She snowplowed through the yard at full tilt, spraying snow and pushing her body through the white cloud like a dervish. The first time we left town and left her with my sister, she immediately went into heat and started bleeding all over the place. My poor sister followed her around with little doggy diapers, trying to stop the chaos. We've laughed and laughed at her. God, she was nuts.<br />
<br />
In Florida, she was my companion, digging with me in the sand as I built gardens and schemed to plant our front yard with natives instead of grass. She chased a giant black snake (harmless) that was living in our yard until he finally bit her in disgust and left forever. We would walk around the neighborhood retention pond, and I'd watch the bald eagles circle overhead and hope they weren't mistaking her for a rabbit. One day we came upon a giant momma sandhill crane and her baby, and had to beat a swift retreat as she spread her wings and advanced threateningly at us. She entertained our many visitors and gorged herself on fallen avocados from our tree. I remember crying and her licking my tears as we struggled through the horrid conflicts in our church (and employer) that led us to leave and head back to the Ozarks. <br />
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Now, she's a sleepy old thing who spends her days snoozing and asking to go outside. She loves to bake herself (still) on the sidewalk, even in this awful heat. When she's had enough, she comes and scratches at the door. (She's peeled the paint and scratched that old door something awful. I can't believe I let her do that. I do.) She loves carrots and cheese and any other treat she can scam from the kitchen; she loves the kids, and they've learned to treat her gently and love her, though not like Aaron and I do. She still thinks of herself as a fearful watchdog, obliged to bark furiously at anyone with a uniform, wheels or fur of any kind, or a tendency not to move right along out of her field of vision. As far as she's concerned, everything within sight is her property. Stay off your yard, neighbor. I have a fat geriatric minpin who's a-gonna bark you to death.<br />
<br />
I've never had another dog. Before we had kids, she was our baby. She slept in our bed until she couldn't leap up anymore; then she slept on the floor in our room, until she started making a regular habit of peeing on the carpet in the hall. We tried and tried to get her to quit, but finally had to install a baby gate and keep her downstairs with the hardwood floors. She sleeps on her bed or on the couch now, and is apparently untraumatized by the switch. I still miss her warm body pressed against my feet. (Okay, I don't miss the hair in the bed. At all.)<br />
<br />
Anyway. Today Aaron called as I was parking at the grocery store. She'd fallen out of an armchair in some kind of fit, and her hind legs wouldn't work right and her head was twisted and held hard to the right. She was panting hard. He sat with her, helpless, and I called the vet. There's not much we can do, he said. She'll either stop or she won't. Could be a seizure, could be a stroke. <br />
<br />
Then, forty minutes later, her head straightened, and a minute or two later, she shakily got to her feet and tottered off for a drink. Aaron watched in amazement.<br />
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My sister says a 40-minute seizure would probably kill a person. But within an hour afterward, she was wiggling greetings and kissing us and asking to go outside just like she always does. I gave her half a baby asprin, as the vet suggested, and we'll go in for an exam tomorrow to see if there's any way to pinpoint or prevent the cause.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_uHeePoo9Xn9_byS8iOYRiJf1V-gwQ8MGnkRfx4SnlyhXTVb8Hcwp5CpGKjsnTagahzZpaqygs9r4a7viYUaYU0-pHTd5zSAnTgD89axyGzB44wTxlntcst8BfC2q2I7KmAY/s1600/100_1395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_uHeePoo9Xn9_byS8iOYRiJf1V-gwQ8MGnkRfx4SnlyhXTVb8Hcwp5CpGKjsnTagahzZpaqygs9r4a7viYUaYU0-pHTd5zSAnTgD89axyGzB44wTxlntcst8BfC2q2I7KmAY/s400/100_1395.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out with Gracie at the grandparents'. 2008?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
There could be more of these, one after another. There could never be another. We really have no idea. Has she had them before, when we were gone? Will she have more, alone, when we're out of the house? How scary.<br />
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My sweet old dog. I'm thinking through 13 years with her tonight.<br />
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I know no dog lives forever. But how much time do we have left?Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-23337334221222091232011-07-11T22:19:00.000-07:002011-07-11T22:19:21.074-07:00Blazing.The sun's in overdrive. Blazing, blasting, relentless. I water my vegetables in our little plot at the new community garden, but my front yard plants are suffering with only their mulch to save them. There only seems to be time to water one thing, and I choose the veggies, dreaming of tomatoes and eggplants and squash that are only now beginning to form, slowly and reluctantly under this oppressive heat.<br />
<br />
My summer's in overdrive too. Somehow, Gracie's second round of swimming lessons arrived today-- the "end of summer" session that I've been thinking of as the end of our season. Our Arkansas Virtual Academy supplies are en route via UPS to us, and I still don't have a schoolroom area cleared to put them in. My son's still not pottytrained, and he returns to preschool in just a month. (I really wanted to accomplish this, but we've been running hither and yon all summer. How, exactly, do you provide consistent and leisurely trips to the potty when you're always flying about from one place and activity to another? I'm stumped, and failing on this point.)<br />
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Life blazes along. "You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away." I struggle along attempting to provide food, clothing, shelter for my kids and husband... not that well, I might add. But do I provide love? Spiritual growth, depth, honesty? Do they know how much I love them? Do we read enough books, pray enough, laugh enough, look into each other's eyes enough?<br />
<br />
How can I possibly be 37, married 13 years, nearly 20 years out of high school? How can Gracie be nearly 33% through her time at home with us?<br />
<br />
Amazing. Exhilarating. Also, terrifying.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-50276297064644727942011-02-18T16:04:00.000-08:002012-04-23T21:05:15.575-07:00Thoughts at Q's naptime (3.25 years old)Oh, Q. My baby, my oh-so-big boy, and everything in between.<br />
<br />
I just rushed upstairs at the sound of your tears, my heart pounding just a little even though I knew there was likely nothing seriously wrong. You'd woken from your nap, perhaps suddenly, and didn't like it. But a momma's heart is always just a bit terrified to hear her youngest crying.<br />
<br />
I worry about you more than I do your sister, actually. Your reluctance to walk, talk, tell me your age, climb stairs alone, use a spoon regularly... all these things have given me pause. You, certainly, are not on your sister's timetable... your behavior as a 3-year-old is closer to hers as a 2-year-old. I know you're a boy, the youngest, and that these things slow you down a bit, and that she was and is a regular whirlwind of Grow Up As Fast As Possible, but still. I wonder about you sometimes, about whether you'll catch up with your peers before kindergarten, about whether I'm doing enough to make sure you can.<br />
<br />
I am also completely devoted to you and dazzled by you whether you do or not. You are smart and funny, a boy who could identify all the letters of the alphabet before he could say hardly any other words. You love the Cat In The Hat's new learning show, building things, making tunnels for your trains. You ask for fireworks every time we drive past the parking lot where we parked last fourth of July, and you cry if we drive past the turns that lead our car to Grammy's house. I know you're smart as a whip, in your own way.<br />
<br />
I drive you to preschool every Tuesday and Thursday, and even after a few months, part of me still wants to back out of the parking lot and take you home with me. I love our mornings together, full of late-morning jammies and PBS shows and watching you haul your trains around as if they were dollies. But that preschool has connections to the school district therapists that will be giving you extra help soon, and I know that could be a boost in your development that you need. I know too that the structure and the social interaction there has already spurred you further, and that you're learning to follow directions, climb playground equipment, and socialize with other kids there. So I park the car, pull you and your alligator out of the back seat, and lead you in for your six hours away from home. It is usually a little sad for me to do it, though.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Back to that crying you were doing. <br />
<br />
I sat down on the bed, patted your back, asked if I could hold you, and you gratefully nodded, allowed me to scoop you up. You sit on my lap now to put your head on my shoulder, your long legs sticking out behind me. I wrapped my arms around you gently, and after a minute, your head sank onto my shoulder.<br />
<br />
Just like we used to be, all those nights when I'd rock you to sleep after a feeding. Snuggled together, and your heart at peace because of it.<br />
<br />
And my heart broke a little to hear your breathing lengthen almost immediately, your limbs growing heavier as you slipped back into your nap.<br />
<br />
I laid you down and came back downstairs, thinking of the quote that is so true it's almost become a cliche:<br />
<blockquote>
“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” -Elizabeth Stone</blockquote>
<br />
You are my heart, walking around outside my body. In the quiet of the just-us-two afternoon, I feel it so deeply. Sleep well, Quinton. Grow up healthy, strong, good, trusting, and brave. I will give my all to see that you get a chance to do so.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-14362622192695123612011-02-11T23:08:00.000-08:002011-02-11T23:08:14.378-08:00I heart Dan.<div><div><br /></div><div><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; ">If I lived near the Phoenix Commotion, I would be banging down the door to somehow help out with what they're doing. Generous, thrifty, creative, resourceful, FUNNY, and undeniably meaningful.</p></div></div><div><br /></div><iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/a9JkPk0CIo4?fs=1" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><div><br /></div><div><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; ">Single moms, low-income families, artists, strugglers. Come one, come all. Everybody can have their own house, rising from the ashes of the castoffs of our wasteful, foolish building industry. </p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; ">Oh, how I love it. I've seen a brief video or two about Dan Phillips and his work months ago, but forgot the names involved. I stumbled across him again today via YouTube recommendations, and listened to his entire TED talk (available on the<a href="http://www.phoenixcommotion.com/"> Phoenix Connections website</a>).</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; "><br /></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font-family: Times; font-size: medium; ">Somebody hand me some goggles and show me how to use a power saw. I'm so in. </p></div>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-31974513603021848102011-01-01T18:38:00.000-08:002011-01-01T18:38:56.489-08:00Happy New Year- 2010 in review<b>I'm still here, still alive, just not posting much. </b><br />
<br />
<b>I picked this list of yearly questions up at a blog I've been reading for years. This is the first year I've answered them, but I found it helpful and hope to make it a yearly event. I may go back and alter a couple of these as I remember (or come up with) better answers, but I wanted to post it before it gets shunted to the back of my mind and forgotten.</b><br />
<br />
<b>1. What did you do in 2010 that you’d never done before?</b><br />
This was strangely hard to answer at first. We didn't travel anywhere new, I didn't take up any new hobbies that I can recall... but there were a few firsts. I visited two children's museums for the first time. I threw a kids' birthday party (as in for kids, not for family/adults). We<br />
attended Baker Seed's spring planting festival (which I will definitely repeat) and visited Laura Ingalls Wilder's home nearby in Mansfield, Missouri. I impersonated Martha Stewart (or possibly my mother!) and taught a group of women how to make snowball candles, candied apples, and frost sugar cookies. We opened Aaron's new office downtown, which was a ton of work but has been hugely rewarding. I weigh more than I ever have without being pregant. (sigh. more on that later.)<br />
<br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year? <br />
</b><br />
I don't remember if I had any official new year's resolutions, but I did intend to start exercising and get into better shape, and no, that has not happened. This year's resolutions include that, plus implementing some kind of household management schedule, using a calendar and to-do list so I don't forget important things, and teaching my daughter to read with the system we've owned for over a year. All of these are things that eat huge guilty holes in my self-image and my desire to interact with the world around me. It's time to make some changes and unshackle myself from these issues!<br />
<br />
Smaller things, more desires than Life Needs:<br />
Make the kids' room cute and less girly. (Quinton moved into Gracie's room, and it needs to be made theirs rather than her room with an extra bed.)<br />
Build (or have built) the cold frames for the old windows I scored on freecycle so that we can try growing greens through the winter next year.<br />
Get the $#%% window a/c removed from the dining room so that it can stop leaking cold air into our house during the winter.<br />
Start finding or forming a community of women from my own church.<br />
Clean the upstairs carpets, myself or by hiring someone.<br />
Paint the kitchen.<br />
Help Gracie learn to swim and conquer her weird fear of water in her eyes.<br />
Continue to learn how to use essential oils effectively for my family's physical and emotional wellbeing.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Did anyone close to you give birth? <br />
</b><br />
Friends, yes. Family, no.<br />
<br />
<b>4. Did anyone close to you die? <br />
</b><br />
No.<br />
<br />
<b>5. What countries did you visit?<br />
</b><br />
None. <br />
<br />
<b>6. What would you like to have in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?<br />
</b><br />
A plan. That sounds funny, but this year was a bit of drifting along (in the slow times) and/or just managing to stay above water (during the crazy times). I'd like to tackle my responsibilities with a bit more forethought and deliberate action. Just a bit-- I'm no Type A personality. Just need a little less chaos. <br />
<br />
<b>7. What dates from 2010 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?<br />
</b><br />
Late August, for putting Quinton into preschool, and Gracie starting ballet classes (my babies are growing up!).<br />
<br />
<b>8. What was your biggest achievement of the year? <br />
</b><br />
<br />
That's hard. I'm not sure I can name one. Survival? Keeping a Happy Face through my husband's busy season (aka Single Mom Era)?<br />
<br />
<b>9. What was your biggest failure?<br />
</b><br />
I really wish I had taught Gracie to read by now, and that I had gotten busy on the fitness/weight loss thing this year. My lofty goals of feeding my family healthy food often fell by the wayside as I grabbed something quick and easy (and popular) to save myself hassle. I think I'll stop here, I'm not sure which is biggest and I don't want to create a Failure List.<br />
<br />
<b>10. Did you suffer illness or injury?<br />
</b><br />
Surprisingly little. I credit essential oils (yay!) and a lack of general activity (boo)-- ie if you don't move much, you're unlikely to injure stuff. <br />
<br />
<b>11. What was the best thing you bought?<br />
</b><br />
We put central heat and air into our downstairs, which is fabulous; we scored a $100 swingset via Craigslist this fall that I think will serve us extremely well; and we bought a beautiful handcarved artisan rocking chair (again, secondhand via Craigslist) that I absolutely love. <br />
<br />
<b>12. Where did most of your money go?<br />
</b><br />
See the paragraph above, especially the central heat and air bit.<br />
<br />
<b>13. What did you get really excited about?<br />
</b><br />
That rocking chair. Quinton getting so enthralled with Christmas. Finding a friend who shares so much of my life outlook.<br />
<br />
<b>14. What song will always remind you of 2010?<br />
</b><br />
The Twelve Days of Christmas was Gracie's hands-down favorite this season... I hope I never forget having to sing it over and over. <br />
<br />
<b>15. Compared to this time last year, are you: <br />
</b>– happier or sadder? Not sure.<br />
– thinner or fatter? A bit fatter, sadly.<br />
– richer or poorer? Financially richer, I think. Not by much.<br />
<br />
<b>16. What do you wish you’d done more of? <br />
</b><br />
Lived with the electronics turned off. Read more books. Given Gracie more reading lessons. Made better use of my alone time to recharge my batteries and organize my thoughts (rather than, for example, playing bejeweled late at night on Facebook).<br />
<br />
<b>17. What do you wish you’d done less of? <br />
</b><br />
Bejeweled and Facebook. Watching the television. Sitting still.<br />
<br />
<b>18. How did you spend Christmas?<br />
</b><br />
We had four Christmases this year: At my parents' the 23rd, at home alone on the 24th, Santa coming on the morning of the 25th, and then the big dinner with Aaron's family on the afternoon of the 25th. And then Aaron's mom came to town the 26th to visit. That's a bit nuts, isn't it?<br />
<br />
<b>19. What was your favorite TV program?<br />
</b><br />
American Pickers, or Pawn Stars. I love stuff shows.<br />
<br />
<b>20. What were your favorite books of the year?<br />
</b><br />
That one about the poor kids with the crazy parents.<br />
<br />
<b>21. What was your favorite music from this year? <br />
</b><br />
I can't remember a single thing. I don't listen to much grown-up music these days. I did love the Butterflyfish album (kids' music, but good enough for adults to enjoy too).<br />
<br />
<b>22. What were your favorite films of the year?<br />
</b><br />
I am not film-centric; we watch a lot of films, but I generally forget their names quickly. I don't remember actors' names either. Um, How to Train your Dragon was really good...<br />
<br />
<b>23. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?<br />
</b><br />
I turned 36 in March. Um... I don't remember? I'm sure there was pineapple upside down cake at my mom's house involved... that's a yearly tradition.<br />
<br />
<b>24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?<br />
</b><br />
<br />
That health/weight loss thing I keep harping upon. Teaching Gracie to read. <br />
<br />
<b>25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2010?<br />
</b><br />
Um... If It's Semi-Clean, I'll Wear It. I Hope I Didn't Wear This To Church Last Week. My fashion situation is pretty dismal at the moment.<br />
<br />
<b>26. What kept you sane?<br />
</b><br />
Coffee. Knitting. Friendships with other moms in this phase of life. God's love.<br />
<br />
<b>27. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2010. <br />
</b><br />
I hope I've learned it: Nobody can or will make me change except me.<br />
<i></i>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-60797313124634415482010-03-20T22:11:00.000-07:002010-03-20T22:13:30.864-07:00Split personality.I should probably mention that I'm writing in multiple places.<br />
<br />
I may be overambitious here, but I decided recently that I should start making more of an effort to categorize my writing a bit. I'm using two other blogger/blogspot blogs now:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.rootsome.blogspot.com/">Rootsome</a> (this one) contains my most personal writing- things for and about my kids and family, mostly. (You're welcome to read, but my primary intention is to make sure that I'm writing a little about this phase of life for my kids to read when they're older.)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.fuzzysfinds.blogspot.com/">Fuzzy's Finds</a> started out as a blog connected to my Etsy shop, but it has morphed into a linkfest of whatever I think is cool-- products, home ideas, simple living, essential oils, etc etc. It's a mishmash, but it's MY mishmash.<br />
<br />
Finally, <a href="http://hickoryhillhouse.blogspot.com/">Hickory Hill House</a> is now being used as a repository for my house and garden musings.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure this is spreading myself too thin, postwise, but I can't choose just one of these areas to focus in; I really do want to write about all three. Feel free to read only what interests you!Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-82600593675155049132010-02-19T21:56:00.000-08:002010-02-19T21:56:07.359-08:00Late bloomer, full speed ahead.My two-year-old's been saying yes ("essss!") for a year or more, but just yesterday morning, he began to use its antonym for the first time.<br />
<br />
Yep, that's right. I have a toddler so sweet and accommodating that he hasn't bothered to say "no" to his mama-- or anyone else-- for the first 2.25 years of his life. Now, we've heard him say plenty of other words, so we knew it wasn't a matter of ability... more a matter of motivation, I think. What burning issue drew the negative from his lips, you ask? A dire situation: I wanted to pull him up and out of his crib, and he had other plans. "No," he said gently, smiling, waving his feet at me.<br />
<br />
Translation: No leaving the crib until These Little Piggies is performed on each foot. <br />
<br />
Am I wondrously blessed or what? Naturally we did the Piggy Ritual before exiting the crib, and came on downstairs. Later on when I turned on the Netflix On Demand and began paging through our queued kids' movies, the word was used again, clear as day: As each video came to the foreground, he seriously but softly gave me his verdict. "No." "No." "No." When we stopped at one of the Thomas the Train videos, hopping, squealing, and flapping replaced the negative, with his adorable approximation of train sounds: "Chi Chi! Whoa Whoa!!"<br />
<br />
My heart swells with love for this little boy. He's taken his time, but since he finally started walking just after his second birthday, there's been no stopping him.<br />
<br />
He's growing like a weed, adding words every day (Today, his first sentence: "Ducks, PLEASE!" to his Poppop, begging for a golf cart ride to go see the course's ducks. Again, my heart: first sentence includes the word PLEASE?? How did I deserve such a sweetheart of a child?) <br />
<br />
My baby suddenly has little-boy interests and passions: legos, trains, construction equipment, letters. He's a committed vegetarian, diving happily into his spaghetti tonight while expertly spitting out every last bit of meat that we tried to sneak into the sauce. He kicks his shoes off endlessly in the grocery store cart, laughing me when I groan and bend to pick them up AGAIN. He rests his head in my hand at the dinner table, a gentle moment of love before he proceeds to cover himself and everything within arm's reach with his dinner. He still prowls the house in search of letters, both his magnetic fridge treasures and any letter he can spot on a book, magazine, or piece of mail. "O! P! X!" he screams, pointing a hand nearly shaking with joy at the proper letter.<br />
<br />
Oh, my goodness, I am so proud of him. After his surgery, his misdiagnosed infection, his slowed growth, his poor botched circumcision, his eczema, his milk allergies... he's been slow to take off, to really show us the Quinton that's been hidden underneath all these struggles and his contented nature. At last, though, he's starting to rip the curtain away, chortling and squealing and racing around with glee as he does so.<br />
<br />
What a fella. And what a soft spot I have for him.<br />
<br />
I am sad (in more ways than I can quite articulate) to lose my little baby, but this little boy that's emerging is so fascinating, so special. Onward we go... lead us into your next adventures, buddy. We'll be cheering you on.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-35532110506016362852009-11-15T21:03:00.000-08:002009-11-15T21:06:17.150-08:00Thoughts at Sleep Times.Little eyelids droop, flutter, and drop. A moment later, she's gone. I watch her, listen to her breath as it lengthens and steadies. Four inches from her, her long legs touching mine, she finally (FINALLY!) starts her nap, and I marvel. Did really I give birth to this beautiful creature? How is it that seven pounds of mewling baby turned into this?<br /><br />****<br /><br />Six hours later, there's another sweet warm body next to mine, this one stockier, plumper, and almost comically earthy. Our relationship is often all about this little body: the Foods He Likes (cheddar bunnies, cheerios, bananas), the diapers he fills, the sleep he needs. But tonight, for a few moments, he leaves his body behind, flops backward onto the bed with a grin as we bring out the board books: Feel the Baby Animals, Hand Hand Fingers Thumb, and the ultimate: One Duck Stuck.<br /><br />We read, point, flip pages. He grins with delight most at the pages that are most familiar, the comments he expects me to make each time we reach them. But when I ask him if he's ready for "RockaRocka", he grins bigger. "KKKK," he says firmly (meaning "OK"), reaching for my arms before I'm quite ready to pick him up.<br /><br />We settle down into the glider, and his heavy little head nestles into my shoulder. He's big now; his legs are almost comically folded up underneath him so that his trunk can be as close to me as possible. I wrap my arms around this strong little fella, his broad chest and chunky legs, and again, I stop and steep in the moment.<br /><br />****<br /><br />They are so very mine right now: mine to feed, diaper, nap, clothe, reclothe, tote around town. Mine to read to, sing to, walk with, eat with, train, teach, cajole, force, bandage, mourn with. I'm an introvert, and there are moments, even as I exult in their love, their innocence and sweetness and joy as they pile on me like puppies, I sometimes at the same moment feel a bit smothered, a bit Never Alone. Oh my word, what I would give at times for a day or three to myself, with books and yarn and a fountain pen and camera and all those things I used to have time to enjoy.<br /><br />But then I think about those tiny veins in her eyelids, and the way her long eyelashes wave up and down like little surrender flags as she gives in to sleep.<br />And I think about his grin as he gleefully sticks his tiny finger into my ear canal for the thousandth time, delighting in watching me cringe and squeal and pull it away.<br />And I think about how proud I am that he's finally decided he wants to walk, and that she's almost sure to be reading before she even starts kindergarten, and how excited I am to be there for the next steps on their journeys.<br /><br />And really, this is exactly where I want to be.<br /><br />(As long as there's hot tea and an hour or two of peace and quiet available each night.)Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-50458320087085496472009-09-14T22:13:00.000-07:002009-09-14T22:26:42.260-07:00Out with the old (and cold).Last week, my aunt gave us a steal of a deal on a fancy nearly-new "french door" refrigerator.<br /><br />It's fantastic. It has an icemaker and a water dispenser, which we were lacking; it works better spacewise for our small kitchen; and it puts fruits and vegetables at my daughter's eye level, which has already been much better for her food requests. I love it. (Okay, I would love it a little bit more if it were a black <a href="http://bigchillfridge.com/site/fridges">Big Chill</a>. But you can't have everything you want in life.)<br /><br />Despite the windfall of a nearly-new fancypants fridge, though, I feel even happier about how we came to rid ourselves of the old fridge. After a week on Craigslist and several days on a local "bargain hour" on an AM radio station, I hadn't had a single bite. Odd, when I was asking less than $150 for the fridge, I thought. I found a local thrift shop that would take it, then posted a rather desperate request on the local Freecycle group for someone with a truck to come and help me move it there.<br /><br />I heard back from several people who wanted to take it for free, and I resisted, until a shy woman called and told me reluctantly that their fridge had just gone out, ruining all their food. She has three kids, and can't afford the prices at rent-a-center. Could she possibly pay me $25 for mine instead-- on Friday?<br /><br />I love the thrill that comes with a God Moment. They're not that common, hard to describe, hard to relate without sounding a little kooky. But I didn't even hesitate when this woman made her shy request. Something that I believe is the Spirit within me lept up and all but shouted in my head: YES. GIVE IT TO HER. It was out of my mouth before I even thought about it.<br /><br />She was at our house within thirty minutes, beaming, a friend helping her load it onto the truck. Will she come back Friday with the promised $25? It doesn't even matter.<br /><br />I had a fridge clogging up my life, looking trashy on my front porch. She had hungry kids with no place to store food for them.<br /><br />Done deal. So satisfying, to be used to meet an unknown need like that. I just love it.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-4128367746316077782009-05-20T07:50:00.001-07:002009-06-06T16:47:22.096-07:00Give your balloons to the Lord.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWH96iB1HdkIoAKVaps2YV5TFwujFby_HNLKZEP48i0Ik0HNTdElrXF4uyLsqeRroiOaoW87Gq4GrLh1adDpFBODH7tg6d9pe65SJqYvTYo6jGnh5nWOQhkQnZObPKGIPYewj/s1600-h/BALLOON2"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWH96iB1HdkIoAKVaps2YV5TFwujFby_HNLKZEP48i0Ik0HNTdElrXF4uyLsqeRroiOaoW87Gq4GrLh1adDpFBODH7tg6d9pe65SJqYvTYo6jGnh5nWOQhkQnZObPKGIPYewj/s320/BALLOON2" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344363442553351762" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBxjEWCRwv6PRREjWPaTFwoYe4IZ6QwrW55F-cyGhF-VZmdWNtOoPFM01-0bUV21mBx7RNoLboARmRHBwrGff20zK0RRs9nuZjNaMMgVXea7e3C7ALTJ0ncEgK2Dhv-QuBTrW/s1600-h/BALLOON1"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBxjEWCRwv6PRREjWPaTFwoYe4IZ6QwrW55F-cyGhF-VZmdWNtOoPFM01-0bUV21mBx7RNoLboARmRHBwrGff20zK0RRs9nuZjNaMMgVXea7e3C7ALTJ0ncEgK2Dhv-QuBTrW/s320/BALLOON1" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344363321852015346" /></a><br />This morning, as Q's eating breakfast in the kitchen and I'm putzing about with yarn swaps in the dining room:<br /><br />Gracie appears with her prized pink heart helium baloon tied to her foot. "Okay, Mom, I'm ready for God."<br /><br /><br /><br />I have her repeat herself a couple of times to make sure I'm hearing her right. Then I ask why she has her balloon tied to her foot.<br /><br />"Well, I just want to make sure I can give it to him for a present. I want to give Him a nice present."<br /><br />I'm now being instructed to pray/write messages to God and Jesus all over the balloon.<br /><br />I'll take pictures and post them once we get finished.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />(She was very persistent about this project, and a few days after we wrote on it, we released it in the front yard so that it could go "up to God". It's probably a momma thing, but I'm fascinated with her heart and her thinking about this. I did not prompt any of the messages on the balloon-- she dictated every one. <br /><br />I want to give you a present, Jesus and God.<br /><br />Also these are great:<br />pbskids.org<br />go.disney.com/princess<br /><br />I love you, God and I love you, Jesus. And thank you for our food and macaroni and cheese.<br /><br />~~<br /><br />Thank you<br />I'm going to bring it (my money) to church for you and put it in the box.<br />I love the Fairies: Iridessa, Silvermist, Fawn, and Tinkerbell.<br />I want to give this balloon to God because I love Him. Now!<br /><br />Love, Gracie<br />)</span>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-37454976245284773312009-04-05T21:28:00.000-07:002009-04-19T00:39:08.768-07:00Why an Old House?Why do I want to live in an old house? People ask that sometimes (or imply it with their eyes, as they see our somewhat chaotic life as we work to restore and update this home that we've chosen). I thought I'd take a little time and list some of my favorite details about this place. (I'd hoped to make it to 100, but I just don't have the stamina tonight.)<br /><br />In absolutely no particular order.<br /><br />1. I love the aesthetics of older rooms. Wood floors, big mullioned windows, higher ceilings. There's something peaceful about their spaces.<br />2. I love living WITHOUT homeowners' associations, because I'm an untidy yard person. Nobody's going to sniff at me if I leave my hose lying out in the side yard. If there's a bag of egg cartons on the front porch swing waiting to go to church (for a member's neighbor who sells eggs), nobody will be horrified. I do not have to water or weed my "lawn" or spray it with chemicals to keep the neighbors from being terrified of its dandelions. There is freedom in that for me.<br />3. We live on a steep hillside, but my backyard has a perfect garden-sized terrace built into it, because everyone used to grow their own vegetables. All I had to do was kill a little "grass" (see #2) and plant.<br />4. Our view. This was one of the first houses in the area, and we gaze over valleys in three directions. It's not a grand vista, but it's charming to have a little elbow room around us.<br />5. Our walls. Solid wood, 1" thick, where drywall would be in a modern house. Beat that for sound and weather insulation.<br />6. Our hooks and nails. Wherever I find a need to hang a robe, a cleaning brush, a picture, a plant... there's almost always a nail or hook already there to fill the need. And not just a boring modern robe hook, but a lovely patina'd wire one, full of character, or a chrome Art Deco model, sleek and striking. Makes me grin.<br />7. The flowers. The original owner was a hardware store owner, his wife a dedicated gardener. Come spring, our yard erupts with hundreds of pink hyacinths, daffodils, and some truly giant ancient shrubbery-- lilacs, a pink dogwood, and a giant fuschia azalea. It's gorgeous and fragrant, fodder for some truly amazing bouquets.<br />8. Mr. Perme's modifications. The second owner of the house was a WWII carpenter, and when something was in his way, he cheerfully altered it. The bottom stair to the basement, positioned to bang your shin terribly, has been rounded and sanded to avoid just that. A low ceiling beam in the porch's crawlspace has a notch cut out of it-- just tall enough, I imagine, for Mr. Perme to move through the space without cracking his head. Two closets were added upstairs (absolutely vital for modern life). A giant bookshelf was built in the dining room. The basement is full of wooden shelving, benches, worktables. I think Mr. Perme regularly as I move through the house-- we would never have time or attention to add all this ourselves.<br />9. The backyard's circular flower bed, ringed with a low wall of stones and cement, that I plan to someday make very useful (strawberries) or very beautiful (flowers).<br />10. Over an acre and a half.<br />11. The wild purple flowers that bloom in the thicket's shrubs on the side lot in the spring. I don't know what they are, but they're beautiful.<br />12. A neighbor who gardens and hangs out clothes on a clothesline and loves their old house like we love ours.<br />13. An enclosed back porch that makes a perfect playroom; the kids can play there, or bring their toys into the living areas, just a few feet from where I am in the living room or kitchen.<br />14. Old windows with wavy glass that we can easily repair ourselves. We've already repaired (okay, my husband has skillfully repaired) at least half a dozen of the old sashes, and the windows go from being impossibly heavy to lift to being able to raise and lower them with just a few fingers. We can replace broken glass, even repair rotten wood in the frames, easily, without having to replace entire windows. Incredibly sustainable. (Yes, they leak some heat and cold. It's worth it.)<br />15. The "E.P." childishly painted in a pseudo-stained glass "work of art" in the upper panes of Evelyn Perme's old bedroom. It's hidden by a valance, and I'm not sure I'll ever want it removed. It tells a story.<br />16. The smallest windows in the house are on the west and east sides, to shield the house from the freezing old and blazing sun. The largest windows are on the south side, to bring in light and heat in the winter, and light without heat in the summer. Every bedroom but one has windows on two walls, which makes arranging furniture a challenge but lets in wonderful breezes and air when the windows are opened. Double-hung windows will let cool air in the lower openings while letting hot air flow out the upper openings. Wonderful "green" design from 90 years ago.<br />17. Because of all this thoughtful design, and the fact that our living space is all downstairs and our bedrooms all upstairs, we've learned that the house is entirely livable 95% of the time without any heat or a/c on the upper floor. Enough heat rises in the winter to keep us cool, but not cold (as is good for health and good sleep); enough night air can be drawn in through the upstairs windows with fans in the summer to keep us cool enough to sleep. It's amazing, but I see no need to invest big bucks to install ductwork and a climate control system. 5% of the year, we're uncomfortable. That's a tiny amount.<br />18. The "J.O. Wilson, March 7, 1920" written in the concrete of the garden retaining wall. The original owner, leaving his mark. (The house was four years old by then; I think the date represents the day the concrete was poured...?)<br />19. The low stone wall on the south side of the house, lined with hundreds of iris plants that erupt in bloom twice a year.<br />20. The double-drainboard cast iron sink on its metal cabinet in the kitchen. <br />21. A cool basement for keeping potatoes and onions and such. (We're trying to grow our own this year and will need a place to store them.)<br />22. Wiring and plumbing that's simple and straightforward, and made of higher-quality materials than can now be bought at any normal price.<br />23. Insulation board that Mr. Perme has crammed into every imaginable crack and orifice of the basement and back porch. I'm sure it's part of why our utility bills are so reasonable-- but he was obviously obsessed. <br />24. The pull chains on the bare-bulb fixtures in the original closets upstairs, which turn on and off with such a smooth, flawless motion after 90 years. (I compare these to one modern one we have-- it's cheap, flimsy plastic and has to be pulled so hard that I'm afraid I'm going to break it each time I need to use it.)<br />25. The medicine cabinet oddly installed on the back porch, which has never been a bathroom. What on earth did they need to store there?<br />26. Woodwork that's heavy, thick, and elegant, on every window and baseboard and doorframe of the house. <br />27. The "pass-through" hole in the wall between the kitchen and the dining room, created by Mr. Perme when he got sick of bringing the telephone from one room to another via the doorway. (According to their daughter Evelyn, Mrs. Perme was NOT home when he knocked a hole in her kitchen wall, and she was NOT pleased when she returned.)<br />28. Mail delivered to the mailbox on our porch railing, rather than in a box out on the street.<br />29. A big front porch swing.<br />30. Big, big, big oak trees surrounding the house-- but not overhanging it. I especially appreciate the shade and privacy they provide in the summer.<br />31. A hook by the front door that's just right for a holiday wreath, and little cup hooks installed all along the front porch that hold a string of Christmas lights perfectly.<br />32. Our little one-car garage, made of local stone with the original tin tile roof still intact. (Now, I do wish we still had a door on that garage, but I guess one can't have everything...)<br />33. Gutters that feed directly into underground drains that dump rainwater far away from the house.<br />34. Concrete borders built on either side of narrow beds flanking the sidewalk leading to our front door: a perfect planting bed for hostas.<br />35. Old windows, hinges, window locks, panes of wavy glass, light fixtures, etc, all carefully preserved in the basement and shed.<br />36. A heavy old metal window fan, a gift from the Permes when we bought the house, that is strong enough to pull cool air in from every window upstairs on summer nights.<br />37. An old wood-handled flathead screwdriver, fished out of a window, that somehow works better for the old screws in our hardware and doorknobs.<br />38. Layers of linoleum and contact paper in the kitchen cabinet that tells the story of decades of decor changes. I'd never remove those.<br />39. Sweet pea vines that spring up, wild and crazy, and cover areas of the yard with blooms and fragrance in the summer. They're messy, but I can't bring myself to remove them yet.<br />40. Old glass storm windows on the playroom windows, that multiply the wavy-paned effect and make the room swim with light.<br />41. Rabbits that live in the thicket on the side lot and occasionally appear in our yard, nibbling clover. (I may change my mind about those rabbits now that we're trying to grow vegetables...)<br />42. Marbles dug up when we planted the hostas in the front yard: evidence of children playing on the sidewalk, long ago.<br />43. Oak floors downstairs, which refinished beautifully.<br />44. Original pine floors upstairs with lovely gaps between the boards because of their age. (Most of those floors are carpeted now for the childraising years, but someday, we'll refinish the rest of them too.)<br />45. A beautiful staircase with original dark wood on the railing and newel posts. I love how the finish on the posts is worn by the hundreds of hands that have rubbed against them as their owners traveled up and down the stairs.<br />46. Stairs that are markedly shallower than standard stair sizes today-- making them easier for little feet (and someday, old joints) to maneuver.<br />47. Funky old chrome handles on the kitchen cabinets.<br />48. Pocket doors on the living room and pantry doorways that still slide perfectly after all this time.<br />49. Old clown wallpaper on the back porch playroom's walls. I'll have to replace this soon, as it's getting fragile and discolored, but I love that it was obviously a child's place long ago, just as it is now.<br />50. A big, deep old cast iron tub in the bathroom, perfect for soaking.<br />51. A chimney that runs up the center of the house, with the perfect vent spot for a woodstove in the dining room already there. (Should we ever decide to invest in that.)<br />52. Flocks of bird visitors to our little feeders.<br />53. A front porch that's broad and deep enough for chairs and even a dining table, with broad concrete railings perfect for sitting on as well.<br />54. The beautiful original wallpaper still showing in my closet, and the unpainted original dark wood still visible on the trim inside the closets upstairs. Someday we WILL refinish the doors at least, to show off a bit of that beautiful wood that's underneath the paint.<br />55. Sturdy wooden ceilings that allowed my husband to hang my HEAVY choice of a dining room light fixture without ripping out ceilings to install additional bracing in the proper spot.<br />56. Soundproofing by the solid wooden doors and walls. So total, it's hard to hear my children crying from another room if their doors are closed. (Bad thing now, good thing in a few years!)<br />57. Windows that let in sunlight all day long, creating pools of warmth for my little old dog who loves to sleep in them. You can always find her on the east side of the house in the morning, the south in the afternoon...<br />58. The heavy cotton curtains decorated with Egyptians that are hanging over the utility shelving on the back porch. I wonder if they've been there since the US's Egyptian fad in the 1920s.<br />59. The little bars of soap I keep finding stashed in odd corners, even years after we moved in. Mrs. Perme's idea of air fresheners, I imagine... we find another one occasionally, like magic, even though we've certainly been over every inch of every closet already.<br />60. The giant glass bottle with pump sprayer that we found in the garage. It's perfect for spraying liquid fertilizer, and I love how it looks sitting on the old shelf in there.<br />61. The hilarious-but-very-useful utility shutoff valves that have been installed into the beautiful (but leaky) original exposed plumbing in our shower. It's very handy to be able to shut off the shower flow without adjusting the temperature knobs, but more than that, I love the sheer fuction-over-form ugliness of it: practical Mr. Perme strikes again, I'm sure.<br />62. The currently unused water cistern below the kitchen windows. It's dry and covered with concrete pavers and a birdbath right now, but should I ever get brave enough to fashion myself a rainwater catchment system, I have the perfect vessel right there to hold it.<br />63. A pole I just discovered this month near the garden. It probably used to support a clothesline, but will be perfect for me to mount a tall pole with my future bat house on it. (Bats eat thousands of mosquitoes every night, and that is probably my least favorite thing about this house... we are hounded by mosquitoes every evening here.<br /><br />Whew, what a list. I'm sure no one is still reading at this point, and that's okay. It was lovely for my state of mind to write all this out. I'm feeling very blessed.<br /><br />...those are also #27-90 of my gratitude items, because I've been grateful for each and every one of these old-house quirks as we've lived our lives in this home for the past two-plus years. <br /><br />Thanks, J.O. and Mrs Wilson. Thanks, Perme family. You've prepared a lovely home for my family. <br /><br />We are happy here.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-79376221246375935282009-03-26T22:07:00.000-07:002009-03-26T22:16:01.550-07:00We must have people over for dinner more often.The toys are picked up.<br />The paper clutter's off the dining room table.<br />I MOPPED the downstairs today with a spare 20 minutes I had.<br />The bottom of the kitchen sink is even visible.<br /><br />Is it possible for both of us, at once, to have had a little bit of the winter housebound blues this past month or so? <br /><br />Things are different now, though. The daffodils are blooming, the garden's in the front of my mind (where it does not belong until taxes are filed), we've been swinging on the front porch and playing with the kids after dinner, and the whole world seems filled with promise.<br /><br />My little boy's saying "I touch it!" and "Adda" (daddy?) and "bye-bye-bye" and getting closer to walking every day. He takes my breath away with the cuteness. My girl is becoming more and more a companion, and a fascinating and fun one at that. <br /><br />It's a good evening to be in my own skin, is what I'm sayin'.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-41372681224038991052009-03-04T19:44:00.000-08:002009-03-04T20:22:34.714-08:00I'd rather be knitting.Darn.<br /><br />I logged in, opened this page, hoping to write, and realized:<br /><br />There are too many things to record, moments to share, discontents, hopes, fears, joys, worries. I sit in front of the keyboard and am helpless amongst the swirl. How do I pick which one to focus on? (When I try to write about a little of everything, it turns into a list, not a piece of writing, and then nobody's satisfied, most of all me.)<br /><br />Swirl. Swirl.<br /><br />Oh, forget it. I'm going to go knit on that sweater. <br /><br />27) Knitting, which is mindless yet productive, giving both time to reflect and new challenges to overcome, and which provides me hours of entertainment and a sense of community at ravelry.com.<br /><br />Speaking of community... (Look! The swirling cloud has parted! Something's emerging!) Here's a little topic that's on my mind: <br /><br />How do you, as a parent, navigate the confusing waters of forging friendships with other moms? I want my daughter to have regular playmates, but darn it, I also want to feel secure that I am genuinely liked by their parents. My previous incarnation as Working Ministry Wife meant that I pretty much haven't needed to MAKE new friends for myself in years (as the church and my job always brought people into my life fairly naturally). <br /><br />However, there seems to be no natural way to meet other toddlers and their moms when I'm raising two at home, putting them down for naps every afternoon, and then doing the dinner/bedtime boogie once they wake up at 4pm. Our church has exactly one other toddler in it, but for some reason, that mom does not seem to interested in anything deeper than a Sunday relationship. (I play the Insecure Mom Mantra in my head when I start trying to figure that out: Is My Kid Ugly to Her Kid? Is My House Too Dirty? Am I Too Dull or Ugly or Unwashed or Old or Sinful or Condescending? Did I insult her without knowing it? Am I somehow UnFriendWorthy? I know of no way to get an honest answer to that question, or even of how to ask it without sounding like the pitiful nerdy kid in youth group who everyone had to be friends with because it was the Christian thing to do even though he was about as interesting as a used toothbrush.)<br /><br />I want good friends to share coffee with while our toddlers run amuck in our houses. I had that once, back before I had a toddler; she'd come over, I'd brew the coffee and stick in the Superman videos, and we'd laugh and ponder and pray and chat all morning. She let me convert her to Lasagna Gardening and the lust of Other People's Organic Material, and we spent hours lugging home bags of leaves and grass clippings for our gardens. I went to the hospital with her during the late-night scares of her second pregnancy, and took off work for days to help when she came home with him (and a giant spinal headache from the epidural). I'm realizing now that it was, perhaps, the best friendship I've ever had, and possibly the best I'll ever know in this life.<br /><br />Given that I still have fifty years or so left on the earth, that's rather disheartening.<br /><br />There is no ToddlerMama Support Group type meeting in this town, as far as I can find. I have no time to join organizations based on my interests (knitting, historic preservation, the arts, etc) to meet women I'd mesh with. Leaving our beloved little church to attend big churches with lots of toddler families doesn't seem right either. I mean, I love our little church. I generally hate the big ones, and the ones who have delusions of bigness. I'm afraid that, to have a big enough pool to find the kind of friends I'd like to have, I would have to belong to a church that would make my stomach churn on Sunday morning. (Surely that's not God's idea of a healthy spiritual situation.)<br /><br />All I really know to do is to pray my pitiful little used-toothbrush prayer to One who knows how insecure and isolated I'm feeling about this. Here is my heart's great need. I lay it down there, and just keep going through our days, hoping that less lonely ones lie ahead.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-20810528289595936292009-01-26T19:19:00.001-08:002009-01-26T19:35:03.560-08:00The Ice Storm cometh.I'm shivering a little, either from my nasty sore throat/sinus illness or from the weather creeping into our home through the dining room window to my right. <br /><br />The forecast is grim:<br /><blockquote>Tonight...Sleet in the evening. Light freezing rain. No snow accumulations. Ice accumulations around one half of an inch. Lows in the mid 20s. Temperatures nearly steady after midnight. East winds 5 to 10 mph. The chance of precipitation 90 percent.<br /><br />Tuesday...Light freezing rain. Ice accumulations of one half to three quarters of an inch. Highs in the upper 20s. Temperatures steady or slowly falling. North winds 5 to 10 mph. The chance of precipitation 90 percent.<br /><br />Tuesday Night...Sleet...light freezing rain likely and a chance of snow in the evening...then a slight chance of snow and sleet after midnight. Snow accumulations up to 2 inches. Ice accumulations of up to one quarter of an inch. Lows around 17. Northwest winds 5 to 10 mph. The chance of precipitation 70 percent in the evening...decreasing to 20 percent after midnight.</blockquote><br /><br />So... if my math is accurate... we can expect to have up to four inches of frozen mess on our hands, only two of that snow. May God freeze most of it on the way down, before it hits our trees and power lines. Right now, the metallic sound of heavy sleet is positively welcome. <br /><br />If I were not so shivery, I would love to write more. But I must go brew more tea.<br /><br />22) Sleet hitting my window instead of freezing rain tonight.<br />23) A dry, warm (okay, warm-away-from-the-windows) home to shield my family from that sleet.<br />24) A husband who'll be home from work for the next couple of days to help with the kids, which will keep me from losing my mind as we're holed up in here all together.<br />25) For Grammy, who turns 63 today. Her birthday dinner here was postponed, but we are still celebrating her. A tremendous gift, to enjoy my mother-- merry, helpful, loving, and hospitable to extremes-- on a daily basis, just a phone call or a short drive away. I am hugely thankful that my kids will grow up knowing her well and loving her so deeply. <br />26) Hot tea on cold nights and sore throats.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-90518704667376331752009-01-05T11:00:00.001-08:002009-01-05T11:51:45.189-08:00I never do these things.1. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?<br />My middle name, Virginia, is the middle name of both my grandmothers.<br /><br />2. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?<br />This is embarassing... about an hour ago. I listen to a country music station when frozen stuff or tornadoes are about, because it's the best local weather source we have. Today there was a song on it about a little girl growing up, and her Daddy weathering the difficult times... sleepless newborn nights, leaving her at preschool despite her tears, teenager era, etc... I'm helpless against this sappy kind of stuff now that I have babies of my own. <br /><br />3. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?<br />It used to be fine, but now that I hardly write anymore, it's getting pretty sloppy. I wonder if it'll be antiquated and quaint to handwrite things someday, like calligraphy is now.<br /><br />4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?<br />I actually do like Petit Jean bologna more than just about anything. I hate turkey or ham if its slimy, but like it if it's dryish and smoked and sliced thin.<br /><br />5. DO YOU HAVE KIDS?<br />Two. One of each, three and one year old.<br /><br />6. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?<br />I hope so. I can be hard to get to know, though, and I worry that I'm thoughtless or neglectful of my friendships. So maybe I wouldn't?<br /><br /><br />7. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?<br />I hope not.<br /><br />8. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?<br />I do.<br /><br />9. WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?<br />Not now that I have kids. Roller coasters are about as death-defying as I'm willing to get now that I have two little dependants.<br /><br />10. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?<br />Homemade granola, or Cracklin' Oat Bran. I rarely have either because I cannot stop eating them if they're around.<br /><br />11. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?<br />Not if I can avoid it.<br /><br />12. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?<br />Emotionally/spiritually, yes. Physically, ha.<br /><br />13. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?<br />Mint chocolate chip, or homemade vanilla w/ fresh peaches. I'm not a huge ice cream person.<br /><br />14. WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?<br />Where their eyes go.<br /><br />15. RED OR PINK?<br />Red.<br /><br />16. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?<br />My ability to distract myself from things I truly need to accomplish. (this is a fine example of that ability; I have QuickBooks waiting for me right now.)<br /><br />17. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?<br />Jen Dove. And my sister's true self.<br /><br />18. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO DO THIS?<br />I don't really care. But it would be interesting to read.<br /><br />19. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?<br />Black mary jane Dr. Martens.<br /><br />20. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?<br />french-pressed coffee made from husband-roasted beans. Superb.<br /><br />21. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?<br />The sweet sound of silence. My kids are at Grammy's.<br /><br />22. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?<br />eggplant. (Is that a crayon color? Dark dark purple, I mean.)<br /><br />23. FAVORITE SMELLS?<br />Coffee. baking bread. clean baby. clean sheets. my grandmother's house. rain. the Buffalo River.<br /><br />24. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?<br />My haircutter. My hair, it is suddenly in sad, grown-out, lifeless shape. She is going to rescue me.<br /><br />25. DO YOU LIKE THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU?<br />I got this from Kim, who I like very much, although I've never met her.<br /><br />26. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?<br />I will watch the Arkansas Razorbacks if I am with someone who is a fan. I can become a fan by osmosis (and alumni status) for short periods. Other than that, I'm entirely indifferent.<br /><br />27. HAIR COLOR?<br />Dark brown, shot through with more and more silver these days.<br /><br />28. EYE COLOR?<br />Green/blue.<br /><br />29. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?<br />Not usually. I have contacts, but I mostly just wear them for dress-up. My glasses are my everyday wear.<br /><br />30. FAVORITE FOOD?<br />GOOD pad thai. Indian curries. Recipes from Crescent Dragonwagon and America's Test Kitchen.<br /><br />31. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?<br />Documentaries, actually, which usually are neither of those.<br /><br />32. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?<br />"The Queen." interesting but also slowmoving.<br /><br />33. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?<br />Blue<br /><br />34. SUMMER OR WINTER?<br />Winter.<br /><br />35. HUGS OR KISSES?<br />Depends on who from.<br /><br />36. FAVORITE DESSERT?<br />Tiramisu from the long-defunct Pianalto's. (sigh.)<br /><br />37. MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?<br />no idea.<br /><br />38. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?<br />no idea.<br /><br />39. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?<br />"The Red Tent" by Diamant.<br /><br />40. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?<br />Don't have a mouse pad.<br /><br />41. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT?<br />"The Queen." (We don't have cable and our antenna picks up three spectacularly cruddy stations-- so we don't watch a lot of tv on the tv. We do download a few things on the computers.)<br /><br />42. FAVORITE SOUND?<br />My little boy's happy babbling.<br /><br />43. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?<br />Beatles.<br /><br />44. WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?<br />Geographically, central Europe.<br />Culturally, a shantytown in a dry riverbed/junkyard in Mexico.<br /><br />45. DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?<br />I used to bake and write and decorate pretty well, when I have the time. Time is rare these days, so those abilities are fading. I can, however, drop off to sleep at a moment's notice, in almost any location or position. Oh, and I love to customize databases. LOVE IT.<br /><br />46. WHERE WERE YOU BORN?<br />Arkansas<br /><br />47. WHAT ARE YOU BAKING NEXT?<br />Nothing anytime soon... we're trying to drop some pounds.<br /><br />48. DO YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR FIRST LOVER IS?<br />Yes.<br /><br />49. WHAT ARE YOU DRINKING RIGHT NOW?<br />Cooling coffee. Need a warmup.<br /><br />50. WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?<br />Anybody's. Everybody's.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-23729860227531161492009-01-03T21:35:00.000-08:002009-01-04T12:15:10.278-08:00Open windows in January....and that's not on the computer, folks. I'm sitting here in bare feet, with breezes blowing through my downstairs, and it's nearly midnight. It got up to 77 degrees today, just three hours south of here (which is our nearest TV station in this state, believe it or not, and our source of info when we're at mom and dad's-- we don't have cable or a strong enough antenna to pick up legitimate TV station signals).<br /><br />Wow. 2009 already. I remember imagining myself at 26, when 2000 would arrive, and thinking that was so far away. What happened?<br /><br />Our gal has a new dollhouse, a new playhouse/supermarket thing ($15 on Amazon! SCORE), and a new tiny little Ariel doll which is apparently superior to them both (sigh. I can prohibit the movie, but I can't keep Santa from bringing an Ariel doll when it's the ONLY thing she wants in all the world).<br /><br />(like all these parentheses? It's called LAZY WRITING. If I had time, I'd go through this, editing carefully so I could include all the info while removing 90% of the parentheticals. I won't. Suck it up and stumble through figuring out what I'm saying, please. Time alone in a quiet house is rare, and I won't spend it editing tonight.)<br /><br />Our fella has... well, a huge multicolored dragon that has yet to leave the living room. A set of MegaBlocks, which he does seem to like in a chewy sort of fashion. An Oball. Not much else. This is the Christmas year of I Love Wrapping Paper for him, after all, and most all of his one-year-old toy needs are met by his big sister's stash. <br /><br />Me? The best dining room chandelier in all the world, ALREADY INSTALLED. <span style="font-style:italic;">(cue hosts of angels triumphant here</span>) A restored vintage stove, which we continue to believe (what amazing faith we have!) will be delivered in the near future. A WoodWick candle (candleish joy for those with no fireplace of their own), a scholarly book on the Ozarks which has turned out to be rather outdated and dull, and a gift card for Barnes and Noble, already spent in the clearance bins for next year's niece and nephew birthdays. <br /><br />Last year we took time to think through the Advent season with friends and Andrew Peterson's Christmas album, and it was fabulous. Husband performed some of that music at church, which further connected us to the deeper side of the holiday. I bowed out of giftgiving and cardsending, having a new baby to tend to night and day. It was refreshing.<br /><br />This year was a bit too much about Santa and a bit too little about Christ, in my opinion. I'd like next year to be a little more thoughtful, a little less frantic. But that's okay. One good thing about the years flying by is that I know that we'll be upon the next holiday season before too long, and I'll have another shot and doing it more meaningfully.<br /><br />Other goingson...<br /><br />We're resisiting the urge to resist the cliche, and bowing to our shared desire to eat well and exercise beginning this week. There's a reason this happens for so many people in January... brimfull of baked goods and chocolate, sated with sauces and stuffings and Santa-shaped chocolate-dipped marshmallows and such, we're ready to strip the intake down to the bare minimums, enjoy some cleansing. <br /><br />I must learn QuickBooks. Like, now. Our taxes depend on it, and I'm 12 months behind logging our expenses in this new business venture already. Eek.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-77107099778982631102008-12-16T20:44:00.000-08:002008-12-16T20:50:41.925-08:0021. Her songs.Oh, how I love this girl.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cX3yka6FOK8&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cX3yka6FOK8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object>Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-81663843580876071322008-12-11T22:36:00.000-08:002008-12-11T23:05:41.034-08:00Thirteen months.You are over one year old now, sweet fella. I can hardly believe that. It seems like just a few weeks ago that I was nursing you in our chair, the copper leaves glowing on the oaks outside, as I ached for your struggling kidney and learned your face and the feel of your dear sweet body in my arms. You still lay in my arms for a while each night before bedtime, but now your arms and legs splay out from my body; you're so very big, but still we settle in for some nursing and a bottle, rocking in the dark. You are still my baby, just an evergrowing and everchanging one.<br /><br />You're crawling now, at last, a sweet grabby little belly-slither that isn't quite perfected but nonetheless gets you where you'd like to go. Where do you most like to go? To our feet, to be picked up and snuggled in our arms. Your contentedness with our arms (and your bouncer, and exersaucer) is doubtless some of the reason that movement's coming late to you. And that's fine. All in due time, buddy. At your own pace.<br /><br />We x-rayed your head at your checkup this week, just to make sure you did have teeth. They're in there, taking their time just as your movement is, hanging out, slow to appear. In the meantime, you're managing to eat an amazing array of food without teeth. Prunes; crackers; chopped chicken; cooked veggies. No problem for my fella! Gums of Steel!<br /><br />Your laugh has two sounds to it: a lovely gravelly huh-huh-huh, and when you're seriously tickled at something, a lovely inbreath of a squeak. The squeak developed first, and the huh-huh followed a few months later, and both of them can make me breathless with love for you. You smile often, your eyes dancing with what looks like mischief. <br /><br />Twenty pounds, six ounces. Three months ago, you were thirteen pounds. Apparently you needed some extra calories; we added some formula to your diet, and you've grown like a weed ever since. I'm so proud of your chubby little legs and your round little face now. It feels like we've conquered this together (along with your surgery, along with that nasty scalp infection last spring). You've been through a lot, little guy, and you just keep marching on, overcoming your hurdles and impressing the heck out of me. Out of all of us, actually.<br /><br />Your hair was black when you were born, and you were almost bald for a little while, but now you're growing in a spiky, cowlicked head of dark blonde or light brown hair. Your once-blue eyes are turning brown, the same lovely deep brown that your daddy has. Your feet are still a little small (or is it that your sister's are huge and I'm unaccustomed to normal feet?). Your head seems big, since hats for your age group generally are too small for you.<br /><br />The past month has been chaotic at our house; your mom and dad decided to remove some ugly paneling and add some drywall to parts of the house, and our world's been covered in drywall dust and mud splatters and primer and paint and (tomorrow, thank God) new carpet and re-installed moldings. You've hardly noticed; you soldier on, hanging out with us in the safe areas of the house, walking through the chaos just to get to bed. I sure hope that we're in this house for many many years, and that you'll ask someday to see pictures of how funky and dated this house was when we bought it, and be amazed.<br /><br />Things you love: Your grammy and aunt Leigh. Your sister, always, even when she's bossing you around. Our sweet Clairedog. Being outside whenever possible. Toys. (No particular favorite, but you can sit with a basketful of toys for quite a while, playing with one and then another.) You love Cheerios, but seem to love pureed food and cereal a bit more, flapping and cooing with enthusiasm when we sit down with a bowl to feed you. Oh, and television, most especially the Fraggles DVDs at Grammy's house. Your binky (just like your sister at your age, one is absolutely required for bedtime). And always, always, you love to be held, love your milk (both kinds), and love your momma most of all.<br /><br />And I eat that up. You are such a blessing, Quinton. The next year will bring your first steps, your first sentences, the beginnings of a relationship with you that's more verbal and less tactile. I'm looking forward to all that, but I must admit: I also love this gentle time of cuddles and bottles and watching you learn to crawl. Thanks for stretching your babyhood out a little longer; it is a treasure to me-- <br /><br />As are you. Happy Birthday, buddy.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35581561.post-19038547274908695962008-12-09T21:16:00.000-08:002008-12-09T21:38:19.990-08:00More gratefuls.9) For a half hour spent driving round neighborhoods after dinner, prowling for pretty Christmas lights, with my toddler jangling her new jingle bell ornament incessantly and insisting that we sing along. Headache-inducing, but glorious fun.<br /><br />10) For living in the same town with my parents, and such close relationships between my kids and my family. It's impossible to imagine raising them anywhere else now, and I feel so blessed that I have a husband willing to suffer the indignities of finding work in a small town so that we could be here.<br /><br />11) For blinds ordered off the internet (lowestpriceblinds.com) at crazy too-good-to-be-true prices, but it was true. They're high quality, they look fantastic, and I have been deemed Good Wife for having made the purchase (whew! Relief.).<br /><br />12) For a handyman/carpenter that I can trust with my house, who's reinstalling 100-year-old woodwork beautifully over the drywall we just had installed. For a careful, slow painter who'll come in and paint said woodwork, because we do not have the time this month to do it ourselves. For a completely trustworthy flooring installation business, who'll be here Friday to replace the 50-year-old carpet. Things have been chaotic, but they're progressing nicely now, and peace is not far off.<br /><br />13) For a gal who, when asked what she wants from Santa this year, replies ardently, "a candy cane." Lord, help us preserve this sweet innocence and lack of the gimmes as long as we can.<br /><br />14) For Andrew Peterson's Behold the Lamb album, which has been deepening our Christmas season for years now. It centers me on the true celebration, helps me cut through the chaos.<br /><br />15) For a husband who can whip up some blackened salmon and green beans while I'm out buying groceries.<br /><br />16) For a son who, on cue, waved an enthusiastic goodbye to his grandparents visiting from Georgia today. (Waves are rare.)<br /><br />17) For the candles in our windows-- battery operated, true, but still lovely flickering things that burn all night and make our house look so festive from the street.<br /><br />18) For the gallons of flat paint we're using on the walls being mysteriously marked down to $16.95. For my busy husband being willing to prime and paint walls and ceiling ourselves, which literally saved us thousands.<br /><br />19) For a beautiful padded laptop sleeve from LL Bean's clearance online that kept me from having to create one myself.<br /><br />20) For a warm bed upstairs that's calling my name right now. Goodnight, all.Kimhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07475837511132447438noreply@blogger.com0