Something Interesting I Watched This Morning

This little video was from the Etsy blog. Calvin found it interesting.

It feels like dating.

It just occurred to me that looking at houses is a lot like dating. You get together, size one another up and wonder, "Could this be the one?"

Having slept on it, I can totally see how that second house we saw yesterday would work. I think I have a crush on it.

It's been a long time since I was this twitterpated. I might get my heart broken, but for now, I can fantasize about those hard wood floors....

Even if it kills me....

So it's 10:30 and I have been awake since 5:30 this morning, thinking, praying, fussing and stewing. I have a really lovely post started about my family reunion last week, but I can't seem to get into the frame of mind to finish the post.

So instead, I will talk about today: We had an appointment to look at another house in the neighborhood we want to buy in. Yet another house popped up as available while I was getting ready to go over and meet with Robb and the realtor. It feels like this could possibly happen, but as my long time readers know, we have been disappointed sooooooo many times before.

The house we saw, I did not like. That was kind of nice actually. You hate to see a house that's priced a little higher than you like that you really adore and can't have. I flat out did NOT like it. It had a surly attitude and a penchant for dark corners.
However, we did get to see another one while we were there that I remain curious about. It has the oddest floor plan, but delightful windows. I've learned through my either real or totally imagined Seasonal Affective Disorder, that good windows are absolutely of mighty importance to my brain chemicals. It also had hardwood floors and upper cupboards that weren't so nice that I would feel guilty yanking them down to put up open shelving. I loved the outside of it.

I worked today. In sharp contrast to yesterday when I tried to work and just sulked instead because I couldn't make myself work no matter how hard I tried.

I had a long talk with my nine year old who has begun to venture out into the world and realize that other kids her age have cell phones and tvs in their rooms. Two things that my nine year old can fuss all she wants, but won't have any time soon. It was our first real fight and we both cried. It ended well, but it was nothing short of unsettling to be having that conversation already.

The kids set up a Gatoraide stand today. I'm pretty sure I funded all their profits. But they had to sweat for it a bit. I figured it was the best chance to teach my aforementioned nine year that work is hard and money is even harder to come by.

Ubiquitous laundry. Ditto the summertime Biblical plague of flies here.

Snippets of conversation with the neighbors, the neighbor kids, facebook and texting. The credit card bill came. It is shrinking and we are beating it back. Soon it will be dead. I can't wait. Orders came in; I need to find boxes. Who else on the planet worries about if I will have enough boxes? I realize I'm worrying about boxes and switch over to praying that God will provide a box. Laugh at myself for worrying because He's a pretty big God....and a box is a pretty small thing....so I pray for a house instead.

This is PRECISELY what's wrong with this country.....

Crisis Averted

In case you had forgotten, our family has partaken in a soda pop embargo. If we complete the year without drinking any, we will get a Wii. A lot of people have heard about this arrangement and assumed that we were saving the money we would spend on a pop toward the purchase, but the truth is, pop isn't really that expensive. Anyway, we are six months in with not so much as a drop of punch, let alone a cola. The kids routinely interrogate their dad when he comes home from a business trip about what he drank. And because my dreams routinely involve shame, it wasn't a surprise when one night I dreamed I was sitting on a couch and two ice cold cans of Coke were before me...I popped them both open and drank every drop....and instantly woke up in a cold sweat.

All that to say, we are taking this pretty seriously.

Which is why it was a terrible moment when Vin came screaching through the front door in hysterics, great elephant tears streaming down his face, wailing that we aren't getting the Wii because of CHARLEIGH!

Confused, I hopped off the couch and tried to make sense of his incoherent sobs. "Mikayla gave her pop and she drank it!" he complained angrily and with no small amount of heartbreak.

I confess, I was already trying to figure out what to do. I headed out the front door where Chuck was indeed sitting with her friends in the neighbors driveway with a very incriminating bottle of Coca-Cola beside her.

By this time her father had arrived on the scene and the two of us whisked her inside just in time to hear Vin declare with all the passion of a jilted lover, "I'm gonna punch her in the FACE!" Robb hands guided him to a chair with a "No. You won't. We'll handle this. You sit."

Back in the bedroom, Charleigh did indeed wear the face of incredible guilt. Her chin juts out and she refuses to answer questions, her eyes darting from one face to another. I'd seen that face so many times, I had mentally jumped ahead to remuneration while her dad worked the interrogation. "WHAT DID YOU DRINK?"

nothing.
More big eyes.

"You'd better answer us!" Charleigh has stonewalled us before and quite frankly, if she wants to keep something from us, we're more than a little nervous that she could indeed, pull it off.

"pawwwwwwwwwwwwwp" she mumbled.

"Why did you drink pop? Why did you break the deal?"

"Cuz."

"Cuz isn't an answer!"

"Cuz......"

Her lip quivered. Then the tears came. This was actually a good sign. At least we would get something out of her. Other times, she has kept up the silence of a Russian spy.

And then, for the first time, Charleigh answered a "WHY?" question. Always before, I was nervous that she didn't really understand cause and effect. Didn't understand what "why?" even meant. All of a sudden though, it was, "I drank pop from a cup from my friend and it had a lid and it was supposed to be water, but she tricked me and it was a long long time ago and it was before the deal and it was with a lid."

From this rather surprising outpouring, we were able to slowly piece together the fact that Calvin saw his sister sitting near the pop and characteristically quizzed his sister about drinking pop. Literal but not always chronological, she was possessed by guilt and immediately took on the look we have all come to equate with poopy underpants, cookies crumbs as evidence of a poorly chosen breakfast, contraband nail polish in between blankets and Charleigh's other peccadilloes. He assumed the worst and reacted accordingly...

When we realized that she was not actually guilty, we scooped her up in our arms for cuddles and reminders to "Always tell the truth!" And Charleigh giggled like only Charleigh can.

And the pop crisis of July 2009 was averted.

goodnight.

Where does the time go?

I can't believe it's been so long since I posted on my poor little blog, but with my mother in law visiting, my trip to visit my parents in Pennsylvania, and my grouty projects, I just haven't been able to find much time for sitting down quietly and reflecting on what's going on. But I am making a mental promise to myself that I will post every day this week, even if it kills me.

Speaking of time flying, the last baby I birthed turned 8 two days ago. I really had no idea the day we had that ultrasound done that it would be possible to love a little boy as much as I love this boy. He just jumped on my bed a moment ago to say good morning and start asking me questions I barely know the answers to, and send his great mop of floppy hair askew.



I know I have to cut it soon, but it's so wild and funny unbrushed and so like a 70s tv star when it is, I can't quite bring myself to do it (and I haven't had a minute. His dad keeps complaining that his own hair is like Ted Koppel, which makes him very grouchy.)





And if Vin is 8 then his "Baby" is nearly that. He looks pretty good these days, but I've lost track of how many times my mom and I have sewn his head and arms back on. Mom made it for him when he was tiny and we always called it "cuddle bear" until the night that Vin, who couldn't have been more than 18 months old dubbed him "BeBe." He's been Baby ever since and has had many a wild adventure, but his days always end in the arms of a little boy who won't be little much longer.



Like the Lego cake? So did Peggy.

And Done.