Ch-ch-ch-changes...

Seasonal wardrobe changes are happening here, which is really the most laborious and least important task. Figuring out what might fit next summer, what should be packed away for the next child, what can be donated, what should be thrown away, for four different wardrobes.
Sometimes I question the practicality and ease of hand-me-downs, despite the financial savings.

Anyway, it has come to light that Rachel has at least a dozen different winter dresses for church. No exaggeration. That doesn't include sleeveless summer ones that she says she could layer; that bumps the number up to something like 18. Neither does that include play clothes--jeans and sweatshirts, etc. The good point is that leaves more room in Santa's sack for toys come Christmas.
Lou's wardrobe is the same way, though he doesn't have dresses. He wants for nothing clothing-wise except maybe socks or shoes. It's quite stunning, the embarrassment of abundance these kids deal with.

Madeleine and Dale, though, probably could use a few things--her more than him, too. He needs his drawers cleaned out more than to receive anything. That does need to happen first, as well. At least the girls are done, Lou's done.

I've got the kitchen table covered with pink baby stuff; Elizabeth should be equipped when she makes her debut. That's a post all its own.

This is the Apocalypse.

It's akin to when Alice Cooper was on The Muppet Show. And this is my first time embedding anything; I hope it works.



Yes, it is what you think it is. "It's a good thing."

Wouldn't it be great?!

Okay, hear me out on this one.
We need a bigger house, right? There is a preponderance, and embarrassment of riches, of larger houses for sale right now at bargain prices. Oh, yes. There are.
Well, we can't afford to buy one--even one of those superbargains out there--because we have a house of our own to offload. Hence the idea.

Wouldn't it be great to, like, trade the bank? We're current on our mortgage, after all. Couldn't we just give them this little one we bought when our family was two adults, an imminent child, a dog, two cats, some fish, and a guinea pig, and they'd give us a three-bedroom, bath-and-a-half, basement, garage and nice sized yard?
I mean, we'd keep making the payments and all. They wouldn't be out any money, really. It would help the property values in a nicer area to have one less vacant house, after all. It would just be a different vacant house.

Right. While I'm at it, I'll ask for a pony.

We could have put off buying furnace filters.

Seems the furnace doesn't want to work. It was fine in May when we shut it off, but it seems to want more of a summer vacation. At least our house is well-insulated and hasn't gotten below 61 in the morning, and it's supposed to be in the 70's later in the week.
The Trustworthy Furnace Guy just left, since we're waiting on finding a couple parts--one is a gas valve, the other is the tough one. I don't remember the name.
We're looking at $500. And toeing the line on budget-limits on this one.
He told me frankly, "I'm not a salesman, especially not a pushy one. But you might want to think about a new furnace come tax return time. We typically put in eight or nine in February for people we first saw in early fall."

St. Joseph, keeper of the home, pray for us. St. Joan of Arc, who knows a bit about keeping warm, pray for us.

Ideal house: technology ideas

I posted once upon a time about my ideal house. Here are a couple technological tweaks that I think could be popular in normal circumstances.

1. In the bathroom, I'd like a toilet seat equipped with a weight sensor and timer. No, not a scale; it wouldn't matter how much the person on it weighed. It would "know" when someone sat down and, say, three minutes later, start playing the Jeopardy! think music.
Hey, three minutes is pretty generous. I don't get two alone even including hand washing.

2. Throughout the house, I'd have a PA system wired up. I would have a remote control set up so when the kids ask a question for the zillionth time, I could just push a button on the remote and we'd hear the answer. Like:
A. "Whose day is it?"
#1, Madeleine's; #2, Dale's, #3, Rachel's.
B. "Can we watch TV?"
#4, After we finish school, #5, after the toys are put away, #6, No.
C. "Can I have another cookie?"
Same answers as above.
D. After seeing TV commercial: "Can I get that?"
#6, No.
E. "What are we having for lunch/dinner?"
#8, Lunch; #9, dinner. This one would have to get updated daily, but I'd still only have to say it once.

Do you see the potential for that? There would be volume control, too, for those moments when the children JUST AREN'T HEARING YOU.
Yeah. It would be great.

Eight Random Things about my Kitchen

This is going to meander, and I'm going to go slightly off-topic, but isn't that the point of a meme? I asked my husband about it. He said, "It's really the beating heart of the house, isn't it?" So here goes.

1. My kitchen is more than just the kitchen. It's also the dining room. People brag about an "eat-in" kitchen; here, it's that or the living room. One of our rules is No food in the bedrooms, and it's just common sense not to have food in the bathroom. Not to mention there aren't enough seats in there.

2. My kitchen is more than just the kitchen. It's also the schoolroom. SFO Mom has over 100 cookbooks in her kitchen; I don't have that many, but maybe a fifth of them are cookbooks. The rest are for school, or the Time/Life series on the American Revolution, or something else. We also have our school supplies and the stereo on one of the bookshelves. It's nice and centrally located.

3. It's also the laundry room. With no basement, where else would the washer and dryer go? I don't like to have the washer going during school or meals, but the dryer is okay. I like to think the steady hum on the other side of the wall from Rachel's crib helps lull her to sleep. I'm not convinced, but humor me.

4. It's also our science lab. Making crystals, planting beans, watching candles self-extinguish in sealed jars, snow melting to water.... Except for the time we used paper plates in the bathtub for plate tectonics. The Boy had a question about earthquakes.

5. I use my oven. That's not a big deal for most of you, but to me, it's huge.
See, my mother's oven went somewhere in my very early childhood. Actually, I'm not sure, but she mutters something about it being set to "clean" when she went to preheat, or some such, and has not tried it since. I have snapshot memories of the five of us around the kitchen table, my brother still in a high chair. So... Roasted turkey on Thanksgiving? At my aunt's. Christmas cookies? Store-bought. Homemade cakes for birthdays? Nope, Sara Lee or Pepperidge Farm. Banana muffins when they got overripe? Negative. Lasagna, casseroles, roast, meat loaf, brownies?
We never even had Shrinky-Dinks.
So when I make pumpkin pie from scratch (except for the crust), or bake muffins, or cookies, or Idiot Chicken Italian (frozen chicken breasts, spaghetti sauce, 45 min at 350), or anything at all, I get a pang. Of something I missed but am providing for my own.

6. The color scheme is a true collaboration of my husband's and mine. We decided to make it more neutral to sell. I looked online for some flooring I liked, he took the printout to the store and chose a different pattern (same colors, though). I went to the paint store and got half a dozen chips I liked; he came home, brought them all along with the sample of flooring outside, and chose his favorite.
Now the floor is nicer than the former in that it doesn't show when it's dirty. The flipside, though, is it doesn't show when it's clean, either.

7. All of the appliances, except the refrigerator, are about the same age. The stove we bought within a week of moving in, the washer shortly after, and the dryer by the following spring. All from Sears. This was even before Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.

8. I think it might be my favorite room in the house. It's where so many of my memories are, so many things happen. I think he nailed it when he said about the beating heart of our home.

So there. I think that was pretty random, eh? And it didn't take me a week, either. I tag Shelly and Heather.

Excitement, continued.

We last left the city employees with a gas line break.

It was a good time for a break. We went home, had PB & J for lunch, watched the gas company vans come and go (one of which brought a SECOND BACKHOE--oh, frabjous day!), and left for my homeschool Catholic moms Bible study. (Oh, and I did call the city to tell them I appreciated Mr. Blue Shirt's presence of mind to tell me to get the kids out of there. I figure they get enough complaints; why not tell them when someone does something right?) When we returned, the trucks and heavy machinery were gone. The hole was filled in and surrounded by barricades and yellow CAUTION tape. Dale was a bit disappointed but when I assured him the backhoe would be back the next day, he was okay with that.

Sure enough, it was. It was a new crew; I later learned Thursday's had been switched to midnights as of Monday and had the weekend off to adjust. The new guys weren't working for more than 45 minutes when they created an even louder hissing than the day before, again hitting the gas line.
I closed the windows. Madeleine has mild asthma, Dale had a runny nose that morning, I was getting a headache. I knew despite any outward signs the gas wasn't doing Rachel or Louis any good.
I gave up. We just went to a playplace and got snacks for the morning. There went my nice, calm, stay-at-home day where I could catch up on chores. Ah well; we arrived at the playplace early enough that they were still serving breakfast. French toast sticks, my favorite...

That afternoon, I talked with one of the workmen. He called it the worst job he's been on in two years--the tree roots, the mismarking, hitting the gas line twice. None of them were happy. I could understand his frustration.

My beloved husband took his family out to dinner that evening. They were working when we left and continued we got back. After dark, I heard a chain saw and smelled tar. Saturday morning dawned with one less tree and an asphalt patch instead of real sidewalk, but I think they've got the lines repaired.

I wonder when the cement mixer is going to show up to repair the sidewalk, though. I think that one is Rachel's favorite.

Excitement in many guises

My son (the extrauterine one) loves backhoes. He has for years. His favorite color is yellow because Scoop is yellow.
So yesterday morning, when one pulled up in front of our house, it was officially A Great Day. Then it became a Deliriously Happy Day when said backhoe went to work a mere two doors south, easily visible from our largest window in the house. Large blue Water Department trucks accompanied the backhoe, but no matter.
I took them over to watch more closely, as I have done with heavy equipment before. I learned our neighbor was having sewer trouble--tree roots. Ah, we know that song.

One of the three gentlemen came past us; he was wearing a blue shirt. I explained The Boy wants to grow up and drive a backhoe. He shook his head discouragingly and his words were concise: "Stay in school." I said, "It's that or drive the space shuttle." He laughed and advised the latter.
Some digging, some testing with tools, the blue-shirted man came over again.
"Arer they all three yours?"
"Yep," I said with a smile. "And we've got a baby brother coming at Christmastime."
"Wow! Busy!" he replied.
"Well, I just find my husband irresistible." I smiled. "And what will I have in thirty years?"
"Peace of mind?" he guessed.
It was a series of errors for these men. They worked for two hours, tore up three slabs of sidewalk, and couldn't find the sewer line. They had to take a break for more equipment to arrive, which enabled them to discover the line was two slabs south.
While they were waiting, he came by again. "So are you going to homeschool them?"
I was surprised that he would guess. "We already are."
"I don't blame you. More one-on-one time with your kids."

A bit later, when his boss was there, he pointed over to us. "Look! Homeschool!" he shouted in a tone that implied vindication, not zoo animals. His boss looked over. "That's so much better for the kids. Individual instead of one of thirty-five. It makes so much sense."
[Side note: I've heard of anti-homeschoolers, but I don't think I've ever met any. At least, none opinionated enough to shoot their mouth off. Maybe they're like unicorns. Or Bigfoot.]

So they finally got digging with the backhoe in the right spot. A few minutes of this and there was a sudden loud hissing from the hole. I saw what could have been steam; I thought maybe the sewer line. I waited for the smell to hit.
I was wrong. "Get your kids out of here!" hollered Mr. Blue Shirt.

It was the gas line. To be continued...
(Nobody got hurt, just so you know that much.)

Is a house fire an option?

I heard tell of a family with two sons. When their second was born, they wanted to have everything new: crib sheets, clothes, the whole caboodle. I thought they were nuts, or at least dreadfully impractical.

At this moment, I'm seeing their point.

I'm putting away laundry and looking ahead at the great looming task of cleaning out drawers for the change of season. It goes like this.

For Rachel: "Is this still wearable? Short sleeves don't need to be packed away. Sundresses and shorts, however, are going to go. What might fit next summer and thus shouldn't go far? What can be packed away long-term until the next girl is this size, which means at least 3-4 years? What am I not attached enough to and can give away? What would I be embarrassed to have my child seen in because of repairs or stains and thus can be thrown away?"

Repeat for Dale... and Madeleine. It's currently compounded by my own changing size and the weather, where I get to pack away my own summer maternity clothes for... someday. Sigh.

Then comes the inevitable, "Where by all the saints do I put all of this stuff? And exactly how hard is it to prove arson or insurance fraud, if I just set the whole lot on fire?"

My clothesline

We have a clothesline.
Part of the reason is practical--why pay a utility company to dry clothes when the sun and wind can do it just as well? It saves money.
Another practical reason is wiring. Our dryer is electric. The way the joker wired our house, unless we haul out a couple industrial extension cords we can run one of our window units or the dryer. Not even two out of three. Which means on hot days if I want to dry clothes, they're hanging outside.
I'll admit as well there's a touch of environmentalist left in me. I joined the group back in college for a guy; I don't suppose this is a destructive lingering influence.

There are days, I'll admit, where hanging the clothes outside just seems like more than I can bear. Usually, though, I sigh and do it anyway.
It's a gentle reminder to slow down. Tossing everything into the dryer, turning the knob, and pushing a button does take much less time, but line-drying means I have time to contemplate. I listen to the sounds of our neighborhood--the birds, dogs, random lawnmowers, traffic from the mile road not so far away. I feel the sun on my limbs and usually the grass under my feet. I watch the children play in the yard, mentally prioritize the rest of my day, and generally stop to contemplate my world.
I used to do these things while walking my dog. When you're walking a dog, there are lots of other things you can't do--balance your checkbook, vacuum, even read a book. It's just you and the dog.
The same goes with hanging laundry. You can't make supper, or write out bills, or any other of the myriad obligations of motherhood. It's just you and the basket, damp clothes and your thoughts.

A little time to slow down in today's rushed world is generally a good thing.

Summer recipe ideas

I'm going to assume that in hot weather nobody likes to turn on the oven, and cool foods with lots of veggies are a big hit. That's how it is at our house, anyway. When the weather turns warm, the menu shifts.
For example, I made gazpacho last night (I looked for the link, but didn't see it. It's in the Betty Crocker cookbook). The kids like it, finally, though I think Rachel filled up on the chopped vegetables before dinner was actually served. I've made vichysoisse once but it defeats the whole purpose of summer cuisine--you have to cook the potatoes and onions, then chill them. Who needs that?
Another summer dinner is the Suddenly Salads. I've bought the original in the package in the past, but I'm generally worried that there won't be enough noodles (always a concern with small children). That and I have a preference for whole wheat noodles; none of the kits have them (yet).
So I take them as inspiration. I buy my own noodles. I grill some chicken breasts in the morning before it gets hot (or have him do it on the weekend), then cut them into chunks and chill them. I boil the noodles, throw some salad dressing on them, and toss them in with the chicken. Serve on a bed of greens (I prefer spinach, but romaine or something like it works too) and voilà! It's dinner when you're ready for it.
I've also done that with shelled shrimp and canned tuna or salmon. I'm not wild about the canned chicken, but thought I tried it once. The grilled is better.

On air conditioning

I grew up without air conditioning. My mother's house still doesn't have it. The closest we got to "central air" was sometime in high school when my parents bought a window unit secondhand from a neighbor. They put it in their room and we just put up a shower curtain in the hallway. Mom quit using it after Dad passed; she worries about someone breaking in.
Our house now still doesn't have it. Thus I just spent 20 minutes on the couch listening to the wind in the trees, the quiet clatter of the street sign twisting, the dog barking in the yard. Those are the sounds I'm used to during the summer. I think the crickets are waiting for the wind to die down, but they're usually there too.
We have a couple of window units; we just haven't put them in yet. I don't feel the need. (The big one didn't go in at all the summer I was pregnant with Rachel.) Sure, those nights when neither the temperature nor the humidity are expected to be below 70, they're great. But those happen what, about a dozen times a year in Michigan? Yeah, that may happen more if the Goracle is right; I'm not really holding my breath, though.

So those of you who find crickets and tree-rustling a lullaby, and your alarm clock to be birdsong, I'm there with you.

I love summer.

My morning

has been completely different from how I planned. A small load of gentles to wash during my shower; hang them on the line while jeans wash; dishes after that; the kids play outside during this whole time. Then I'd read some Anne of Green Gables and Divine Intimacy. Leisurely easy morning. I should have known...

I threw the "gentles" in the washer--a dress of mine, some tops, Rachel's pink Easter gown, Madeleine's dance clothes--and noticed the color of the water flowing in. It won't be that bad, I thought. Then as I was about to shower, I noticed the toilet. Do you remember the color "raw umber" from the big Crayola box? That's what we're talking about here. Um... I'm not showering in that.

I dressed anyway and we all headed outside; I started pairing the kids' socks. After putting them away, I paused at the washer to collect the first load.

My formerly white top was this color, as was the cream-colored one. Maddie's pink dance clothes had splotches all over them and the pink gown was unevenly peachy in random spots. My dress, though, is originally orangey tie-dye and my jumper is tan; they'll be fine. Needless to say, there went Anne and Intimacy, as well as the dishes and jeans. How could I save my daughters' clothes? I was staving off a nervous breakdown.

Once upon a time, someone (my mother?) convinced me to get some stuff called Barkeeper's Friend. I remembered it accomplished whatever purpose it had had then; would it rise to the occasion now? Where would I get the water to soak the stuff?

I used the last of our 2.5 spring water jugs and the magical Barkeeper's Friend. It worked. Instead of spending the morning reading, though, I spent it making a paste and rubbing--gently, mind you--it in to a half-dozen items of clothing by hand. I'm exhausted. But the beloved Easter gown is rescued.

I won't be washing dishes, though.

I love days like today.

Nothing spectacular happened, except everything.

The weather was gorgeous--it hit 80 for the first time this year and nary a cloud in the sky.

Daddy and Dale went to the K of C sponsored Father-Son breakfast at a different parish, where he won a remote-control bulldozer. It IS pretty neat. They then went to Costco to stock us up on our usual loot from there.

The girls and I met Grandma at our usual mass, where Rachel only had one trip to the potty (during the opening hymn) so I was able to stay for mass. She was also content to dance in the pew instead of the aisle during the psalm and collection. Both were involved, but not distracting, with a three-year-old boy in the pew behind us.

Lunch was ham and cheese sandwiches; Rachel likes her ingredients separate, but Maddie and I kept them together. I knew my boys would be sampled-up from their shopping.

I went grocery shopping and, despite not having my driver's license (Rachel had taken it out of my wallet at church), they took my check. The manager made a quick phone call using the number printed on the check and got our machine ("You've almost reached the Prices...") I love that store.

I found the sunblock and nobody fought it. Daddy even put some on when he found his way outside.

Daddy grilled burgers for dinner, then he mowed the grass. [One of my strongest memories from childhood is the smell of fresh-cut grass. My dad had this big ol' John Deere tractor, no bagger, so it was always a project; cut this huge back yard and then rake into piles and hand-bag it. But the sound of that tractor and the smell of the grass meant "Daddy was home" and "weekend."]

So there we were this evening, having eaten a dinner I didn't have to clean up after, pushing my laughing children on the swings, with my husband bringing back happy memories of my youth.

I have some posts brewing, like one on Grandma License or Innocence versus immaturity, but those will have to wait. I just want to fade from the day gently.

I love to cook.

I know, it's one of those housewifey things I'm supposed to find drudgery, but I don't. I love the creative aspect, the watching for changes, the tasting, the warm full feeling of a well-prepared meal. Baking goodies is my favorite. Except cakes. They're a creative letdown.
I've developed a fondness for banana muffins. It's only Betty Crocker's recipe, nothing fancy. And it's something the kids can and really like to help with--peeling and mashing the bananas especially. But I add things. It started with chocolate chips (I use 1/2 cup), then butterscotch chips (preferred by my husband).
Today was the day to make them, since the grocery store closest to home has bananas for 29 cents a pound and if SOMEONE IS PAYING ATTENTION HE'LL BRING SOME HOME. We're deep in the throes of making them and I realized we're out of chips--no chocolate, no butterscotch. I found a bag of M&Ms, though. Why not?
I think the banana does something to the coloring in the candy shells because I saw the streaks of color as I spooned them into the cups, but they're still delicious.

Should we wait...

until we have the actual FOR SALE sign in front of our house, or start the novena now? Here's the inspiration for my question.

Jen talks about babies with loaves of bread; my theory is a little different: Whenever God serves humble pie, He always remembers to add the sugar.

I'm not superstitious...

I'm Catholic. I don't go for burying statues of St. Joseph upside-down in the back yard to help sell your house. A novena for his intercession, sure; burying statues, not so much. Dale's perspective is here.

We need a bigger house. The kids aren't getting smaller; their accumulated accoutrements are becoming more numerous. We ran out of room one child ago. At least.

My husband has wisely said he wants to sell this one before we buy another. We considered the theory of bridge loans briefly, getting information on how they're paid back and for how much we'd have to sell. We took it under advisement. We have even looked at one house that would give us enough space--and we could probably afford it!

Last night our friend the realtor visited to crunch numbers and reality hit. If we sell our house for what we paid, it could realistically take 20 months to sell and we'd walk out of closing with less than the cost of two movie tickets. At least that spares us the decision about bridge loans...

Which brings us to the next nightmare issue--living in a house while trying to sell it. With three small kids, a dog, and a cat. Realtor-friend offers a free service of "staging," which is basically making your house a blank canvas so potential buyers can see their own stuff in place of yours. Now, I am nothing short of enthusiastic about decluttering this place, regardless of whether or not we're planning to sell. If our house flushed, I'd be thrilled. I looked at one of the stager's write-ups.
As well as the obvious decluttering and furniture adjustment stuff, it involves directions like, "Remove all personal items from the bath and shower. Remove all religious items. Remove family pictures."

Wait a minute. I have to live here for the duration. And I take a shower daily. Where exactly am I supposed to keep my shampoo? Remove religious items? If we had a shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe, or a Santeria altar, I might concede the put-off factor, but if someone turns down our house because of our crucifix in our bedroom they need... help.
The taking down the kids' pictures really seems to dehumanize instead of just depersonalize. I grew up in a house without any pictures of anyone and it's cold. I'm not talking "easy on the furnace" cold, either.
I've been told we'll need to find "vacation homes" for the animals, too, and again that's beyond my limit. Maybe a year in when we've had no offers I'll change my mind, but...

I think I'd sooner bury a statue.