Tired, but an accomplished tired.

This is going to be a long post with the infinitesimal details of my weekend. You're warned.

Thursday afternoon in a regular email to my beloved, I listed all kinds of things we wanted to accomplish in the next three days. Grocery shopping, a dinosaur field trip, a date, lawn mowing, a trip to DIA for him and a couple friends, a trip to a plant nursery to finish our garden, Mass, Costco, shopping for summer clothes for Madeleine, all on top of the usual daily chores of laundry, meals, and dishes. We also knew we would want to watch the hockey games too.

Can you already feel the fatigue? Well, when two people decide to work together and a little bit of neighborly intervention occurs, it can really work out. Spectacularly.

I realized coming home from our parish Moms' Club Thursday that I could, really, go grocery shopping on Friday morning rather than wait for the weekend. I've done it before with all the kids; weekdays aren't nearly as crowded, either. So, there I was at 10 AM at Meijer, list in hand and kids in tow. They wanted new toothbrushes--fine. Oh, Daddy's birthday is Monday, can we get him presents? Sure, as long as you agree on what. Oh, and cards too!
They also talked me into strawberries for shortcake, which I promised we'd get on the way out if they were good. They were, with the overlooked exception a truncated tantrum in the cereal aisle when one lost the coin flip and we got Cookie Crisp instead of Apple Jacks--along with Mini-Wheats, Raisin Bran, and Caramel Delight Fiber One.

Upon getting home, I discovered one of our neighbors in our backyard... with a lawnmower. Okay, when we first moved in almost eight years ago, I had no intention of socializing with any of our neighbors--this was the "bad part" of our town, too far in the south end. I've said before when God serves humble pie, He always remembers the sugar. Yet another occasion to add to that list.

The kids loved the dinosaur field trip. It involved digging in sand for dinosaur bone replicas, carrying them inside a building, and turning them in to an expert who did her presentation while putting them together. She was right at their level and they loved it.
Friday night was Date Night, where we went to see Star Trek while Grandma indulged the kids with too much TV. Ten kinds of awesome was the movie with clear nods to the original series (including Kirk trying to get it on with a green-skinned chick). I did expect Bones to grow out a beard and ride a horse, I admit: Rohirrim!

Saturday I managed to get away with just Rachel to the nursery. It took two stops, but we got both a lilac bush and tomato plants. (I had to order the roses I wanted online since I didn't feel like driving all over God's green earth looking.) I have wanted a lilac bush outside my kitchen window for years. I've put it off since this was to be our "starter house," but we've been in this house twice as long as we've planned already with no change really in sight. Bloom where we're planted, right?
Now, if the wind is right, I get a lilac-scented breeze all the way into our living room. It's only a dwarf plant and will top out at about four feet tall, but when the lady described the regular ones as "invasive," I thought dwarf would be better. As to tomatoes, we got two "early girl" and two "big boy," which made Rachel happy.
Daddy managed his trip to DIA without incident. A couple of his friends who had never been to DIA were interested in the Rockwell show, and since this was the closing weekend, they got it in. I managed to nap with Lou while the other three kids were driving the neighbor crazy (okay, maybe just playing there, but still...).
Pizza for dinner, a walk afterward, and the hockey game (yay, the good guys won!) rounded out the day. Dessert of strawberry shortcake, where we used up the can of whipped cream purchased on the walk by spraying it directly into our mouths, was wonderful. And easy.

Mass was first on the agenda today. We made it on time, which is kind of unusual. Lou was fascinated by the procession. Father had a really good homily, combining Pentecost with the graduates on how we are called to spread the love of Christ too. After the announcements, when the graduates had introduced themselves and told where they were going to school, he commented, "All these graduates and none going to seminary. Perhaps next year?"
We then went to Costco, where the samples were enough to serve for lunch. After that stuff was dropped off and Daddy at the helm with three, I went out with Madeleine for summer clothes. She likes the same kind of stuff I would, mostly; she did talk me into a shirt for Rachel (so they'll match!) and a bathing suit for Dale.
Daddy grilled burgers for dinner per Dale's request earlier in the week; sides were baby carrots and celery sticks. My kids aren't fussy.
They played in the yard after, did a "show" that was more performance art/Ninja Warrior episode than anything else. Talking to Neema and Papa was fulfilling and their motivation for pajamas was the hockey pre-game.

Now they're all in bed, probably asleep. I'm going to have some Nutella toast for my own dessert and revel in a weekend well-spent.

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.

Two neighborhood stalwarts you don't think of.

When we first moved to this house, I was emphatically distrustful of the neighborhood. You see, it's in my home town and it's in the "wrong" end. I knew it was a "bad neighborhood." Then I heard of someone who was afraid to have Netflix for fear they'd take them out of the mailbox, and I realized we're not that bad off.
To be honest, it's not perfect. There are more rental houses than I'd like, and they are not always occupied. I've learned, though, that there are perfectly good reasons to rent homes and not all renters do thousands of dollars of damage before the eviction is final.
Then I started meeting some people. I heard the boy across the street admonish his friends for swearing loud enough for me to hear it. Another family was quite friendly; their sons sure had enough friends in the yard on a regular basis.
We have boys who come around and offer to cut our grass or rake our leaves. In the winter, they come to shovel our snow. I don't remember much of that in my "old" neighborhood; I posit the kids were all well-compensated by their parents and didn't have to resort to their own initiative for some cash.

Then there's Bob. Bob is our mailman. He knows my kids. Maybe not their names, but then again, as often as Neema sends them letters, he probably does. Get this--he holds them until he has all three and then delivers them. It's easier for him to hold them in his truck, frankly; it spares me of hearing, "When is mine going to get here?"
Another neighbor has derided him as a gossip; she doesn't like her mail arriving as late in the afternoon as it does because he's jawing with someone on the route. I don't care. He knows who belongs where and could bring my children home if they were out wandering without permission. When you think about all the things your mailman knows about you from the return addresses, you want to get along with him. Add to that the fact that he knows that same stuff about your neighbors, and how often he's walking around your neighborhood... he's a fixture you don't notice. He told me he's called the cops on guys he knew didn't belong.
I want a mailman who's a gossip.

Another person you don't think of as "neighborhood" is, strangely enough, the ice cream man. Ours is Mr. Z. You don't think about it, but he has his set route and again, he knows who goes with whom and where they belong. I've seen this guy sell $1 worth of ice cream for $.75, because that way the two kids could each have their own. He carries dog biscuits in his truck and he's a regular in the late afternoon, almost evening. You know, just before dinner? My kids are trained to put theirs right in the freezer and they don't have long to wait. It's wonderful. He waves to my kids on days we don't buy, besides.
Earlier this week, we were out for a walk when he was coming around. Another neighbor and I were chatting, her from her van and me from the sidewalk. A man we'd never met before was in front of a house with his (I later learned) niece. This unfamiliar man offered to buy ice cream for all of the kids, a total of five.
Since he was buying from the trusted Mr. Z, I was okay with this, but I did later go over and introduce myself. I filed it away as Something to Tell Daddy.
Today, when Mr. Z came around, the kids had money from Neema so we saw him again.
"Do you know that guy from Tuesday?" he asked.
"Never saw him before in my life. That was a little...." I made a squinty look. "Wasn't it?"
"Yeah, it was funny. He's only been there about a week and a half."
I know Mr. Z doesn't have kids of his own and he works at the local schools--a substitute teacher and coach. It was reassuring for me to know I wasn't the one that was off by a stranger buying my kids ice cream.

This has turned into a longer post than I thought it would. I just am grateful to be back to normal, with everyone home and breathing... and eating ice cream.

How does our garden grow?

I've had a "temporary" attitude about this house we've been living in for seven years. I haven't measured the kids against the wall, recording their heights at each birthday. I've been reluctant to plant anything in the fall with the idea that we won't be around in the spring to see it bloom.

Well, with the housing market in shambles, one good thing to come out of it is a sea change in my mentality. Looks like we're going to be here a while; may as well make it how we want it.

I'm thinking garden in the back yard. We don't have much space but the kids are mostly outgrowing the toys out there; the need for something neat to investigate is starting to be felt. A neighbor growing up had wild grapes along the fence line; that was Dagobah for our Star Wars figures. The nearby raspberries were pretty good, too.

Now, the stipulations. We don't need to grow for food, but I have no problem with it. I don't want anything that requires daily maintenance--every other day would be better. My experience is bulbs--dig holes, put them in pointy-end up, cover, and wait. I can handle something a little more complex than that, but not much. We have plenty of sun out there as well.

I don't want anything that's going to take an enormous amount of space, like pumpkin vines. Climbing roses without a trellis become almost as vicious as the plant in Little Shop of Horrors, so I'd just as soon skip that. I'm not looking for a corn field, either; more something the kids can watch and weed. Rewards to the stomach a bonus.

So, Gentle Readers, what should we put in our back yard?

Colored Queen Anne's Lace

Did you know you can dye these flowers?

You know weird things stick in my head. I used to read the parts of standardized tests for entertainment, then was surprised there were questions. "Oh, goody! I get to read now! And what's this? Questions about this stuff. How convenient that they're on the same page!"
Yeah, and I'm supposed to be one of the smart ones.

Anyway, some book I read as a kid had the old neighbor lady, or the aunt, and the little girl dyeing flowers. "And the queen anne's lace, we did that in so many colors..."

So finally we tried it. We picked some at a nearby vacant lot (which has since been mowed), brought it home, and put them in water. We have red and blue pretty clearly; the green is starting to come up. I think the orange and purple are too weak.

How do you do it? Just put food coloring in the water. It takes a day or two for the color to show up, so be warned. And don't be shy about drops in the water. Six or seven isn't too much.

Neat art project for little kids; botany lesson in how plants get water for older ones; interesting field trip or time-killer for all. There you go.

Do you know deadly nightshade?

A friend found out the hard way. Not as hard as could have been, thanks to merciful God. Check out the pictures here.

I love a parade...

It was my family's habit to attend the Detroit Thanksgiving Day parade. Everyone lived in the area, so we were never traveling on that weekend. [Seriously. Growing up, I had one uncle in Arizona, one in Alden, MI, and the next furthest was Lincoln Park, MI, which is still the Detroit area. The rest of the dozen all lived within 10 miles of each other.]
So, each Thanksgiving we'd bundle up in scarves and mittens and long underwear, pick up whichever of my cousins wanted to attend, we'd cram into the car (this was before seat belt laws) and drive downtown.
It was always cold. Always. Sometimes it was snowy, sometimes freezing rain. It was always crowded. When we were little, I think we brought a ladder to sit on. When we kids were a little older, my dad knew someone who had a business right on the parade route, so we'd go to the upper floors of his building. We'd open the windows and wave, and once in a while someone in the parade would look up and wave back. It was still cold, though.
There were the giant balloons, award-winning high school bands, professional floats and tumblers accompanying them, and even Santa making his grand entrance at the end. It was a spectacle.

This year, though, I got a bee in my bonnet when I realized my kids have never attended a parade of any kind. I started looking around for a Memorial Day Parade. Our town didn't have one, but the city right next door did. Off we went.
It was perfect. I'd never attended a "small town" parade before. We showed up about 15 minutes before it started and still got a wonderful spot with curb seating. The local Lions Club and VFW members were throwing candy. Heck, it seemed everyone was throwing candy. There were local businesses, the local fire station had a truck, the county police were in it, our local congressional representative was walking the route, only one high school band, the middle school band... There were groups from each of the elementary schools, even, wearing matching T-shirts.
The kids loved it all. With that in mind, my in-laws told us that their town had an Independence Day parade. This one showed that it's campaign season, with lots of cars saying "Vote for So-and-so!" This one had a multitude of tractors as well, but the atmosphere was the same. Down to the person sitting near us who would point out the candy the kids had missed on the pavement.

These parades didn't have the giant balloons or the fancy floats. Only one band, maybe two, and they weren't quite perfectly in sync. But the kids loved them, and I've got the sense to know that's what really matters.

Thwarted.

It's been a while since Shelly and I had a chance to just chat about whatever and follow all of the tangents our trains of thought run to. I've kind of missed that.

Apparently, someone else thought I needed that, too.

Today is Monday--dance class. It's a 35-minute ride up a seven-lane thoroughfare and I like to have that allowance since I don't like to rush. I was feeling so proud of myself getting out the door. Dinner had been in the crock pot since midmorning. I'd loaded the third bag of donations into the minivan earlier and would stop at the St. Vincent de Paul store on the way home. Madeleine was changed for ballet, Dale had put on sweats (he takes tap), Rachel was ready. I'd remembered the pretzels left from yesterday's snacks for the ride up. I'd even showered. Lou was fed and grumping in his car seat, impatient for the motion to lull him to sleep. The dog was in her cage and she even had water.

As we're loading up, I check for my keys. Not in my pockets. Not in my purse. Not in the diaper bag.

Nuts.

They were still hanging on the hook where I'd put them. Inside the house. I'd noticed that as I was buttoning my coat. "You'll have to grab your keys, since they're hanging up."

I tried calling Dear Husband, who given his schedule at work lately would not be able to rescue me. I could not get in touch with my mother--the other person with a spare key.

Merciful Heaven, Shelly was home. Where else could I go?

So go we did. She was having a crazy day and having a seven-week-old infant to cuddle helped her relax. Not having that infant demanding my attention relaxed me. We got to chat about this CVS money saving deals and the value of quiet time for kids (and parents). The kids being able to play was a treat for them. Madeleine even turned down the offer of their van for transport so as to stay and play. Oh, and a certain little boy got to meet his newest neighbor.

And you know, I think I needed the visit more than anyone needed dance class.

Oh, and it seems we have a potential celebrity around here.

Hey, our neighbor got spotted on Youtube and is now in the Top 10 Finalists for a spot in a commercial and a family trip to the Magic Kingdom.

Like they used to say, "Vote early, vote often!"

Here's the whole story.

Winter toys!

I was recently talking to another mom about how to get her sons out of the house, burning energy, during the winter. I suggested having her boys build their own ramp to sled down, for one. And I remembered these plastic molds for making bricks and building snow forts. These folks live on a corner so there should be PLENTY of snow for them to clear (thus burning even more energy!). The question was, where can one get such items?

Thank you, National Catholic Register and Hearthsong.com! Check this out! And, does anyone else have ideas?

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.)