Identity crisis

I totally need to reinvent this blog. What in the world shall I write about? I'm not very funny these days. I'm no longer single. I'm all smarmy-in-love, and working hard at being a mom and wife. How boring is that?
The details of my day are not worth the writing.
Except
Something happened last night.
At 3 am the smoke detector went screaming. I bolted out of a deep sleep, paused to take inventory of my modesty status, and dove into the house at large. Aaron was sreaming for daddy, and barely audible over the alarm. I went to his room. Tim stumbled into conciousness and was searching for a fire before his mind even registered that he was awake.
There was no fire.
We ended up with a febrile child in our bed for the rest of the night. His fever hardly seemed adequate to have sounded an alarm. It was adequate to prevent further sleep, however.
Back when I was single, I'd have to encounter those smoke detectors from time to time. Mostly, they would chirp when the batteries would die. I would swat them with a broom, until they dropped to my feet in silence. My old house needs new smoke detectors, for this reason.
Tonight I am dizzy on my feet. Sleep is a welcome prospect. All four children seem like Energizer bunnies. Why don't they get tired?

I am going to bed.
What should I blog about next?

Home Sweet New Home

Here is the view from the addition:


Here is a view of Tim's Ride:

This is what a hot tub looks like:

Here's the view of the addition from the back yard:

And here's the front door:

I am so excited to live in this lovely home.

I, Rodent

I am a pack-rat.
It's a relative term, which means that I am incapable of throwing stuff away.
When I was married, I thought I was not a pack-rat, because my husband really seriously had a problem in this area. He kept everything. Most of it was on the floor. The garage was filled with a stunning array of cars, parts, tools, and various preparations for Y2K. Not to mention the unspeakable stacks of useless garbage.
After he ran off and abandoned me for a life of crime, I downsized into the house I currently reside in. This house has a three car garage. Which, even after the massive purge that moving involved, was still too full to park in. Over the years, I have eliminated all but one bay of stuff. I could park two cars out there, if I had them. The third bay has tools, toys, and bikes.
I was all feeling tidy and proud.
Until I met Tim.
This man donates books he's already read, because he figures there's no sense keeping them. He has zero clutter. There are no nick-knacks on his whatnots. There are no half-used bottles of product under his sinks. There is an absolute dearth of useless junk in his abode.
I keep, and love, every book I've ever read. They are displayed on bookshelves, with doilies and bookends, for all to see. You can borrow some, if you'd like.
I keep, in a large Rubbermaid box, all of the costumes I have ever had occasion to wear. Who knows when they might come in handy?
What? You don't wear costumes?
I have every piece of jewelry I've ever owned. Those large plastic pieces from the 1980s are back in style, too. So there.
I keep stuff that I can't really afford to replace. Stuff I might possibly have need of in the immediate, or distant, future. Stuff that has some sentimental value.
I have way too much stuff.
If Tim ever were to, I don't know, propose....I would have to look hard at my collection of stuff, and begin to eliminate.
I sooooo need a 12-step program!
I have been thinking about what I can bear to part with. Even if I get rid of almost all of my furniture, and my costumes, and half of my beloved books....there's still enough to overwhelm Tim's house, to say nothing of his psyche. The things I love most are the artwork, the porcelain, the lace, and the books.
I'd rather get rid of my clothing and............Hey, there's a thought:
If I got rid of my clothing, perhaps he wouldn't notice all the clutter.

The Bachelors in my life

Surprisingly, I did have company for dinner last night.
When you are me, bachelors drop in at the dinner hour, from time to time.
Not the man I'm in love with, mind you. He would never make the mistake of dropping in when I'm serving wild game.
Other men. Older, less interested men. These are men who have either been married to my family, or otherwise have been fixtures in my life over the years. These men know that they can safely rely upon my cooking and my hospitality.
There's my own father, who is currently a bachelor.
There's my step-father, who is likewise currently single.
There's my former worship pastor, who has been my friend these many a year.
Once, my ex-husband even dropped in at dinner time. This occurred coincidentally at the very same moment that my favorite-former-worship-pastor also stopped in at the dinner hour. It was a bit like running a boarding house.

The pheasant was surprisingly edible last night. I simmered it for ages in one of those hearty cast iron skillets. I dressed her in some flour, some onions, and a bit of garlic for good measure. There was olive oil involved, and water,too, so she wouldn't dry out. Not bad.

I'm not really a good cook. I enjoy cooking. I also enjoy eating. But I don't willingly submit to recipes. I used to think I was a good cook, but I'm not. I am a mom cook. Casseroles, and stews....boardinghouse fare.
Tim is a gourmet cook. He follows recipes exactly, and serves consistently amazing food. He frequently cooks a full dinner for himself, and allows his children to eat something kid-friendly. I don't ever bother cooking for one. If it's just me, I'll grab a slice of cheese, or fry an egg. Or go without. Who wants to bother with a mess?

And, no we're not engaged yet.
This is a bit like being nine months pregnant. Well- meaning friends call and say, "Has that baby come yet?" And the very question is depressing, because everyone is waiting on you, and you can't really do much about it. And it's not like you haven't been wondering the same thing. I think the fun response to that question would be, "Oh, yeah, I had the baby two weeks ago, and just didn't bother to call you."
What are you people going to do if he never proposes?
That poor man! I wonder if he is cognisant of the haze of expectation that shrouds his every move? He would ignore it anyway. He has one of those wonderful personalities that allows him to be influenced not-at-all by the opinions of others. I wish I were more like that.

As it is, the hour is growing late with haste, and my children are yet abed. I need to spring into action. I'll share more of my riveting thoughts with you at some later time.
I know.
You can hardly wait.

The Reigning Queen of Doilies

I have more doilies that you do. Do you know how I know? Because I just stripped every surface of my home of all the dusty doilies, and they filled a super-sized load in my washing machine. No one else, on the planet, under the age of 72, can equal me. And those are only the doilies that were out. I have truckloads more in boxes and drawers. I am going to be ironing for "a month of Sundays," as my Granny used to say. Only people with mountains of neatly starched doilies can be called "Granny," in case you were wondering.
Who is wearing-out her quotation marks today?
Besides the doily stripping rampage, I have had a somewhat unproductive day. This morning included the application of vast amounts of makeup, and hair product. The noon hour was committed to a lunch date.
What home school?
I figure that clean lace will cover a multitude of sins.
Speaking of sins...
Why did they say "a month of Sundays" to exaggerate a really long time? Personally, I find that Sundays are never long enough. We frequently go to regular church late in the mornings, scramble for something edible to share at house church, and then go to house church for the afternoon and evening. Sunday is a day of Rest, and also socialization. Homeschooled children need socialization, right? Homeschooled mothers certainly do. Heck, when they aren't washing doilies and having lunch dates, they're downright deprived of intelligent conversation. So, that's why they blog.

Productive, and Not

That last post? Kind of a cop-out.
What a week it has been.
My eldest son has had a fever. All. Week. Long. We went to the doctor on Wednesday, because I thought 104 was a tad too high. The doctor agreed. He said, "Take a Tylenol and call me in a couple days, if he's not better." I could have done that. By Friday, he wasn't better, so the M.D. called in antibiotics. This morning he is vastly improved. Which means that he is annoying the heck out of me. He is goofy and hyper. In fact, he has been slowly unloading the dishwasher for about an hour, because he keeps trying alternate uses for each item. Frying pan? Weapon. Silverware? Weapon. Coffee mug? Weapon. Are you seeing a theme?

I have been the Queen of Productivity all week.
I planted so many new plants. There are roses and petunias and even a tree. I don't know if the tree will take. It was a transplant. This tree is one of those kinds that pops up unexpectedly, the kind that you can't kill. It's quite tall, and I massacred the roots in removing it from it's chosen spot under the eaves of my home. I took the thing out to the middle of the yard.

I painted my picnic table a stunning magenta (that's pink, boys), and put it in the front yard. I know that sounds horrifically white trash, but I am comfortable with that. We've used it, now that it's out of reach of the dogs. I crowned it with a marigold, and it looks quite inviting.

Also, I painted my bathroom at long last. It's a lovely pale blue, like a glacier in the sun. It makes me happy. The paint was a mis-mixed gallon that I found for 5$. Love that!

Anyway, now I have to be a real grown up, and actually pay bills and clean. That's the day's goal. So, why am I blogging instead.....?

Gettin' it done

Yesterday was a satisfying day.
My yard got mowed by two able bodied youth. I planted things. Kara came over to help me with the yard work and the baby. Soubanh did something to make my sprinklers work.
We took turns holding the baby and doing yard work. Me and Kara, not me and Soubanh.
My front yard is very near to being respectable.

Kara, I've discovered, is very adept at digging. It must have something to do with her personality. She has a way of digging her heels in figuratively, and she does seem to apply this to a shovel.
My personality likes to skip over things that are not fun. So, when I encountered difficulty with the shovel, I just called for Kara. We were a good team.

I love to have a lovely yard. I mean, I think I would love it. It's been so long, that I can scarcely remember.
My rebate check from the IRS has greatly aided my pursuit of beauty, though. I am envisioning statuary and fountains. The reality is that I now have bark, and a flower or two. Which is certainly an improvement, but rather far from the formal gardens I wish for.

There's more to be done today. I am all fired up to get outside and do something.

Also? I exercised yesterday. I know...don't faint. I went for a run that included a lot of walking.

Who knows what all I might get done today? Look out!

I decorate with Lysol

The kitchen floor is now clean-ish, which will bring you no small relief. I mopped it with an unknown substance from beneath my sink. The picture on the faded label resembled a sparkle, so I figured I couldn't go wrong. Usually, I mop with the bald man or a pine tree, but this was all I could find on short notice.

My old friend Heidi used to boil pine sol when company was coming so that her house would smell clean. Which? Whatever...her house is always clean anyway. She's in Virginia now. Weren't there tornadoes there last night? The boys and I watched the movie Twister last night on Don's new computer. That is one of the best movies ever made for one-liners. It has lines suitable for quoting in a wide variety of situations. I find that much funnier than it probably is.

That spray Lysol is great for sanitizing in a pinch. I use it on doorknobs, telephones, light switches and small children. Baby wipes are fantastic for quick bathroom cleaning, too. Those new-fangled expensive wipe things are over-rated. My mother sometimes carries little alcohol wipes when she goes in public. No, not that kind of alcohol. She kills germs. She is a sort of civil servant in that way.

My youngest child is a little OCD about germs. He was thrilled about having his own computer so that no one else's germs would touch his keyboard. I Lysol my keyboard. He also makes a mental note of anyone who doesn't wash their hands after using the bathroom. If we know you in real life, and you don't wash your hands, know this: You are much discussed at our house. And we're a little grossed out.

You would think with all this attention to the eradication of yuck, that I'd have a really clean house. Not so. Someday I will, though. I will have a gloriously decorated home with formal gardens and a fountain. I will have a library and a library ladder. I will have a Victorian parlor and we shall take our tea there in the afternoon, if it's too chilly on the veranda. In that day I will custom order tassels for every room from the Nester.

Do you think that Mr Clean is single?

Thou Shalt Not Complain

The unpacking is getting a little out of control. I have so much pretty stuff; have I mentioned this?
I want to display it ALL. My house is like one of those stores where they sell home decorating stuff, and you walk thru really slowly because every inch is an explosion of trinkets, and lace, and fabric, and frames. Oh, and weapons. And books, and teacups, and those big smelly candles. It's like one of those stores. I love it.
The down side to this profusion, is that it calls for a great deal of dusting.
There's another downside, which is that all this chaos in decorating means that any chaos in clutter is just over-the-top-overwhelming. The bottom line? My house is basically overwhelming. Kara! Come pack up some of this junk!

I have been hurtling headlong thru a very rapid passing of time. Have you had the same problem? April is in two weeks. That means we have... (how many?) shopping days until Christmas. Seriously! We are nearly at summer, then the school year again, and then holidays. I am only just now writing '08 on my checks. But summer is close, and that is something.

You know how I keep bragging about my whole weight loss pride? Well, I am wondering why I don't look better than I do. Could it be that I need to exercise? Or is it the age I am? It's very irritating. I am smaller, according to both the scale and the dress size, but I do not look 20. That was really the look I was going for.

I will soon be driving to California. Driving. I am afraid of this. There's bad guys out there on the open road. I am pretty sure my car will break down in the middle of nowhere, and we'll be killed at a rest stop, and our bodies will be consumed by some scavenger bird. Other than that, I am really excited about California. I am excited about being there, but not about going there, if you see what I mean. We will be seeing my Granny and Grandpa. Also my Aunt and Uncle. Also my Cousins. We have a wonderful family.

I need more coffee...

Errare humanum est

Needing a new camera

I had a fantastically productive day. Thanks for asking.






After hanging curtains in my office, and making up a shower curtain in my bathroom, I began to unpack. I was going to move back in October, so Kara and I packed up all kinds of stuff and put in in the garage. Today, I began unpacking.





I have more boxes filled with pretty stuff than Martha Stewart on her way to jail.


I collect tea cups. And tea sets. Actually, most anything porcelain or crystal.
I collect lovely old bibles. And pretty old books. Also, new books. I am a library unto myself.


I collect book ends. Love them. Because...duh! Book ends go with books, doncha know?


I collect antique linens. Like doillies. But then, you knew that.

I also have a spastic camera that will not take still shots of inanimate objects. I managed only these two shots of all the pictures I took. The others looked like the mirrors and bookcases were in rapid motion.

So, that was all I really had to say. G'night.

An SLB, and a window

Mistreatment is sweeping the Nation.
Have you read the Nester's Blog? Go look in my side bar and go read.
Everybody's doing it.
She doesn't do window treatments; she does mistreatments, which I think is witty as can be.
And the thing? It's contagious.
Seriously, it's fatal.
Read her blog enough, and you will become a widow mistreater.
I bought upholstery tacks, which are very cheap at Wal-Mart. Then, I started in on the fabric.
It's too much fun. Next, I have to actually commit to hanging the fabric. I am so afraid of that commitment. I'll work on photos once I do that. K? Because I know you're all breathless with the anticipation of my glorious windows.

Also? I am now a size 6. You know how I was complaining about my low self esteem because I was all chubby? Now I am an S.L.B. This stands for Skinny Little B.......eing, or something like that. My friend, Kris, coined the term. My self esteem seems to have improved, aka, I'm insufferable.
Do you have any idea how motivating weight loss can be? Never mind that I was all lazy and overeating to gain 25 pounds in the first place. Now I am a model of self control and virtue. I have 3 pounds to go. Now that I am all bragging about my slender self, I suppose God will punish me with chocolate. There was that line from The Devil Wears Prada, "I am just one stomach flu away from my goal weight." That's just gross. True, but gross.

I hope your day is full of all that makes you happy. Do something to delight the people God has placed within your scope of influence. Wouldn't it be fun if we could go out to lunch and chat in person about all the wonders of our lives?
Carpe Diem, friends.

Painting with a Sanguine

Introducing: the dark taupe from the hallway!
I started painting on a whim, and without a ladder. Then I got distracted. Someday soon I will move the piano and bring the ladder in from the garage. Then I shall resume.
Until then, don't look up.







My love-r-ly Opera House Red from the bathroom is on it's way out. I decided to begin covering it with a primer, so that I can explore my options there. Actually, I have a wallpaper that I would like to hang in there. But I might decided to paint, instead. Who knows?
















I did the whole thing with a brush instead of a roller. Just because I was having fun.
Do you know, somewhere in this process, I went into the boys bathroom and worked up their paint, also? They just needed a little freshening in there. To cover the urine smell. I wiped the walls and floor with bleach, and then painted.
I didn't take photos of their bathroom, though.






Yesterday was quite productive. Well see what I do with today.

This and That...and the other

I went to a real church again. Who wore panyhose and a vintage hat? Yep. I do things like that in public. And I wonder why I can't get a date.
This church is an enormous place. They have a campus. Each family is segregated by age before they even walk in the door. I have strong feelings about that, as you may recall. But I let D' go to a class with friends, anyway. That way I don't get too terribly self-rightous.

Yesterday, I got a wild hair and began painting my hallway. Painting is so much fun for me, and I never bother about details. This means that I do not tape. Ever. If you are the least bit particular about things being done correctly, then never paint with me. I'll make you crazy. I use a couple of old towels for drop-cloths, and I just move them around as I go. It makes for zero prep time and hardly any clean up. The color is a dark taupe, cool rather than warm. I bought it for $5 off the mismixed shell at fred Meyer. Love that shelf!
My house is an Easter basket of color. Each room is different. Some rooms have all different colored walls. Pink and chocolate, mauve and taupe, Terra cotta, blue, orange, green, and my bathroom is Opera House Red. Although, one day in a fit of decorating, I am going to hang green and white wallpaper in my bathroom instead. One of these days.

I was going to tell you about my publisher. Except, wait, I don't have one. Other than that minor detail, the book idea is going great! I was thinking about all the fantastic books that I am going to write so that I can support the kids and myself in the lap of luxury. I was going to begin with one on Poverty. Ironic, no? I could write on marriage and divorce and dating. I could write on living with an addict (a variety of addictions, take your pick). I could write on homosexuality, or infidelity, then one on single parenting, and then maybe do a devotional. Mostly non-fiction, I think.

The one thing I am not doing, apparently, is getting anything done. I need to go finish painting, or clean the house. Happy Sunday, friends.