And So It Was

My husband came home early a few months back and said, "Hey, I want to show you a house I looked at today." My husband looks at a lot of houses for his job, so I didn't immediately panic. Then he frightened me a lot by explaining that he thought I would really like it.

"You must have not heard me the last fifty-nine times I said I am not interested in moving," I calmly reminded him.
"I know, but at least look at it."

With a gentle huffing and puffing and a lot of pouting, I rode with him out to take a look. We walked in through the garage, through the kitchen, into the WALK IN PANTRY, looked out the back windows into the six acres of beauty and saw the two ponds in at the bottom of a gently sloping hill, and I said, "We need to make an offer on this right now."
"But you haven't even seen the whole place," he reminded me.
"I don't need to. This is home for us." My heart had told me so.

We called on the ride home to put in our offer and we mentally moved in. The next day the realtor called and said there were multiple offers and we probably weren't the highest. We didn't want to loose the house, but we didn't want to go bankrupt either, so we drowned our sorrow in a couple hot drinks at a coffee shop and mentally moved out. Three days later our realtor called and told us the house was ours.

So it happened.

Amen.

Burned Microwave For Supper

While making supper, my daughter burned something. The microwave. Literally.

She was trying to be helpful, bless her heart. Things have been a bit crazy and chaotic, so she wanted to help with supper. I really don't know what she was trying to make, but she got her Rachel Ray on and poured a bit of olive oil into a pan and set it on the stove to get warm. Then she diced some tomatoes and garlic. Then the problem occurred. She dropped the tomatoes into the hot olive oil. Instant fire erupted. 

At Makenna's scream of horror, I spun to see tall and mighty flames covering the stove top and engulfing the over-the-range microwave.

Panic ensued and we all did different things to put the fire out. Makenna screamed and danced at the fire, as if trying to scare it out of existence. Emery and my mom became hypnotized and gazed at the fire in a daze. I grabbed a pitcher but knew better than to pour water onto a grease fire, so I just ran at the fire with my empty pitcher. Seriously, I know you should throw flour on a grease fire, but when a raging fire is consuming your kitchen it really doesn't seem like a good time to drag the flour down from the top shelf of the pantry. I think the four will have a new home in our house from now on. I think it will live wherever Makenna happens to be. And I am also considering purchasing the world's largest fire extinguisher I can find on e-bay later today.

We got the fire out in spite of ourselves. Makenna refuses to cook ever again. Bless her heart.  

Friday the 13th

I love driving my youngest daughter to school. I love listening to her talk to her friend. I learn all kinds of things. Like which boy at school likes which girl, which teacher is the best, who the two of them are mad at, what color of nail polish is super cool. Sometimes their conversations crack me up and I can't wait for them to get out of the car so I can laugh without hurting their feelings.

Recently, they were talking about Friday the 13th. They were imagining what might happen on that spooky day. Emery said that maybe the sun would never rise and it would be dark all day. Her friend suggested that maybe zombies would roam the hallways at school and they would defeat the zombie hoard by throwing sharp pencils. Then Emery said, "Maybe the streets will be teeming with black cats." Teeming? Really? My daughter uses the word teeming in regular conversation?

I was very relieved when they stepped out of the car so I could let my laughter fly. However, in retrospect, it might not look good to the teachers that I drop off the girls and drive away laughing. I think I might be leaving the wrong impression.

Things get so complicated.

Gotta Chase A Dog

While the kids were all home enjoying a long winter break, I decided to bust out a puzzle. Puzzles are like wormholes in my family. They trap my kids and suck them in, utterly transporting them to the ice skating paradise in the picture on the box. They are helpless against the puzzle. They must finish it. So, I was surprised when Josiah left. I was surprised for many reasons. Surprised that he could be drawn away from the hypnotic grip of the puzzle, surprised because he silently and without explanation walked out the front door and vanished, but, mostly, surprised because he left the house barefoot and in his pajama shorts on a rather cold December day.

However, I was even more surprised when he returned thirty minutes later all dirty and bloody. 

"WHERE DID YOU GO? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU? WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING?" I asked, like only a caring, loving mother can scream at her child. 

"I had to chase a dog,"Josiah told me, like that should clear it all up.

"Whose dog?"

"A lost dog."

"Did the dog attack you?"

"No, I fell."

And, even though I tried my best to squeeze more details out of that boy, that was the entire story. 

Growing Up

It is hard, when raising kids, to know all the details you may need to explain to them. Like when Makenna was four and I asked her, "Why did you color all over your brother's head?" and she told me, "Because you never told me not to." Or when I was leaving the kids with a babysitter and I overheard Drake tell her, "I will never remember your name because I don't love you." Or when Josiah needed bigger shoes and asked me, "How do I upgrade these to the next level?" I guess some things just don't get addressed in the Here's How To Behave speech.

So, I wasn't surprised when it happened again, but it was a bit entertaining when Emery told me, "I think I am growing up and getting fat because lately sometimes when I put my jeans on or take them off I have to unbutton them." I didn't tell her that most Americans have to grease their bodies and jump into their jeans off of a roof. She will figure it out.

Nails

I have an entire drawer in my house brimming full of nail polish, cotton balls, polish remover, and files. This drawer gets used almost daily. Makenna has actually become quite a master at creating those tiny works of art worn to enhance the manicure. Emery is quickly perfecting the art and spends days performing each step so the end result is perfect.

Then, I happened to glance at Drake's thumb nail.  A deep gouge crossed it, and my stomach churned as  I envisioned what may have been the cause.  I thought that he might have bent it backwards.  Or he might have gotten it caught in one of the machines they use in his tech ed class at school or smashed it in a window.  I was sure it had to have hurt badly, and was surprised that he hadn't told me about it.

"Drake," I asked, dreading the answer, "what happened to your thumb nail?"
"What?" he looked at me blankly.
"Your thumb nail!" I gingerly grabbed his hand and winced at the gouge. "What happened?"
"Oh, that," he smiled. "A while ago I used a knife to saw a line across it, and I have been measuring it everyday to see how fast it grows."

Horrifying or brilliant? Still deciding.

Terrifying Traffic

Driving alongside semi trucks is a bit intimidating. I learned, today, that driving alongside semi trucks in a double turn lane is like asking for death.

Thankfully, my husband was driving. I react.

First of all, double turn lanes freak me out. There are cars beside you and cars coming toward you as you try to perfectly navigate the geometrical challenge. It is terrifying. In our case, though, there were semi trucks next to us and semi trucks coming at us as we attempted to defy death. The truck next to us needed much more room than his lane allowed, so he decided to find that extra space in the lane we happened to be in. He just came right on over smashing us into whatever they call that wide curb in the middle of the road that separates traffic moving in opposite directions.

I did what anyone would have done. I grabbed a fist full of skin from my husband's bicep and screamed, "THIS IS ALARMING!" I blame the next part on the adreneline coursing from my hair follicles to my toenails. I laughed. And I mean I belly laughed. I laughed so hard I couldn't speak and I could barely breathe.

"That huge semi is only mildly frightening compared to your scary reactions," my husband said.

That made me feel powerful.