Snow Day and Seven

We're having a snow day, which is funny, because there's no snow. Our snow day looks like this:

Except you can't really see how blue the sky is in this picture. But please, notice the green grass.

It's fine with me, though, because it's given me some extra time with my Small One. You'd think that after the crazy debacle of sick days that was December, and a winter break that's lasted from before Christmas all the way to Epiphany, I'd be tired of hanging out with her, but no, I hardly ever get tired of that. She's a few of my favorite things, rolled into one little person, funny, smart, and engaging.

We played hide and seek today. There aren't a lot of great places for a grown-up to hide in our house, especially when Small insists on counting so FAST, so I was deeply gratified when I found one that almost stumped her. She ran past my hiding spot in the shower many times, and even enlisted my dogs in the search -"Got the scent, boys? Go find her!" My dogs, in case you're wondering, are terrible trackers. They're more slobbery snugglers than detective dogs, as was evident as they spent 10 minutes running back and forth 5 feet from where I was sitting, following Small. To be fair, when I asked her what she let them smell to get the scent, she said "Me! Because I smell like you! Because we're both humans."

She makes me laugh all day, with her view of the world. She also makes me take deep breaths, because she's seven. Seven is such a strange age, straddling big kid and baby, still young enough to want to sleep in our room after a nightmare, but old enough to get highly offended if anyone refers to her as "little". She wants to help, wants to do everything herself, and in order for her to succeed, I really have to be at the top of my game. All the time. Patiently. I have to remind myself that it's really important for her to have the opportunity to set things right after she spills something, even though I know I could cut out the middle-man and just clean it up myself, which I'll do anyway, after she does it and when she's not looking.

The Man, who has always been incredibly patient with her, is not having the best time with this right now, and it's causing conflict and tears. It makes me sorry for them, and I try to help without interfering, because he's not around her as much as I am, and I don't think he quite "gets" it. That's her complaint, all the time, by the way. "Daddy doesn't get it!" "You just don't GET it, Dad!". It makes me giggle, though not in front of her. To her I say, "No, ma'am, you do not speak to your father that way." But she's right, he doesn't.

It's ok, he will. And I will. And by the time we master 7, she'll be 8.

He's Rick James

I realized that since I took my almost full year off from this blog, we've acquired a new family member. The thought occurred to me when I published yesterday's post, because I realized he was prominently featured, but I have yet to introduce him.

I'm not talking about this guy...

 

 ...because he's been here since the beginning.

 

And I don't mean either of these guys...

...because you've certainly met this one...

...and this one actually belongs to MC, and only sometimes comes to Grannycamp at my house. 

Nope, the handsome fellow who has recently joined our Creature collection is this one:

Rick James. 

Yep, you read it right, he's named after the inimitable singer of such classics as "Give it to Me, Baby" and "Superfreak". When the Man initially suggested the name, I thought he was being unkind, but then I suddenly saw it. And, well...

 He's Rick James.
(photo credit: Raymond Boyd/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images)

While the human Rick James may have had some issues, morally speaking, and may have made some regrettable choices, our Rick James was apparently put on earth to love our family. 

Sweetest dog on earth. We rescued him when his prior owner couldn't keep him, only to discover down the road that this lovable middle aged pooch (he's 8 years old, just like Teddy) came to us with heartworms. Given that Cavaliers are not known for strong hearts, and this one already has a murmur, this was not good news. We're treating him, remaining hopeful, and giving him as much love and attention as we possibly can, though not as many treats as he requests, because his requesting is perpetual. This is his treat face:

So obviously, he gets a fair number. Perhaps more than necessary.

All in all, we're enjoying having him with us, for however long he's with us, which we, of course, hope amounts to many years. In the meantime, he'll snuggle cats, and pal around with his dog brother...

 ...and you can rest assured that Small One will keep him well-outfitted.

Sunday is the Day of Rest

 

...especially when it's so cold outside! Goodnight, Creatures everywhere.

Saturday Night

In an attempt to have a life and not feel ancient, I went out tonight. I realize that, to some people, going out is a fairly run of the mill happening, but for me, it's pretty rare. Tonight, I went with some of my oldest and dearest friends to see the Indigo Girls, which was big fun. Upon learning that two of my other friends were going to be playing a later show together, I decided to make it a double-header,and I even talked the Man into meeting me out. This was an epic feat, because if there's anyone who likes staying home more than I do, it's the Man. In fact, out mutual hermit-like leanings may be part of what keeps us together. Complicating matters was the fact that I've since Tuesday. In fact, my fever only broke this morning, and I'm pretty sure it spiked again during the first show of the night. No matter, I was going to tough it out no matter what, and then go be supportive of my friends, as well. The second venue was pretty loud. The first band we'd come to hear played, and I successfully battled the urge to sit down and put my head on the table. I got a chance to hang out with the Man, and chat with our friends between sets, and it was nice. But as the second band got a little way into their set, I started feeling rather unwell, and thinking that I really needed to go home and lie down. The problem was, I was standing right next to the musician friend's wife, of whom I am extremely fond, and I felt rather losery, ducking out after only 3 or 4 songs. I mean, sheesh, what am I, some old lady who can't even hang past midnight any more, and who thinks the music's too loud? Thinking these sorts of self deprecating thoughts, I turned to her and tried to think of a graceful exit line. She leaned toward me and said, "I'm not going to make it much longer! It's so loud, and I'm really tired." So I guess the moral of the story is, the great thing about getting older is that my friends are apparently doing it too.

Photo Friday

I'm not really making resolutions this year. No to-do list, no lofty ambitions. As I said before, I'm desiring and expecting a year of success and grace for all of us. But also, I plan to fully revel in joy. That's my list, plain and simple... success, grace, and joy. Can't help but think they're all connected.

Small One helps me remember to embrace joy, because she embodies it, no matter what she's doing.

I wish that for all of you, too. The kind of ebullient, exuberant, joy that leaves you with a bounce in your step and an open mouthed smile. And on that note, happy Friday!

The Not Quite Empty Nest

It's a strange familial situation we've created here, with two who've already flown the coop and one who's just a peep. Most of the time I'm fine with it, because it's the natural order of things, right? They grow up and leave, and really, that's our job, isn't it? To get them ready to leave? My older two are pretty independent. They don't ask for much, but on the other hand, they're not around much, either.

They were here at Christmas, they and their significant others, and I remembered how much fun it is, for the most part, to have a house full of family. It was only for a day, though, and once they left everything seemed very quiet. This week, I've been sick, and Small has seemed smaller and lonely. She misses them, and so do I.

She voices it pretty often, how much she misses them. She'll say to strangers, "My brother and sister don't live with us, and it's very sad." I'll jokingly reply, "Agree to disagree!" But really, it is and it isn't. Time marches on, they're finding their feet, and she has a distinct advantage that neither of them had- she gets to be an only child. All of her parents' attention is hers for the taking, she's doted on as only a precocious singleton can be, but on the other hand, when the parents are working, she doesn't have the easy camaraderie of a sibling.

I miss both of my children, but I will say this- I wish MC had given us a little more time. She was so eager to be out on her own, she left the minute she could, and I get it, but I wish she understood how long she has to be an adult, and how precious the time is before that. I miss these girls:

More than anything, the absence of my big kids makes me extremely cognizant of the swift passage of time. When they were little, and things were so hectic, life seemed hard and days seemed long. Yet in the end, I blinked, and they were gone. It's a lesson to me, to make all the days count, to savor this time. This year, my Small One will be eight years old. Eight! I have no idea how that happened. It seems just a minute ago that my Oldest was eight.

I don't believe in dwelling in negative thought. I can't let myself get too caught up in thinking about the things I miss. Rather, I'll relish the time we do have together, and hope that in the future, the visits will be more frequent and of longer duration.

And in the meantime, I'll remember to enjoy the times they're here, and how much they love their little sister, who really isn't an only child after all.

Random Thoughts at the Beginning of a New Year

Well, it's 2014, and I think I posted once here in 2013, so what's my logical conclusion? I should post every day in January, and join NaBloPoMo. Am I crazy? (Is that a rhetorical question?)

What to say, on this New Year's Day? 2013 was a mixed bag, and as I paused last night to reflect on it, I found that my overwhelming urge was not to do it. Instead, I just feel like plunging forward into the new, and leaving the old behind, in the past, where it belongs. 2013 was certainly a year of growth and change, and I feel that my own perspective shifted in ways I can't explain, and don't really want to explain.

2014, I firmly believe, is going to be a year of success. That's my proclamation, for me, and for those I love. Professional, personal, private, public success. That is what we're going for, all of us... this is what I'm decreeing.

My babies will be 24, 20, and 8 this year. Time is marching forward at an unbelievable pace, and I need to remember to use it wisely, for the things that are really important to me. I can't wait to see what the year brings all of us, and how these people who are so precious to me grow, change, and progress in 2014. Everything is changing, has been changing, and I find change difficult, but I have to remember that even painful changes are good, because they move us along.

This is probably the most introspective post I've published here, and I promise I won't keep up the introspection, but please just indulge me for today. The theme of the month for NaBloPoMo is "pressure", but to be honest, I'm tired of pressure. Of applying it, of being under it, of feeling it. I'm ready to get past the breakers, to where it's smooth. I want a year of grace, not another year of pressure.

So that's what I'm going for, and that's what I wish for all of you. Good changes, success in all of your endeavors, and grace. May this be the year that we fully experience the grace of God, live in grace, and extend that grace to others. Happy New Year, everybody.

Mousie Men are Sitting on the Cure for AIDS

When I started this blog, my household included two adolescents, a toddler, two old-ish cats and a young-ish dog. (And Sputnik the hamster, may he rest in peace, though he only figured largely into stories when he was missing or dead, so you can draw your own conclusions about that.) These days, our older kids have moved away, making Small One pretty much an only child, and she's in 1st grade, making her not such a Small One any more, but for our purposes, that's how she'll forever be known.

Our animal household has shifted, as well, due to the passing of our kitties, and we now have two old-ish dogs and a young-ish cat. (And Rosie the fish, though, like Sputnik, I can't imagine she'll loom too large unless she dies. Or escapes. But that's unlikely. But it would make a good story, for sure!)

Unfortunately, this year we've also been dealing with some unwanted furry occupants of our home, in the form of mice and (shudder) rats. Now, I know rats are supposed to be excellent pets, etc, etc, and I've known some mice personally (I'm thinking of you, Carvis Williams, Carvis Williams Jr, Carvis Williams III, and Mink Livsey) but these are not domesticated rodents. These are the roof rats and other unpleasant creatures, sneaking into my house from underneath and above, causing general mayhem. In short, they've got to go.

It all began when I noticed a few droppings under my sink in the kitchen, next to the garbage can. Not being brutal people, we put a no-kill trap under there, and moved the garbage can out, and waited. Nothing. A few more droppings, but we did not see any movement, and what they left behind was so small that we could only assume it was mice. Now, I know mice can carry diseases and all that, but they're awfully cute, and really, the Cinderella in me wants to make them little pants and teach them how to sew. However, when the Man picked up an unopened box of crackers and discovered that it was empty, I knew we had to draw the line. (Not that I didn't admire the accomplishment- sneaking an entire box of Cheeze-Its out through a dime sized hole in the bottom of the box is quite a feat.)

Enter the Mousie Men. I could call them exterminators, or pest control guys, but around here, we prefer the term Mousie Men, because it sounds friendlier. I asked my friendly pest guy (that's, as we say in the South, a whole nother story) for advice on rodent control, and he directed me to his company's team of trained Mousie Men, who came confidently clomping all around my home, and informed me that we'd be rodent free in 2 weeks or less.

So, yeah. That was 3 months ago. And in an upcoming post, I'll tell you why I'm sitting here right now, listening to an entirely new to me Mousie Man clang around in my crawl space.

But in the meantime, I will tell you about a bright shining moment in the Mousie Man experience. See, my kitchen was so afflicted by the rodents that I ended up having to stop using a third of my already woefully inadequate kitchen cabinet space. Understandably distressed, I was talking to the head Mousie Man about their process, and whether I'd ever feel comfortable putting things back into my kitchen cabinets.

"Don't worry, " he said, "because we come in here, we seal everything up, we set out traps, and we clean everything with this extremely powerful disinfectant. I mean, it kills every germ you can imagine." Here, he lowered his voice, about to impart to me a secret previously known only to Mousie Men and their kin... "It kills the AIDS virus."

Does it? Is it possible that Mousie Men know how to cure AIDS and just haven't passed along this information to the NIH and the CDC yet?

magic moving moments

During every move, a pivotal moment is reached. You know the one I mean, where you swear never to go through this again, and you lament not leaving the place fully furnished and buying new stuff at your new house? I absolutely reached that point today, moving angst made worse by a pulled back, and to top it off, the Man left our moving van, which seemed way too small for the Herculean task of holding our belongings, to go across the street to help a neighbor!   (grumble grumble)

Lo and behold! A couple of hours later the neighbor and her friend came back to help us! Even better, her friend is like a moving van genius, some sort of miracle worker in the game of moving Tetris.

Lesson learned, and thank you, God, for a husband with such a generous spirit.

Friday Again, and You Know What That Means...

Looking through photos I've posted to this blog, I discovered that I've posted several of sleeping creatures, mostly Small One. So, in honor of how exhausted I am this week, I give you a collection of candid sleepy shots...

Two weeks old, sleeping while Daddy dotes

 

A little older, but still loving the Dad snuggle

 

Sacked out with her uncle, after some strenuous dancing at the other uncle's wedding

 

Sammy's not really sleeping, but I couldn't resist this picture of him, all tucked in. We still miss you, Sammy!

 

Of course, as everyone knows, the most relaxing way to sleep is on Dad's head.

 And last but not least, one of my favorite "sacked out" shots.

And with that, I'm off... hoping to get some rest before moving day, tomorrow.