Clarifying Questions

First, let me set the scene.  Last night Phil was next door discussing a project with our neighbor, Sam.  Sam and Mary live there, and they are very nice but not people we click with.  They hold drumming and bonfire parties for almost every solstice and shoot off fireworks that are a delight to our kids. (I know so little of them, that I'm not even sure of the last name.)  Well, tonight I tried to reach Phil about 4:30 pm to lobby for him to pick up a pizza on his way home.  Alas, when your husband is rolling trusses he's not frequent with the phone answering (unless it's the emergency code of wife: you know, two close together calls).

We had nothing in the house for dinner, but when Phil and I finally connected he right away turned around to run one errand for me, and I didn't have the heart to mention a pizza errand too.  However, I lamented, "I'm pathetic, we have nothing to eat for dinner.  I'm *planning* tomato soup and grilled cheese".  Phil loves these foods, and is gracious, and was hungry enough to eat straight Velveeta cheese like product, so he (I'm not kidding) cheerfully replied, "I'll make that as soon as I get home". He could hear Sean wailing in the background, and I'm sure, sense the thin ice in my voice.

Turns out we didn't even have good bread for grilled cheese.  So, after our gourmet cheese quesadillas and tomato soup (can we talk about have psyched the boys were for this meal???), I fed Sean and then gave him bath in his new wash pod (for which he coos his love, and sobs his distress at being separated from), then Phil took him on a little walk about outside.  

As I was later clearing the table, Phil told me about his walk with Sean: "I took him around and we saw Mary.  But I didn't get too close.  Mary smelled Sean's feet, but I pulled him away before she licked them".

WHAT!??

Now, when Sean was super squeaky new people kept telling anybody who would listen to smell his head.  But his feet?  I hadn't heard anyone comment on his sweet feet . . . and I know that Sam and Mary sort of move to the beat of a different drum than we do . . . but . . .

Trying to hide how creeped out I was suddenly feeling, and miraculously managing not to curl my lip as I monotone-ly said, "Sam and Mary, Mary?"

Phil replied: "Mary, our cow".

And, people, that's why you only give your livestock animal-names.

My and my pregnant friends

I'm enjoying watching shows with pregnant woman. Funny how much is true (for me), and fun, too, how much is out in left field.

Today, I made a quick trip into Winco just before Logos morning pick-up. From a distance I saw a fellow mom I know--but avoided chit-chatting since I had to dash. Then I saw another mom who was dashing my way! Busy time, pick-up time.

Then, I darted to my car, a black Pilot, joyous that my parking spot was even closer than I remembered. I got in, set my little sack of groceries next to me in the passenger seat, as I wondered why in the world I'd had my seat so close on the drive to Winco. As I reached to adjust the seat, I happened to catch a peripheral glance at the back seat--where a PINK carseat caught my eye. Now, I only have sons, and I'm not so frugal that I'd clamor for a deal of a pink seat.

I was in Shawna's car. That nice fellow mom I'd been unable to chit-chat with inside. Quickly I got out, and found my own car; which was not as tidy as Shawna's . . . that should have tipped me off!

Blomberg Dishwasher

 

Deraneleau's had at me at plastics can go on the bottom rack.

Just a quick trip . . .

 A week or so ago I talked my sweet neighbor into joining us at the u-pick flower garden. "Just a quick trip!" I promised. It turned out to be more of a re-confirmation of many truths:

*God will, on occasion, take my day in a direction I wasn't anticipating.
*Small mercies in the midst of a trial are refreshing.
*Keeping your sense of humor is a must.

We sped along the Old Pullman Highway and after a ways of gravel driving, we heard a big clunking sound. Not one to let any sort of outside sounds inhibit conversation I kept chatting away. Oh, how good that Holly was there and had some sense. She pointed out that that hadn't sounded good. I gave a chatty, "Oh yeah?" response, and kept up with what I'm sure was some fantastic storytelling. Holly wasn't to be deterred, and convinced me to stop.

Locals know that lovely "round barn". We pulled into the nearest driveway, which happened to be on the south side of the road and happened to lead up to the round barn. Yikes! Talk about a flat tire. Once we realized how flat it was, I moved the car aside to make room for cars to pass, and we saw this enormous object lodged in the tire. I have to add that as soon as I realized that the tire was flat, I was reduced to hysterical laughter. This whole thing seemed just so funny to me. The one time I promised a quick trip!

Holly was very practical and inquired about the spare tire and said she thought we could manage it. I looked at her as if she suggested performing open-heart-surgery, and said, "Oh, umm, I'll just call Phil". Thank you for cell reception.

Providence was so kind, and being stranded at the round barn driveway meant we were just a short trek from the flower garden. So we sunscreened the kiddos, grabbed our flower bucket, and railroad tracks were even provided so we didn't have to herd exuberant children along a road. We merrily descended upon Jane. Holly took a picture of me cutting peonies (my favorite flower ever), while way in the left background, just to the left of the trees you can sort of see Phil's truck (if you know it's there). So while we joyfully picked flowers and the kids sandboxed it up, Phil plugged a huge hole in my tire.

Then he came and got me and I came and got the crew. Regrettably, the plug wouldn't take, and after maybe five minutes of driving the plug completely dislodged, and Holly heard that unmistakable flat-flat tire sound. Phil had had the foresight to follow us. And then the tricky spare had to be dislodged. If only it hadn't been a busy day for the gravel road--all four kids would have enjoyed watching the tire change--when the car was way-high jacked up the kids were thrilled and called out "again"!

All and all a good day, a good story, a new tire, and friends invited us over for dinner that night . . . but Phil did point out that he didn't consider u-pick flowers to be that much of deal.

Camping Out or a Zombie and a Whirling Dervish

 

We thought we'd ease into family camping, by camping out the Friday night before Father's Day, in Uncle Dan & Aunt Kristine's West Richland backyard. We invited ourselves. We had no idea that their house addition had turned things upside-down. Graciously, they'd welcomed us and set up a killer fire-pit for s'mores and things.

Bryce and Deacon were impressed by Colton's array of outdoor toys (Deacon pretended to ride the four wheeler for oh so long). When Colton and the neighbor boys brought out his remote control race car for a game of case you could have heard the pleased squeals of joy for miles! (It made me almost long for our own culdesac and yards and yards of pavement.) Before dark we got our new tent set-up (a great Costco deal), and ate pizza by the fire and then got ready for s'mores--which were so, so good, and we accidentally let the kids stay up at least two hours past bedtime . . .

Everything went down hill from that one novice camper mistake. First of all, can I just say that I have no idea why my husband ever listens me. I had insisted that I didn't want to sleep on a cot or an air mattress. I said that one night of sleep the tent floor in my sleeping bag would be fine. Well, throw in Deacon doing his best and most accurate impression of a whirling dervish and you wind up with the most dreadful night's sleep I can ever remember. The frosting was that though he went to bed well after the sun, Deacon woke up with the sun, no doubt to resume whirling. I pulled out all the tricks up my sleeve: covering my head with my sleeping bag, telling Deacon to cover his head with his sleeping bag, finally sending Deacon into the house to play (aren't I great guest).

It turned out that I went to bed a normal human being, and woke up a barely civil zombie. I think I talked to people, I might have smiled out of habit once or twice. Regrettably for all involved Phil didn't leave me in the car when we arrived at cousin, Kade's, house for a lovely barbecue in honor of Father's Day. It was all I could do to not fall asleep standing up. I tried to converse with others, but should have just stuck my head in a water barrel and called it good. Phil's gracious sister did up a lovely, long post full of photos, here; it was a lovely day (cool and breezy) with delicious food and homemade pies. I'm family so they have to invite me to things again, but now at least they'll know to have a water barrel handy.

Knock on wood . . .

 

[this is from late March, but it got lost in the shuffle]
We (as in Phil) won't have to undertake any further septic engineering. The boys love, love, loved it! And Phil is amazing; he didn't even complain once--not even once.

Catfood indeed

We love the Pilot. Love, love, love it. Of late though, it was trying our patience, having developed a tick on the front passenger side when the dash fan was place anywhere above 3 (of 7). As the seats have a heat function, this was not such a big deal, unless of course I'd made us late for church and we really, truly, quickly needed some mad defrosting. The fan's tick next decided to advance into the jet engine mode, which was off-putting, as I expected to have a fan shoot off the dash and do a bully smack on my face.

This Sunday we were not late for church (yay for firsts), and thankfully (sort of) it was a nice day and the windows could be down, because Phil nearly wretched gagging on what he called a cat food smell. Apparently, the slow thaw we've been enjoying, had slowly acclimated my nose to said cat food smell, because I smelled nothing, and thought he was a little crazy.

This morning, I told Phil that this whole tick/jet engine business had yesterday progressed to the point where on 1 the fan did it's new thing. So he prepared himself for a yucky day of tearing apart the dash and fixing things (with our fingers crossed that these things would not got the way of our recent washing machine adventure).

A very short time later, an animated Phil appeared in the kitchen, racing through the story of the dash. I prepared myself for the worst (I do not want to drive the Subaru ever again after the elk-hunting/elk scent mishap of '09). "Oh no," I fretted, "what was it? What is it? Can it be fixed?"

He held up something between pliers. Having the close personal relationship that I do with the dryer lint trap, I took the massive, yucky grey rainbow, oblong clump for the accordioned fiber lint trap mass it resembled. The pliers should have been my clue that this was no innocently dusty bit of lint.
"A mouse!" Phil excitedly declared shaking the pliers to make something waggle, "his tail was dried and was thumping the fan".

Catfood indeed.

And she falters

I'm helping out with a fundraiser at Bryce's school, by procuring silent auction donations. So far I've contacted about 50 businesses (via email, phone, and in person with my cute kids--it helped that that was the day Bryce had on his swanky dress uniform oxford and tie).

Only once, have I balked at this task. It was on my first day--when I still felt all perky and was channeling Mary Hart. I dialed my hair dresser.
Here's how the conversation went:

ring ring ring
Her: A Heavenly Salon. This is Sandy.
Me: Hi Sandy! This is Lauren McMurray. How are you?
Her: Good! How you doing girl?
Me: Great! I was calling . . . .
[here's my cue! talk about Bryce's school! remember she thinks your kids are cute!]
. . . um, I was calling . . . um, do you remember . . . well, I uh . . . I was calling to schedule a haircut.
Her: Okay! That's great! How about tomorrow at 4pm?
Me: Sure! See you then!
[console myself: "It will better to ask in person anyways"]

Tomorrow came and went: I forgot. I stood her up. Now I think I need a new hairdresser. Phil thinks I can still call and explain everything. Aaaghh. Maybe I'll buy a flurbee.

Water!

After a rather trying day yesterday, we awoke and enjoyed the normal life until about 8:30 am, when we discovered that our water wasn't working. Turns out a pipe on our new well had frozen. Phil tirelessly worked to fix things, only it turned out that the biggest ingredient was waiting. . . hours later (11), after a quickly rigged pump-house later, plus a pump-house repair later (thanks curious cattle), that musical trickling of water could be heard.
As usual, Phil bore all the heavy burdens of today . . . I actually just got to have a day devoted to baking and cooking with no reason to worry about the washing up. Talk about a good day for me.
And while we're at it, three cheers for Clorox wipes and hand sanitizer!

Hysterical Laughter

 

Thanks to the fantastic wind storm of last Monday, we've already had no power and no water this month . . . so yesterday (Monday again) was thinking, How could I possibly top last week?

Blizzard plus a nighttime septic surprise!
Hahahahaha!

Ooops!

This was the sort of day that had me thanking God for keeping me in good (laughing) humor, as well for the small mercies wrapped into each bit of chaos, and for Phil for being such a good sport about it all.

1ST: We arrived a day early to Bryce's dental appointment. Ha!  
2ND: I used the tail end of Deacon's nap to start painting the kitchen and ended up pouring paint all down myself (shirt to shoes) . . . not to mention the counter top, floor, and dishwasher.  Near hysterical laughter!
3RD: I grabbed the wrong sized pull-up for Deacon's nap (which he took on our bed) and he ended up wetting our bed down through to our mattress pad.  Very thankful that Deacon didn't wake up until after I'd cleaned up the paint;  frozen pizza for dinner!