Merry Merry

We are tucked in at home with our children and our new toys, just basking in the quiet of the day after Christmas. Yesterday was the perfect combination of busy and visit-y, the smiles from our littlest ones lighting up the holiday better than even that one particular house on Glen Street.

And though we had everything we need - love, a home, our children, clean water, food - before the holiday, we are now quite spoiled with gifts that were thoughtful, inspired, and just plain decadent. So it felt really, really good to throw our money into a hat for those who might not be so lucky. Big Brothers/Big Sisters won our lottery this year; it was "my" charity* for the second year in a row (I swear I don't have it rigged) and though all of the entries were worthy, this one holds a special place in my heart.

Merry Christmas, everyone!


*Oliver, this one was for you, because although he was supposed to be making a difference in your life, you made a difference in all of ours. We've never forgotten you...your determination, your ability to survive the worst, and your beautiful smile.

You Are My Sunshine

We rise early, in the dark, and shuffle through our morning’s worth of controlled chaos that is the much the same as yours but ours alone.  We struggle into boots, jackets, mittens, and hats.  I remind them, for the umpteenth time, that we are going to be late and I wonder why it is that we are always rushing.  We rush to get ready, rush to get out of the door, rush to get to the classroom, with a stream of hurry-ups rushing from my mouth.  What my heart wants to do is pull them in, keep them close, to sit together on the big couch in our pajamas and read a gazillion books to each other.  It feels wrong to be heading out the door with my littlest ones when the sun has not yet appeared, but go we must and so we do. 
Each clear morning as we drive across town to school the sun peeks over the horizon.  Today it was spectacular, hidden at first behind clouds that were tinged with gold until it finally broke through to shine upon us and this little city we live in.  The light glanced off the faces of the buildings in town: the library, the stores of our friends, the coffee shops and restaurants were all aglow.  I pointed it out to Harry and Emma and we all watched, entranced by the first rays of the day.  It was silent in the car as we took it in, but finally Harry’s voice broke the silence:  “That part there in the middle -  the brightest spot – that part is where God is.”  The light changed and our car had to move along, but that moment stuck with me all day.  I stopped regretting our early mornings and started to think about how if we had slept in and stayed at home in our pajamas I would have missed this glimpse into his soul.  I might have missed knowing that he finds God in the sunshine. 
Today, I am remembering that my children are the brightest spots in the middle of my life.  I am slowing down to just be with them.  And if we are perpetually late for kindergarten because we make a habit of stopping to watch the sun come up together, so be it.  You can’t rush the sunrise.

Curtains!

The dining/living room is getting there!  The curtains are finished and hung and the furniture is more or less where we want it now.  We still would like to tweak things here and there: different artwork on the walls, perhaps someday a new sofa, like this one.  But the room is livable, the perfect place to snuggle up with tea and a good book.  We love it!

Before:

After:

Before:

 

After:

Before:

After:

    

Outtakes

What we were going for was this:

…or this:

But really and truly, I think the following shots better illustrate the essence of five-almost-six and four:
 


 
The outtakes always tell the better story, don’t they?

Holiday bonus

It started a few years ago.  We were all used to rushing around and trying to find something meaningful yet within budget to give one another: something pretty for Mom, something outdoorsy for Mike, something cool and interesting for my brother and his girlfriend  (now wife), something useful for Grandma Ann, as well as a little something here and there for everyone else who happened to join in our celebration that given year.  As it turns out, it is not so easy to churn out meaningful, useful, yet budget-able gifts year after year for the same people.  As it does for so many families, Christmas had become about the gifts, not about spending time with one another, or appreciating the season, or even lending a nod to the actual event which we were supposed to be celebrating.

Finally, someone said stop.

It might have been my Mom, or me, or someone else…I can’t remember.  But what followed the stop was something that brought a little meaning back to our holiday.  We decided, as a family, to nix the gifts.  The little kids (so far only my own two) still get a little something special, but the rest of us bring only our checkbooks or a handful of cash and our Christmas spirit.  Some people donate more than others and we don’t keep track of who brought what; we each donate what we can and that is enough.  We throw all of the money into a jar and as our holiday gathering gets underway, we each take a few moments to write down the name of a charity on a slip of paper.  We don’t limit the selection to local organizations, just whatever charity we each hold dear to our hearts.  We have had charities ranging from local soup kitchens and crisis pregnancy centers to homes for AIDS orphans in Ethiopia.  It’s a mixed bag of organizations that try to do good in the world, and we always find it interesting to see what everyone else has written down.

The names go in a basket, and before we part ways for other celebrations, gatherings, or quiet reflection, one of the littlest among us will choose a name from the slips of paper and all of the money we’ve collected goes to that charity.  The check is usually substantial, a Holiday bonus for an organization that has probably never heard of any of us.  A Holiday bonus that buys diapers or baby cribs or anti-retroviral medication or the simplest gift of all: food for the hungry.

And it is a Holiday bonus for all of us, too.  We don’t spend as much time at the mall, which means we can spend more time with those we love.  We have less stress, less panic over finding just the right thing.  Instead of ripping through a mountain of paper and ribbons and trying to feign excitement for something that we truly don’t want or need, we talk and laugh and tell stories and make memories.  And you know what?  It feels good.  It feels good to know that instead of another sweater or pair of earrings, someone who actually has need is going to be helped.  That is the very best Holiday bonus I can think of.


It’s Madhouse Wednesday…er, Thursday? I am always so late.   Here are the others who play along…some every week, others when they can (and some habitually late, but I won’t mention any names…ahem).  You can join in the fun, too!  Let me know if you want in and we’ll get your blog added to the list.
Allison – Allimonster Speaks
Barb – Spencer Hill Spinning & Dyeing
Batty – Batty’s Adventures in Spooky Knitting
Dave – Notes from the Field
Eileen - Art Deco Diva Knits
Evil Twin’s Wife – The Glamorous Life of a Hausfrau
G – Not-A-Box
Heather – She Flies With Her Own Wings
Jennifer – Ask Poops, Please
JMLC – Daydreams and Ruminations
Kate – One More Thing
LC – LC in Sunny So Cal
Louise – Child of Grace
Marcy – Mittentime
Melanie – usually, things happen
Nikki – Land of the Free, Home of the Depressed
Sara – yoyu mama

Mama’s Got a Brand New Bag

 

I never put away the sewing mess left behind from the great curtain project of 2010*  and I finally decided yesterday that if it was going to take up my entire dining room then then my sewing machine and it’s accomplices ought to be useful.  Did I create a flurry of handmade Christmas gifts?  No.  Did I finish sewing the Roman shades for the kitchen?  No.  I sat down with 1/2 yard of Amy Butler fabric from my stash and whipped up a bag.  For myself.  Oh, selfish selfish Mama!

I didn’t use a pattern for this, just sketched out a shape on paper and cut the pieces the way I knew they would fit, making an open topped messenger bag of the sort that I have been wishing for for months now. 

 

A little flap and magnet closure will hopefully keep things from spilling out too much, while still allowing me to slip my hand inside quickly for wallet, shopping list, cell phone, etc. 

 

It also has a nice wide strap that is reinforced with heavy duty fusible interfacing.  I tend to wear my bags out, so beefing this one up a bit was important.

 

Now, if we could all get well from this wicked pneumonia I would be able to get out shopping and try this new bag out! 

*pictures of the new curtains coming when I finally have four people free from pneumonia and have thoroughly cleaned the house. 

Morning Girl

She gets up so early. 
It is dark outside, the dogs are fast asleep, I am fast asleep, and her brother is still snoring away, but Emma is up and cheerful and ready to chat up her Dad before he heads off to work.  She likes having him all to herself for those precious moments in the morning.  I think she enjoys the quiet house at that hour, when the choice of where to sit is hers alone with no one to bargain or argue with her.  The choice of what to do belongs to her as well…she can watch NickJr without her brother constantly trying to convince her that a Star Wars movie would be a far better choice.  So much of her day is dictated by the whims of Harry, but the early morning belongs to her. 
When Brendan comes to kiss me goodbye at the early early hour of 6:10 he gives me the Emma Report:  Emma has already had breakfast and is watching cartoons or Emma is in the bathroom or Emma is reading in the living room or Emma is having oatmeal.  She is content to stick with whatever activity she has chosen for the little while it takes me to fully wake up and come downstairs, at which point she will call out a sunny, eager “Good morning, Mom!” as if she has been waiting around just to see me.  This girl knows how to make you feel special.
If we set out her clothes the night before, Emma will be up and dressed and ready for the day before I have had the first sip of my tea.  She tells me about her dreams the night before (often involving getting lost when following a stray cat, but being saved by Daddy and of course the cat comes home with her), about her ideas for the day ahead, and more often than not she will tell me, without any trace of laughter, “Mom, you look very beautiful today”.  This to my bed-headed, rumpled pajama, sheet marks still criss-crossing my face, half asleep self, but the seriousness in her delivery makes me believe it, too.  I love seeing myself through her eyes. 
Finally, an hour or so later, Sir Harrison will stumble down the stairs, groggy and cozy and still smelling of little boy sleep, and her wakefulness will be too much for him.  He will curl into me, trying to twist his lengthy leggy-ness into a pretzel that will still fit on my lap, and she will tell him all of the things she has already told me, and likely her Dad, too.  When he is ready he unwinds his long limbs and climbs down from my lap and they both try to convince me that Star Wars should absolutely be the movie choice of the day, that nothing else will do, and can we please have chocolate cake for breakfast?  And then they are off together, surely plotting against me, but so involved with each other that I cannot help but smile. 
And in the afternoon, our Morning Girl finds the consequence of rising before the dawn:

We Miss You

I have never met a dog who looked like you.  I’ve never known a puppy who whined so much, or chewed so much, or itched so much.  I have never in my life encountered ears as soft as yours.  I have missed your soulful, forgiving eyes for one year now…those eyes that told me you understood we were doing the very best we could for you, even when it was a battle, which it often was.  I just want you to know that despite the struggle, you were an awesome, awesome dog.  I miss you.  We  miss you.  You are so very fondly remembered and loved.

No Strings

How many of you just added the word “attached” to the end of that title?  I know my mind wants to, but for today’s Madhouse post I am going to take this in a different direction.  What if we all imagine, for a second, the literal ramifications of No Strings?
For me this thought almost immediately incites panic.  No Strings!?!  What will I do with my hands?  You see, I spend a considerable amount of time each week knitting and sewing.  Keeping my hands busy is what I do to keep myself sane…it’s not that I don’t love staying home with my children, it’s just that sometimes it doesn’t feel as though I am accomplishing anything.  I run them around to school and activities, try to keep the house on the honest side of the clean/disgusting boundary, and cook three or more times per day.  Sometimes it feels like treading water, rather than swiftly cutting through it.  On the days when it all feels like stagnation, the act of taking thread, yarn, and fabric (all of which are forms of string, no?) and making something new and useful from them helps me feel accomplished.  If there were no strings there would be no sewing, no knitting, no inner peace in my days. 
From there my thoughts head to my husband, my brother, and many of our friends friends – a musical bunch of people that we know and love.  No Strings has huge ramifications for that crew as well.  No Strings means no piano, no guitar, no bass, no orchestra, no music.  Where would all of us be without music?  How many times per day do you reach for your ipod, CDs, or car radio, looking for something to move you, to make your day shine brighter or just to sing at the top of your lungs because it feels good? 
And what about the smaller odds and ends? 
No rope for rock climbing and clotheslines, for tying your boat to the dock.  No string for kite flying or tying up a good roast.  No twine for mending, no fabric to clothe ourselves, nothing with which to make an area rug or carpet.  No curtains, pillows, or blankets.  Nothing to tie the Christmas tree to the roof of your car, nothing to tie your shoes.  No primitive fishing line.  No rigging for sails, nothing to hang our wind chimes. 
No Strings would be catastrophic.
-------------
When I was a little kid my friend, Sarah, lived around the corner from my Grandparents’ house.  We spent much of our childhood climbing trees and scraping knees and trying to learn how to skateboard and playing in the playhouse her dad built in their backyard.  We also liked to build things, and our two favorite tools for building were duct tape and string.  We joke, to this day, about how with duct tape and a ball of twine we could build just about anything, and after taking a closer look at the idea of No Strings, I think we were on to something. 
So much of what we consider civilized and comfortable has a relationship to string, something that few of us probably think about.  And that is Madhouse Wednesday.

Thanks

Kate is hosting a blog carnival called The Madhouse each Wednesday and I am playing along.  On the internet, as in real life, I am late to the party…because if you are paying attention today is Saturday, not Wednesday.  What can I say?  Life often gets in the way of my best intentions, but I don’t think it is ever too late to show up. 
If I were to create a bulleted list of all the things I am thankful for in my life, the length of it would surely stretch all the way around the world and then some.  Because really: living here, in this town that I love, with these people that fill my life with goodness, with a warm house and plenty of food and no war directly outside of my door – there is nothing to not be thankful for in my life.  There are things I pine for, there are things that would make my days easier and my life more fulfilled, but I have enough.  There are surely many things that I worry about, but all of my needs are met daily, and that is enough.  And I am thankful.  Oh, so thankful. 
But this week in particular there are a few things for which I feel I ought to say an extra special thanks:
1. It started with my cough, then my ears filled with fluid, then my throat hurt like hell.  Then Emma didn’t seem to hear anything we said.  Then Brendan had a high fever for many, many days…his rattling chest and whole body shivers were scary, to say the least.  We cancelled Thanksgiving plans, we hunkered down.  We all visited the doctor: three ear infections, possible strep throat, and pneumonia.  Today, the three of us (sans Harry, a.k.a. The Last Man Standing, who has been shipped to Pie’s house for a grandma date/wearing out session) are snuggled together in the family room, sipping tea, enjoying the restful, quiet house, and taking our various doses of healing meds.  And so today, I am grateful and thankful for the invention of antibiotics.  I am thankful for easy breathing, in and out, in and out.  I am thankful for ears that can (almost) hear clearly and throats that can swallow without making us cringe. 
2.  We’ve all heard that tensions in Asia are rising.  The country where my children were born has come under attack and we all sit on pins and needles waiting to see what will happen next.  We pray for peace, for a solution between North and South that does not include war.  Whatever political feelings we have over the situation at hand, our kids have family in South Korea and we hope, more than anything, that they will be safe.  As selfish as this may sound, today I am thankful that my children are home, that I am not waiting for a travel call.  I am thankful for their laughter across the room, for the fact that they are safe within these walls, here.  And my heart goes out to all of those people who are not yet so lucky. 
3.  And lastly, as we head into the school-age years with our children, I am thankful for community.  I have come to realize that we cannot do this alone.  We need the lessons of those who came before us and the camaraderie of those who are walking beside us now to make this work.  Parenting is hard enough, but when you add the additional elements of transracial-international adoption into the mix there are many more things to consider, many more ways to fail.  So thank you to those who guide us, who share their stories so that we may learn.  This community, both online and in “real life”, gives me strength and hope and real working knowledge, all of which are necessary and priceless.
And so there it is: my personal shout out to antibiotics, having my children home, and the adoptive community at large.  Perhaps a little disjointed and random, but those are the things that make the top of my list today. 

I Wish…

Sometimes I forget.  I forget that we are not just any other family going through our days and years, taking pictures and marking milestones and watching our babies grow into small boys and girls.  Although to an outsider it may seem impossible, I sometimes forget that they were not always a part of us, that they came from somewhere else, that they look like someone else. 
And maybe this is a good thing.  We are, after all, entwined just as any other parent and child would be.  They steal food off my plate and drink my drinks and wind my hair around their fingers and fall asleep with their cheeks on mine and run to us when they are hurt and complain when I cook things they don’t like and make the silly faces that we make and they have even learned to love Weezer.  We know each other’s ticklish spots; we know how to make each other laugh.  I am yours, you are mine; we belong to each other just like any other family. 
But maybe this is a bad thing, because although it has been said that love is blind, that love does not see color or race, the world at large does see those things.  And our love, no matter how blind, is not enough to protect our children, to keep them from feeling different in a world in which matched sets of parents and children are the norm.  We cannot afford to forget. 
In our family, normal afternoon conversations with our children often leads to  talk about all different kinds of people, skin tones, religious beliefs, ways of life, and types of families.  We talk about racism.  We talk about the fact, daily, that they were born in Korea, that we adopted them, that they did not grow in my womb.  We talk about birth parents and foster parents and waiting children and orphans and poverty and stigma…all at age appropriate levels, of course (and intermixed with heavy discussion on the merits and downfalls of Annakin, Luke, and Leia Skywalker for good balance).  Our family library is full of multicultural reading material; when we play in our toy kitchen we serve enchiladas and kimchi.  We chose a private school for our children’s education in large part because of the diversity we find there and because there is a high percentage of other children with similar backgrounds of adoption.  We have a large group of friends comprised of blended families, interracial families, adoptive families.  Most days I think, I hope, that we are getting it right. 
Tonight I was getting Harrison out of the bath tub.  I had just cut his hair short and he looked so much younger, with traces of his babyhood still visible at the formerly-hidden-by-too-long-hair edges of his face.  I wrapped him in his towel, he shivered and he leaned in close, so that our foreheads and noses were just touching, our eyes locked together, and he whispered in his bravest way: “I wish I looked like you.” 
And my heart stopped. 
My world tilted. 
“I wish my skin was lighter, like yours.  Mine is darker.  I wish my eyes looked like yours.”
In that moment I did what anyone would do: I told him that I loved his skin, that he has the most beautiful brown eyes that I have ever had occasion to gaze into.  I told him I loved him just the way he is.  I told him that I don't look anything like some of our family, but that we are still a family.  And then I got him dressed and brushed his teeth. 
A few minutes later I knew that I needed to revisit that conversation with a clear head and a heart that was not breaking, but strong.  Because we are strong, we are prepared; these are the conversations we have been spent our parenthood preparing for.  As I tucked him in I laid down next to him as I did when he was a toddler: foreheads together, noses just touching, eyes locked.  I asked him why he wanted to look like me.  We had a frank discussion about what makes a family and what the outside world sees.  We talked about how everyone is the same inside, that only our skin and hair and eyes are different.  I told him I was proud of him for telling me how he was feeling.  I asked if he had any questions, and he said: “Why do people all look different, anyway?  Why can’t we all just be the same?”  We spoke of continents and evolution, and how people from different parts of the world look like other people from the same part of the world.  I reminded him how boring the world would be if everyone looked exactly the same.  We talked for a long, long time.  Eventually it all dissolved into giggles because he is, after all, a five year old. 
In some moments my heart may forget that we are not just any other family going through our days and years, taking pictures and marking milestones and watching our babies grow into small boys and girls.  My mind, however, is always aware of our differences; despite the fact that the road is not simple, that the conversations are more direct than most people probably have with their young children, I am so very grateful that this is my life, my family, my reality. 
Our differences have made all of the difference.

Elopement!

There is something so romantic about an elopement, isn’t there?  Two people in love who just don’t care about the big wedding, finding it more important to just make it official and to begin their life together in commitment.  Because when you are in love, and you are planning to spend your life together, why wait to get started?  Rather than repeat their vows in front of the masses, they hold hands quietly in their very own yard and make their promises to each other with the trees and the water, the wind and the rain as their witnesses.  Beautiful!
Congratulations, my big brother, and welcome the the family, my new sister (in-law).  We love you very, very, very much!

Halloween 2010 – In Pictures

  


 

Sneak Peek: Living Room

 

64 yards of fabric, lots of time spent with iron, pins, and thread, and the living room curtains are nearly complete! 

Sick Day

Harrison takes his sick days seriously.  He has big plans, big ideas, none of which include actually acting (or even being) sick.  Last night at dinner he was 102.9, flushed and glazed over and completely listless, so we decided to keep him home today.  Bath and early to bed and then he slept in an extra two hours this morning.  He woke with a bounce in his step today, as though he had been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card.  When asked about his health he proclaimed that he felt great and wondered what fun we could make of the day.  He thought perhaps we’d go to camp, or see a movie, or go for a run on the track.  Just a few suggestions, Mom. 
Instead of such fun things we kept it calm: drop Emma at school, ride in the cart through the grocery store, read a few books, pick Emma up from school, eat a quiet lunch, and play a few games of Pac Man.  Throughout the day’s activities he kept on a smile and kept up a constant stream of chatter, giving me anecdotes about his school days, letting me know his new favorite super heroes and ideas for Halloween costumes, and reading me the advertisements from each and every grocery display.  it was the first time we had each other all to ourselves in such a long, long time.  I’ve been missing you, he said.
When Emma was home the two went upstairs to play Pac Man, and the house filled with their laughter and squeals of delight.  They played for an hour, giving each other tips and hints for the best mode of play, and then compared notes from their respective new classes and schools.  From my perch beneath the stairs I got to hear all about the key players in their new school lives: who causes trouble and means it, who is accidentally always in the wrong place at the wrong time, who can kick the ball the furthest, and who the emerging best friends might be.  It was the best playtime they have shared in months.  Harrison, you are the very best brother, she said.  I know, he said right back.
The truth is, we all needed his day off.  Real school, Kindergarten, is no joke.  It is busy and stressful (good and bad stress) and there is so much for him to take in that by the time we get him back each afternoon he has nothing of himself left to give or share.  He is often grumpy and we are more than likely overwhelming, eager to have him back, so that an atmosphere of off-ness consumes the rest of our afternoons.  I have missed him so much, the sunshiny, well-rested, happy to go along with whatever I have planned version of himself.  So much for being sick, but I am so grateful for this day, for this chance to reconnect.

So Happy Together

  
When I was a little girl my grandparents had one of those old record players that was more of a sideboard than music making machine.  It took up half of their living room and the inside was lined in soft red felt.  Tucked inside were albums left behind by my father and his siblings, plus a few beloved by my grandmother…Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton come to mind.  I spent countless hours listening to the slightly scratchy sound of record revolving beneath needle, singing, badly I am sure, you gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run.  Those records were the soundtrack of my early childhood, the songs I sang while swinging and roller skating and playing dolls on their front lawn.

My very favorite album was a 45 by The Turtles: So Happy Together.  I cannot imagine how much I annoyed my grandparents by listening to that record over and over and over again.  I remember so clearly the feeling of singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs and twirling around and around in the space between my grandmother’s rocking chair and the record player, making myself dizzy with motion and high ideals for my future.  So happy together!  For a child of divorced parents the idea that love could last, that people could be happy together for the long haul, was captivating. 

Fast forward nearly three decades and I still know all of the words to that song.  I sing it in the shower when no one else is listening and I still believe in those high ideals.  Love can last.  My past bumps into my future and I have just celebrated 11 years with the man who helps me believe, every day, that anything is possible.  I know now that love takes work, that the happiness we achieve is special because we are both invested in it and we both want to move forward side by side.  We can be happy together because we are partners on the same team. 

The song was right, the lyrics were true: 

I can’t see me loving nobody but you

for all my life

when you’re with me

baby the skies will be blue

for all my life

me and you

and you and me

no matter how they tossed the dice

it had to be

the only one for me is you

and you for me

so happy together

I love you, Brendan.  Thank you for making so happy together possible.

Editing

The problem with having lived in seven different places over an eleven year marriage (I even left out a few of the shorter stops in our adventure) is that when you finally settle down into the house that you believe with all your heart is “the one”, your furniture, acquired among four states for houses and apartments that span the styles of at least ten decades, might not fit.  And when I say it might not fit, I mean it both literally and figuratively, as in the sectional sofa that would be perfect for our den/family room in the attic, but won’t budge up even the first half of two flights of stairs, or the mid-century modern swivel chairs that are just all wrong in your Victorian era house.  I think we have an eclectic style and we’re able to make many, if not most, pieces work somewhere in our home, but there are pieces that we treasure and adore that just do not make a good fit in this house, in this space.  And if this space is “the one”, then maybe those pieces aren’t the ones.

My beloved swivel chairs that came from my Grandmother and Grandfather’s house have been sent along for a new life at my brother’s new house, along with a table my Grandfather made to go with them.  They are fantastic chairs, but they will have to be fantastic over there, rather than here.  The sectional sofa is also going to have to find some new fannies to enjoy its comforting folds,   since it eats up all of the light and space in our formal dining room turned family room.  I dream of a white slip-covered, apartment sized sofa and a spindly rocking chair for that space.  Also on the potential chopping block are three armoires, an extra twin bed, a red vinyl wing-backed chair, and a sideboard.  I am not convinced that any needs to go - yet - but I am learning that it is ok to edit, to scale back what we have so that our house continues to feel airy, with breathing room and space in which to dance with our little ones.  While I believe that our living spaces are meant to evolve around our lives, I also know that we cannot hold onto everything forever.  For the first time I am trying not to stow pieces in the garage and basement for the future perfect house in which to use them,  because I think we are here, in our perfect house, already.

Progress Report

“The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been.”  -Madeleine L’Engle

How true is that?  And it goes for houses, too.  I know, because I spent my day up close and personal with the trim in our kitchen, painting  over 110 years’ worth of paint, dings, puppy claw marks, shoe scuffs, nail holes, and various other indentations and marks from the lives lived between these walls.  A fresh coast of white paint (over the blue paint that was there - I did not paint over any wood trim…yet) gives the old a new look, but keeps the character intact.  Perfect! 

We’ve been a year in this house, in the this little city, and we’re a wee bit tired.  Sometimes I feel as though we’ve accomplished nothing, but then why so tired?  Ah, then I remember all of the little things that add up to make one year’s worth of work on an old house and I am justified in my exhaustion.  My happy exhaustion, mind you.  I'm going to go put my feet up in my ever-so-calming living room with a glass of wine, and leave you to peruse our list of accomplishments.  It seems we have gotten something done, after all.

• Refinished second story hardwood floors
• Installed high efficiency gas powered furnace
• Painted H’s room (patched walls, painted ceiling)
• Painted E’s room (patched walls, painted ceiling)
• Painted formal living room (removed ugly/not original chair rail, patched walls, painted ceiling)
• Repaired floor of third story bathroom, installed new vinyl flooring
• 1/2 painted third story bathroom (needs one more coat)
• Painted powder room (removed wallpaper and chair rail, patched walls, painted ceiling)
• Attempted to have ducts cleaned (shall we all have a laugh over this one?)  Then vacuumed them out ourselves and dislodged many years’' worth of accumulation from previous owners’ triplets’ duct.
• 1/2 painted kitchen walls, trim, and ceiling (we’re getting there, slowly but…slowly).
• Chopped down one of the apple trees.
• Moved five hydrangea bushes from the front landscaping to the backyard
• Removed wood plank landscaping border
• Installed new landscaping (perennials) and re-shaped the front garden beds. 
• Removed old screen door and installed a new screen/glass door at front door. 
• Had roof re-slated as needed and had all metal roof parts painted red…which will go with whatever color we paint the house in the future.
• Removed the awful, old television antennae.  Hooray!
• Installed new garage doors in a carriage style, more in-keeping with the age of the house.
• Re-stained the Rainbow System playground.  It seems lame to include this but it took an entire week of steady work.
• 1/2 painted the master bedroom and attached office
• Installed a new pool fence and pool cover (stretchy kind with an elephant in the ad)

Poor Puppy

This little one is quite sick, in the veterinary hospital for a second night tonight.  We’re sitting home, hoping and praying for her recovery with the knowledge that she is in very good hands.  Please keep your fingers crossed with us, won’t you?