I love my house most on a Sunday evening. All the laundry is done. The beds are made up with fresh linens. There are fresh flowers from the garden in the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, the dining room. Everything is put away and clean. The kids are clean, with full bellies, in their beds. The trash is taken out. The refrigerator and pantry are fully stocked, as is the bowl of pretty, fresh fruit on the counter.
All is well.
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Showing posts with label home. Show all posts
Sunday, September 07, 2008
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Crisp around the edges
Husband has taken all three girls and the dog out for an evening's walk around the neighborhood. I am grateful, if all too aware how quickly this little piece of quiet will last.
I am burnt out, I think. Short-tempered with everyone, sleep-deprived, and having dreams about how I fail at trying to fix things or make them better. Husband told me the other night that my overreacting to Bean's nightly ruining of dinner is in fact ruining EVERYONE'S dinner. I've decided that ignoring my middle daughter at dinner is my best strategy, but I can't just ignore everyone all the time.
Actually, I don't know what the hell I need to make this better. I mean, I THINK I know what I need, but it's so unlikely that I'm going to get it anytime soon that it seems pointless to try and do much. I need to be able to sleep nights for at least one long chunk of time. I need to be not the only one maintaining the house on a daily basis. I need someone to fix shit that's broken around here. I need some time daily to do a little something for myself--just an hour or so would do. And I don't want to make it the very last thing in my day after the dishes are done and the mess picked up and the trash taken out and the laundry folded.
And while I'm making a list of things that I'd get in my ideal world, I'd like for kids not to scream back or sigh dramatically or glower sullenly at me if I ask them to do something they're not particularly fond of. I'd like people to remember the things that I tell them or request of them for longer than the day that I tell or request them. I'd like my mother to be involved more in my kids' lives and, like, keep them at her house sometimes. I'd like to have no t.v. I'd like to chuck the computer out the window and go live in a big, ancient farmhouse somewhere out in the country where there was a pond and animals and a huge garden and quiet and you could still see the stars at night.
All that stuff I want. Anyone else feel like joining me?
I am burnt out, I think. Short-tempered with everyone, sleep-deprived, and having dreams about how I fail at trying to fix things or make them better. Husband told me the other night that my overreacting to Bean's nightly ruining of dinner is in fact ruining EVERYONE'S dinner. I've decided that ignoring my middle daughter at dinner is my best strategy, but I can't just ignore everyone all the time.
Actually, I don't know what the hell I need to make this better. I mean, I THINK I know what I need, but it's so unlikely that I'm going to get it anytime soon that it seems pointless to try and do much. I need to be able to sleep nights for at least one long chunk of time. I need to be not the only one maintaining the house on a daily basis. I need someone to fix shit that's broken around here. I need some time daily to do a little something for myself--just an hour or so would do. And I don't want to make it the very last thing in my day after the dishes are done and the mess picked up and the trash taken out and the laundry folded.
And while I'm making a list of things that I'd get in my ideal world, I'd like for kids not to scream back or sigh dramatically or glower sullenly at me if I ask them to do something they're not particularly fond of. I'd like people to remember the things that I tell them or request of them for longer than the day that I tell or request them. I'd like my mother to be involved more in my kids' lives and, like, keep them at her house sometimes. I'd like to have no t.v. I'd like to chuck the computer out the window and go live in a big, ancient farmhouse somewhere out in the country where there was a pond and animals and a huge garden and quiet and you could still see the stars at night.
All that stuff I want. Anyone else feel like joining me?
Monday, June 30, 2008
Good life
Other reasons it's great to be home:
1. A batch of chocolate covered banana-sicles made up with an enthusiastic Bean this morning.
2. A batch of chocolate chip cookies, also made with Bean's help, for our new neighbors one street over with a son Bean's age.
3. The discovery of an ENORMOUS, 3-inch long, disgusting grub in our compost pile this morning. Very exciting and totally gross!
4. The discovery that Bean, quite suddenly, knows how to draw scary monsters with her colored pencils. This thrills me. Though I do wonder where the drawings of blood come from. "'Cause monsters have blood, Mom!" she tells me as if I'm an idiot. Still, I can't help but wonder if my Bean has dark, Goth chick leanings already...
5. Oh, and the disappearance of our USB cable so that I can't post a single damn picture of any of this.
1. A batch of chocolate covered banana-sicles made up with an enthusiastic Bean this morning.
2. A batch of chocolate chip cookies, also made with Bean's help, for our new neighbors one street over with a son Bean's age.
3. The discovery of an ENORMOUS, 3-inch long, disgusting grub in our compost pile this morning. Very exciting and totally gross!
4. The discovery that Bean, quite suddenly, knows how to draw scary monsters with her colored pencils. This thrills me. Though I do wonder where the drawings of blood come from. "'Cause monsters have blood, Mom!" she tells me as if I'm an idiot. Still, I can't help but wonder if my Bean has dark, Goth chick leanings already...
5. Oh, and the disappearance of our USB cable so that I can't post a single damn picture of any of this.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Tasty at home
In my weekly quest for domestic coziness, I've begun making my own bread. I say that as if it were a permanent decision to always bake my own bread, but it's not really. In fact, I've only made two batches so far but it was so gratifying, I thought to myself, "I really should do this more often." So I'm going to try.
I've never been much of a bread baker because I just naturally lack the proper temperament to do it well. Which is to say that I'm impatient as hell, want to get things done NOW, and bread just doesn't work that way. The other day I used a whole wheat loaf bread recipe that explained the first rise would take about an hour and a half. Actually, it took six and that was just the first rise. But I just tried to forget about it and let it do its thing and everything came out well. See?
But my original motivation--lest you begin believing that I'm motivated by just sweet domestic coziness and a back-to-the-land, homemade whole grain thing--was a trip to a local chocolate shop with Bean while Sister was having her piano class. The adorable European owner informed me that the big bag of real, dark chocolate sprinkles on the shelf next to me were what European children have sprinkled on their toast in the mornings to get them to eat their bread. He himself, he said, had this for breakfast til he was 15 years old, after which he was presumably too old for such a childish breakfast and switched to espresso and cigarettes, I guess. I'm a sucker. I bought the sprinkles. And needed to make fresh bread to put them on.
I've never been much of a bread baker because I just naturally lack the proper temperament to do it well. Which is to say that I'm impatient as hell, want to get things done NOW, and bread just doesn't work that way. The other day I used a whole wheat loaf bread recipe that explained the first rise would take about an hour and a half. Actually, it took six and that was just the first rise. But I just tried to forget about it and let it do its thing and everything came out well. See?
But my original motivation--lest you begin believing that I'm motivated by just sweet domestic coziness and a back-to-the-land, homemade whole grain thing--was a trip to a local chocolate shop with Bean while Sister was having her piano class. The adorable European owner informed me that the big bag of real, dark chocolate sprinkles on the shelf next to me were what European children have sprinkled on their toast in the mornings to get them to eat their bread. He himself, he said, had this for breakfast til he was 15 years old, after which he was presumably too old for such a childish breakfast and switched to espresso and cigarettes, I guess. I'm a sucker. I bought the sprinkles. And needed to make fresh bread to put them on.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Town and country
Yesterday, Husband and I took the little girls to Saxapahaw, a very tiny town on the Haw River that's about a 20 minute drive from our house in Chapel Hill. It was a field trip of sorts to check out a renovated mill building that Husband and his business partner are considering for the site of Spoonflower. (I mentioned his new business venture awhile back. It's really cooking along all of a sudden.)
Saxapahaw was empty, there being no downtown to speak of and it being the hour when most God-fearing Southerners are in church. We're not particularly God-fearing, so we took a stroll down to the river. I sat at a picnic table and nursed Sweet P while Husband took Bean further down to chuck rocks in the water.
As Sweet P and I sat there together I realized I couldn't hear a thing but the water rushing by, birds in the trees, and the distant voices of Husband and Bean playing. I just sat there nursing and quiet.
When Sweet P had a nice bellyful, we walked down to where Husband and Bean were and I said to Husband, "I know how we can get the first round of funding for Spoonflower. Let's sell our house in Chapel Hill and use part of the equity to put a down payment on a house here and the rest to get Spoonflower going."
We talked about this a little, a new mortgage, business loans, venture capitalists being involved, etc. The one thing neither of us questioned was the trade-off between good Chapel Hill schools for the girls and a life with abundant time spent outdoors in the woods and fields and by a river for them.
Would I really trade our townie Chapel Hill life with its organic grocery stores and top-rated schools and nearby piano lessons, play groups, soccer leagues, and public access pools for a move to some land and an old house out in the country?
You know, I think I would.
Saxapahaw was empty, there being no downtown to speak of and it being the hour when most God-fearing Southerners are in church. We're not particularly God-fearing, so we took a stroll down to the river. I sat at a picnic table and nursed Sweet P while Husband took Bean further down to chuck rocks in the water.
As Sweet P and I sat there together I realized I couldn't hear a thing but the water rushing by, birds in the trees, and the distant voices of Husband and Bean playing. I just sat there nursing and quiet.
When Sweet P had a nice bellyful, we walked down to where Husband and Bean were and I said to Husband, "I know how we can get the first round of funding for Spoonflower. Let's sell our house in Chapel Hill and use part of the equity to put a down payment on a house here and the rest to get Spoonflower going."
We talked about this a little, a new mortgage, business loans, venture capitalists being involved, etc. The one thing neither of us questioned was the trade-off between good Chapel Hill schools for the girls and a life with abundant time spent outdoors in the woods and fields and by a river for them.
Would I really trade our townie Chapel Hill life with its organic grocery stores and top-rated schools and nearby piano lessons, play groups, soccer leagues, and public access pools for a move to some land and an old house out in the country?
You know, I think I would.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Why I hate having a guest room
It's anti-American, right? To have a bit more house than you need and find it annoying rather than desirable? Nevertheless, the guest room is beginning to piss me off.
When we first bought this house almost two years ago, the "upgrade" from three bedrooms to four seemed to make sense. Knowing that we wanted three kids meant that someday we'd have the option of giving them all their own rooms. Sister wanted to share a room with Bean then which meant that we wouldn't need this configuration right away, but someday the girls would want their own space. In the meantime, we had visions of hosting out-of-state friends in our fourth bedroom and we outfitted it accordingly. We bought a new mattress set to go on the bed frame that had once belonged to Husband's mother when she was growing up. We moved her entire suite of furniture from Atlanta to here--the bed frame, two large dressers, a night table, and a wall mirror. I added a quilt rack with vintage quilts, some toiletries that our imminent guests could use if they forgot theirs, a framed picture, some knick-knacks...
Who have we hosted in the almost two years in this house? Exactly three sets of guests. And one of them was one of my local college girlfriends here for a grown-up slumber party I hosted once when Husband was out of town.
What our guest room is really used for is storage of a lot of unnecessary shit. For example:
--a three-foot square box of unopened mail that is now two years old! I'm not exaggerating here! But Husband doesn't want to throw it away because there might (still!) be something important in there. The cats use the box as a scratching post, though. Perhaps that keeps them from using the sofa arms quite so much for the same purpose? Fucking cats. Fucking box.
--a turntable and two massively heavy boxes of record albums. Will we ever listen to them again? I know I won't listen to my portion of that ancient vinyl, not least because to do so would mean replacing the turntable's needle, lugging the thing downstairs, and routing it through our receiver somehow. Can we get rid of the turntable and the albums? Husband says no. He might want to listen to them someday.
--other electronic stuff. A couple of computers, a couple of old telephones, bundles of wires that belong to god-knows-what.
--a hideously ugly woven blanket that traveled with Husband from Guatemala that he wants to keep as a souvenir. Never mind that we never use it because it's entirely too scratchy to be comfortable and is suspiciously hairy. And did I say super ugly?
--a large plastic box of family memorabilia that doesn't belong to us, that we've been charged with looking through, scanning if we want, and mailing back to the cousin who loaned it to us. She sent it when Bean was born because it contained items belonging to Bean's namesake, the cousin's mother. That was almost three years ago and I'm guessing she'd want it back...oh, 2-1/2 years ago?
--a closet full of out-of-season vintage dresses. If I'm being fair here, I should admit that some of the stuff is mine. I keep telling myself that once my little kids are big, I can wear my gorgeous frocks again without risking spit-up, "washable" paint, and peanut butter destroying them. Maybe I should let this little dream go?
Humph. Maybe we can get rid of the other crap first and then we'll talk.
When we first bought this house almost two years ago, the "upgrade" from three bedrooms to four seemed to make sense. Knowing that we wanted three kids meant that someday we'd have the option of giving them all their own rooms. Sister wanted to share a room with Bean then which meant that we wouldn't need this configuration right away, but someday the girls would want their own space. In the meantime, we had visions of hosting out-of-state friends in our fourth bedroom and we outfitted it accordingly. We bought a new mattress set to go on the bed frame that had once belonged to Husband's mother when she was growing up. We moved her entire suite of furniture from Atlanta to here--the bed frame, two large dressers, a night table, and a wall mirror. I added a quilt rack with vintage quilts, some toiletries that our imminent guests could use if they forgot theirs, a framed picture, some knick-knacks...
Who have we hosted in the almost two years in this house? Exactly three sets of guests. And one of them was one of my local college girlfriends here for a grown-up slumber party I hosted once when Husband was out of town.
What our guest room is really used for is storage of a lot of unnecessary shit. For example:
--a three-foot square box of unopened mail that is now two years old! I'm not exaggerating here! But Husband doesn't want to throw it away because there might (still!) be something important in there. The cats use the box as a scratching post, though. Perhaps that keeps them from using the sofa arms quite so much for the same purpose? Fucking cats. Fucking box.
--a turntable and two massively heavy boxes of record albums. Will we ever listen to them again? I know I won't listen to my portion of that ancient vinyl, not least because to do so would mean replacing the turntable's needle, lugging the thing downstairs, and routing it through our receiver somehow. Can we get rid of the turntable and the albums? Husband says no. He might want to listen to them someday.
--other electronic stuff. A couple of computers, a couple of old telephones, bundles of wires that belong to god-knows-what.
--a hideously ugly woven blanket that traveled with Husband from Guatemala that he wants to keep as a souvenir. Never mind that we never use it because it's entirely too scratchy to be comfortable and is suspiciously hairy. And did I say super ugly?
--a large plastic box of family memorabilia that doesn't belong to us, that we've been charged with looking through, scanning if we want, and mailing back to the cousin who loaned it to us. She sent it when Bean was born because it contained items belonging to Bean's namesake, the cousin's mother. That was almost three years ago and I'm guessing she'd want it back...oh, 2-1/2 years ago?
--a closet full of out-of-season vintage dresses. If I'm being fair here, I should admit that some of the stuff is mine. I keep telling myself that once my little kids are big, I can wear my gorgeous frocks again without risking spit-up, "washable" paint, and peanut butter destroying them. Maybe I should let this little dream go?
Humph. Maybe we can get rid of the other crap first and then we'll talk.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Nice morning
I was grocery shopping a couple days ago and saw rhubarb and strawberries, both on the shelves looking all luscious and ruby-like. I bought enough of both to make a large pie and, while the strawberries weren't as good as they'll likely be in another couple of weeks, they made a beautiful mama and baby pie. Not to mention that it was a lovely way for Bean and I to while away the morning hours today. Sweet P lay contentedly in her bouncy chair, watching us and listening to us chat.
Now, this is what I thought being a stay-at-home mama would be all about for me!
Now, this is what I thought being a stay-at-home mama would be all about for me!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Home again, home again
We're home from the beach now and I feel deliciously settled. I do love home. I know that makes me dull and unglamorous, but what can I say? I'm a Cancer. In the last 6 hours I've unpacked everything but Husband's suitcase, done 4 loads of laundry, picked 3 bouquets of flowers for the house from our busting-at-the-stems garden, gone grocery shopping, and fixed dinner. Cheerfully.
Now I'm just trying to decide what my welcome home baking project will be. I always have the urge to bake something when I've been gone from home awhile. Maybe lemon raspberry muffins for tomorrow's breakfast.
Quickly, some new stuff that's happened with Bean while we've been gone. She now calls Husband "Daddy" instead of "Papa." This is because my 2 little brothers call their dad (and my step-dad) that. From another older kid relative, she's picked up the less endearing habit of periodically exclaiming, "Oh my Gawd!" I've trained Sister very diligently not to say this because, despite being a non-Christian myself, I do think it's pretty ugly coming out of the mouths of children. Still, when Bean says it I find it difficult not to laugh, even as I try to correct her over to "gosh" instead.
She walks out the front door naked to help me pick flowers, feels the heat on her skin and yells, "Oh my Gawd!"
She sees a big bumblebee on a flower and shouts, "Oh my Gawd!"
Her sandal catches a bit on the stair as she's climbing and it's, "Oh my Gawd!"
I'm just glad my mom isn't around to hear her.
Now I'm just trying to decide what my welcome home baking project will be. I always have the urge to bake something when I've been gone from home awhile. Maybe lemon raspberry muffins for tomorrow's breakfast.
Quickly, some new stuff that's happened with Bean while we've been gone. She now calls Husband "Daddy" instead of "Papa." This is because my 2 little brothers call their dad (and my step-dad) that. From another older kid relative, she's picked up the less endearing habit of periodically exclaiming, "Oh my Gawd!" I've trained Sister very diligently not to say this because, despite being a non-Christian myself, I do think it's pretty ugly coming out of the mouths of children. Still, when Bean says it I find it difficult not to laugh, even as I try to correct her over to "gosh" instead.
She walks out the front door naked to help me pick flowers, feels the heat on her skin and yells, "Oh my Gawd!"
She sees a big bumblebee on a flower and shouts, "Oh my Gawd!"
Her sandal catches a bit on the stair as she's climbing and it's, "Oh my Gawd!"
I'm just glad my mom isn't around to hear her.
Monday, May 14, 2007
It's a nice evening here at the cave
Sometimes we have lovely, peaceful nights like this at home. The girls are sweet and funny and full of amazement at the world. Husband is contentedly working on his pond project in the backyard. The frogs are croaking in the trees and among the rocks. The house is clean and airy. I hear neighbors' voices rising and falling intermittently because it's the perfect temperature to have the windows open in the house. And I baked a very delicious chocolate cake with chocolate icing today. The cake is moist and the icing is very sweet, but it has lots of toasted pecans stirred into it to temper the sweetness a bit. I'm going to have some soon. A second piece, actually.
I love these times when they happen, and they seem to have been in short supply lately.
I love these times when they happen, and they seem to have been in short supply lately.
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