Tag: life with children


28
July

Up way too early this morning, seeing that school hasn’t begun, and I blame a dog.

Nothing like waking to warm breath panting on your neck, accompanied by anxious little whines.

He didn’t even want his breakfast.

So I’m running around doing the morning chores (pool, garden) and about ready to move on to the walk. And then there will be some cleaning and writing.

All of my good intentions yesterday vanished in a puff of SYTYCD and I must recalibrate and make up for it.

I’m still working through Jane Vandenburgh’s Architecture of the Novel which I am enjoying and parsing slowly. It may be one of those things I have to reread. All I know, is that I read four or five pages (or a section) and I’m excited to write.

Not a bad thing at all.

In other news, the Middle Child won a three-day all expense paid trip to Texas (My response? That’s a prize?!) which will, however, put him in contact with many people across the nation who could very well want to hire him. The award also looks good on his resume. Not a Bad Thing, despite Texas. I don’t know what they’re doing with the dogs during this time, but I suspect they may be here.

With luck, I should be back at school by then, and the Spousling home.

And yes, that return home next week of his? Not so fast. It’ll be the week after.

By then I should be ready to stuff Harley in his arms and run far far away. Even if it is only to school.

Meanwhile, the Slug has worked with two prescription fires this week and fought free of the razor wire that she found with her shins. My suggestion that she add shin guards to her olive green pants was not received well.

The Eldest Child wants a motorcycle now. (Like mountain climbing and snowboarding/skiing in avalanche country and surfing aren’t enough. At least those activities are limited to two days a week. A motorcycle would increase his danger factor to 100% of the year.)

I should give him Harley.

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Yesterday was

2
January

a bit much.

I spent too much time baking–apple cranberry pie and pumpkin biscotti, and too much time with the rub for the pork roast, even though the cheesy potatoes went quickly. And then I had to make the Chinese salad dressing from scratch because we’d finished the bottle with our last salad. Each one of these in isolation was not too much, but throw them all together and I think I spent three and a half hours in the kitchen before cleaning it up, and then another hour after dinner cleaning again.

Today the china goes away.

The rest of yesterday was spent nursing Zoey. The pain from cramping muscles was less of an issue, but she was lethargic and not drinking. I managed to get water into her via turkey baster (not too successful) and then switched to dribbling water onto her gums via the Eldest’s sinus rinse bottle. Got at least 1/2 a cup into her that way, maybe a cup over the entire day.

Last night, I didn’t hear her cry out, although the Eldest Child claims she woke a few times. And this morning, we carried her downstairs and outside, where she stood–wobbling, mind you–to pee, and then sniffed about still wobbling. Plus, she wolfed down some breakfast this morning.

She’s perkier, which is good, because yesterday I was thinking we were going to lose her. So I think we’re on the downhill side of recovery now.

Other than piling all the large Christmas stuff on the folding table, that’s the sum total of my accomplishments for yesterday. Which means no exercise and no writing.

Today’s another day, and while my family is rolling their eyes and heavy sighing at my determination to take down Christmas (yeah, early–because we usually leave it all up until Epiphany but I’ve got a bunch of writers appearing on my doorstep Saturday morningish, and I got back to school tomorrow. So.) the Slug has agreed to climb up in the rafters and take down all the boxes.

At some point, I’m thinking we’re going to have move all that stuff down, but as long as I have slaves kids, it can just stay up there.

For now the Slug’s time on the Wii is up and we’re starting. I can pretty much trust that she’s not going to come looking for me, so it’s off to work. Writing can happen during a break time.

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How you know it was

26
December

an electronics kind of Christmas around here:

The Spousling is playing the Slug’s Wii (on the old television) while watching football on the new flatscreen.

::insert horrified face::

The old television’s moving to the Slug’s room. Stat.

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The living room today…

24
December

Don’t ask where it went–but it’s not in the garage.

Also the Slug’s and boyfriend’s Christmas wrap this year: flannel and grosgrain ribbon sealed with safety pins. I love it. Rumor has it that Christmas 2011 will be remembered as the Year of the Bubble Wrap.

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Update

23
December

State of my entryway: unchanged. Okay, fine. A few boxes slid to one side or another to make a trail through the clutter to the living room. Next step, creative stacking. As long as the rain doesn’t cause the hillside to slide, it’ll be good.

State of my bedroom: One additional mattress leaning against my chest of drawers. One table set up as a wrapping station. Guess what is more important than unpacking or moving boxes?

State of my lovely bathroom: A puddle of water, the size of a small pond, emerged yesterday. Fed by the running springs of the A/C duct and the torrents of rainwater cascading from the skies, this can only mean one thing–time for a new roof.

What I am going to do about all this: Run. Run away. Run far away to Pasadena and see my brother, mother, sister, niece, and assorted families for a few hours. And empathize with the brother and wife that they had a flooded closet and had to sort through all the family photos because the box, in addition to whatever else, got wet. Note to self: In times of torrentapocalyse, pack critical stuff in waterproof boxes. Preferably ones that float.

On the other hand, it’s all really green instead of dried yellow. And all it took was 8.5″ in the past two months–and over half of it in the last five days. Luckily we’re on a hill and most everything drains down from here.

Also, Zoey, the eldest’s Alaskan Husky, went in this morning for surgery for a parathyroid tumor. Think good thoughts.

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Pictures for KellyM

22
December

The move home:

This is about 2/3 of it all.

Added bonus: What grown children do when the backyard drain plugs up. The barefoot one–even though significantly older–has not matured completely. Although he is wearing a jacket, which denotes progress. I, being wiser*, remained inside and shot through the kitchen window.

*Where being wiser means I did not make myself a target.

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Remember when I said

22
December

“Heaven knows where we’re going to put her stuff?”

The answer would be: My entryway.

Sooooooo festive. Maybe if I drape lights over the piles and spritz pine scent….

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It’s official.

21
December

We’ve achieved graduate!

Okay, we’ve achieved two. The daughter-in-law graduated from UCLA last week but is not walking in the May ceremony. Go us! Now, anyone in need of a forestry major or a soon-to-be nursing student with a major in neurobiology?

Also, we are home. The Slug and boyfriend, plus the rental van, made it across the snow-covered Rockies and are driving through Las Vegas. Heaven knows where we’re going to put her stuff.

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Ready, set, go

20
November

I collapsed into bed last night before 9P, and thank heavens. I think I warded off a cold with the extra hours. And although I’ve been up since 7A, all I’ve accomplished is to update my kindergarten book blog and discover a new-to-me Slovenian a capella group: Perpetuum Jazzile. And not their rendition of Africa, which is also good, but their Joyful, Joyful. I even like the segment that diverges wildly from the original. It basically puts a smile on my face and I start bouncing.

Now, before the Slug gets home (a luggage snafu, so she’s heading back to LAX first) and I teach her how to sandwich a quilt and then end up quilting it for her on machine– trust me, she’s paying in housework for this little favor–I’ve got to get the kitchen back under control. Don’t quite know how the Spousling manages it, but every time he cooks, the kitchen explodes. He’s already on the road up to camp for the weekend, and while he got most of it cleaned up, it’s not finished. Thus me.

Ideo icons are on the list, as are the quilt and laundry. I’ve got one mass to sing at 5P and another tomorrow morning at 9A, music to practice for both, and a little shopping to do–those pie crusts for Monday need to be purchased, for example.

And then, if all goes well, I’ll have tomorrow afternoon to write. I hope. I hope. I hope.
Because conferences are over, report cards set aside until February/March, and life settles down. Ha.

Now, off to get whatever I can done before the Slug and Boyfriend arrive. At least, she’ll be home and I’m grateful to have her here for a few days. Won’t be much longer until she’s in the house, though, unless a miracle occurs and she gets a job. I’m a little nervous about that, seeing that we co-signed those student loans of hers. A federal parks job would be real nice, actually, so good wishes are appreciated.

So work, icon, quilt, and write. I wish I could take advantage of the rainy weather and curl up with a good book, but that’s not happening any time soon. Foo.

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When in doubt, toss in a twist. Or a dead rat.

27
January

More writing, but no end. Just as I think the end is in sight, I manage to add in a twist–I blame my recalcitrant characters.

Me?

Not on your life. Why would I make myself miserable on purpose?

(Just go with it, okay. No hard facts this early in the day.)

So, in the past two days, one character informed me that he knows martial arts (of which I know nothing, and he sure as hell didn’t use them the first time someone came in the room. He’d better have a reason.) Another has decided killing off all his accomplices–in addition to the people they’re holding captive–would be a nice touch, but since he’s also a wanna-be rapist and all-around nasty guy, I’m thinking he’s more than a little over the top.

But the good thing, I suppose, is that I’m closer to the end than I thought. It’s a novelette, at the moment, and with these twists, has pretensions to be something more, but we are not letting it, my preciouses. Not at all.

No novella. Not now, not ever.

In other news I have sunk into playing Fallen London. For those of you already involved, save yourselves. I am too involved with racking up goods to sell at the Bazaar and robbing drunks to care.

Yeah, the only thing about this character of mine that’s truly me is that she’s watchful. And stealthy.

If you’re not playing it already, (and why would you? You obviously have more smarts than me…) be prepared to give up your time to this sinkhole of faded Victorian glory with its dead rats as currency makers.
Just warning you!

In other news, the nephew of dead rat fame, has purchased a live rat of his own–named Clawy. I await developments.

Now, off to the little live rats of my own. It’s been interesting lately, and that’s all I’m going to say.

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