Who says catastrophes have to be saved for Dr. D's trips out of town?
Today, as I was cleaning up after lunch, St. Nick said, "Wow, Mom, what stinks?" and a second later, "I smelled something really stinky but now I smell oranges." And a second later, "MOM! MOM! MOM! THERE'S A FLOOD A FLOOD A FLOOD!"
That caught my attention. I set aside Mud Pie's plate of goo (once a jelly sandwich and orange slices), which I'd been ready to stuff down the disposal, and peered around the refrigerator.
Water, seeping out from under it. My first thought was that the leak in the refrigerator had worsened, but the leak is just a trickle from a frozen line - the fix is simply to unplug the thing for a few days, but when on earth can a family of five unplug the refrigerator and leave the door hanging open for days at a time?
Anyway, the water was orange. And chunky. And there was a lot of it. An awful lot.
"Get diapers! Get diapers!" I hollered to Nick and Fish. Since, as we all know, cloth diapers are about the most absorbent thing on the planet.
I sopped it up, pulled the refrigerator out, checked the drip pan inside, emptied it though it wasn't full, washed my hands, rinsed Mud Pie's gooey plate.
"Mom! There's MORE WATER!"
Hmmmm. Water running + water running across the floor = leak. (Guess who's teaching my kids logic! Yeah, not me.)
I opened up the cabinet beneath the sink, pulled out the trash can. An orange had exploded under the sink, and was still exploding, gushing out of the pipe that connected the disposal to the rest of the pipes down there. That's when I turned the faucet off. Gushing slowed to a trickle.
I then called Dr. D, cleaned up from lunch (using the bathroom sink), went to the basement with a bucket of orange-chunk diapers, only to see another lake down there. Now why hadn't I put the lid on the train box? Why had I set it directly under the spot where the kitchen drain pushes through from upstairs? We now have a box full of orange-scented Brio train track.
That was plenty enough catastrophe for me. I went upstairs to put Mud Pie down for a nap only to smell an odd burning something. Water from downstairs and the electrical system? No, the box fan we use for white noise during naps wasn't working. The motor had burned out.
I'm glad it just quit working instead of causing a fire! And I'm glad I'd been running orange peels through the disposal and not the usual mix of bits of this and that with a few unsightly things I discovered in the back of the refrigerator tossed in for good measure. You'd think, given the fact that I've been using cloth diapers for six years, that I have a strong stomach. But I really, really, really don't.
Dr. D just walked in the door, new box fan in hand. We are so going out for dinner tonight.
This is our first year working with a partner public school for a few fun educational extras. My favorite addition? The subscription boxes! Sure, foreign language is fun, and art (things the older kiddos are doing through the school), but what's better than your own personal activity kit, new every month? I have a thing for subscription boxes, I'll admit.
We have a gorgeous, absolutely beautiful custom made farm table in our dining area. Beautiful at first glance. Sit down at it however, and try to eat and you’ll discover a few not so lovable details. Like glasses will tip over if placed in just the wrong spot. Your clothing will catch on splinters in the chairs or the edge of the table. Some of the plugs look suspiciously like wood filler. And if you look closely, the gaps between boards just might be packed with yesterday’s (last week’s?) noodles, rice, etc.
Hubby and I recently got serious about taking back our health, and the first question we faced was: “How do we work in exercise?” The conversation went something like this:
Me: We could put the treadmill back in the bathroom?
Him: Um. No.
Me: There’s that gym up by McDonald’s (why is this our reference point? I don’t know.)
Him: But when?
Me: You could go before taking N to school in the morning!
Him: Would you really get up that early?
Me: Are you kidding? We’re talking about you here, not me.
I used to hate read-alouds. My neck would get tense, my throat would feel stiff and sore and my voice would hurt. (And if you say a voice cannot hurt, I assure you, it can.) Here's my story of how diagnosing and treating Hashimoto's changed my life in an unexpected way.
Every year my parish holds a garage sale to raise funds for the VBS and Preschool programs. It has fast become one of my favorite events and helping at every stage, in my mind anyway, absolves me from taking part in the actual VBS. Anyhow, a sale of this size is a huge undertaking. Like crazy huge involving weeks and many, many, many hours from lots of people. But it's so worth it, and apart from the usual reasons about helping others and serving the community, here's why…
A couple days ago I had to Google, “What do middle aged women wear to indie rock concerts?” I came up with lots of pics of denim and leather and high-heeled boots. Not much different than what I expected young women to wear, except fewer backless shirts.
When I picked up my also-middle-aged friend (ok, not really, we're still young! Middle age means, like 79, right?) she was wearing the requisite jeans, tank top, jacket. I'd opted for...
That whoever-with-too-much-time-needs-a-day-job troll who swiped my original blogspot sub domain has added more content. And, as before, the content is mine, taken from the ever useful internet archive.
The beginning is always the same. Middle of the night, a child cries, I listen and hope. Perhaps sleep will return. A fool's hope, I know.
Mud Pie's Flat Stanley returned not long ago, so while the kiddos were asleep with flu and fevers, I took the photos Stan collected and made a little video.
Below is a picture from tonight's Epiphany party celebrating the visit of the Magi. We had King's Cake followed by white elephant gifts galore. In honor of the Three Wise Guys...