So, we have home inspection and appraisal today. And we wrote an offer on another place last night. And yesterday afternoon a fire broke out in the alley and our garage started on fire.
No, I'm not kidding. St. Nick was playing outside with Fish (digging for worms - I know, exciting), and I heard him opening the back door. I got up thinking I'd have to quick get them to take their muddy shoes off, but they got quiet, like they were going back to play. But then St. Nick started yelling Fire! Fire! Fire! And I hurried out intent on telling him not to cry fire when there's no emergency. Only I looked out the back door and saw FLAMES!!!! Quite a lot of them right at the back corner of the garage.
After calling 911 I saw that the wind was blowing the fire away from the garage, thank heavens, but that if it shifted, the whole thing could go up. The boys asked, "What can we do?!" and I said, "Pray the wind keeps blowing the flames away from the garage!" So they started praying, but after another minute without hearing sirens and watching the flames lick the side of the garage every time the wind slowed, I went in and grabbed our kitchen fire extinguisher and tried to spray it from the side of the garage first, but the smoke drove me back. Then I went in the garage (terrifying St. Nick - he thought I was running into a burning garage, which I suppose I was), and then out in the alley where a neighbor had gotten his garden hose and was trying to hit the flames with that while I emptied the fire extinguisher on the flames closest to the garage/on the corner of the wood. Then the fire dept. showed up and put out the rest. Excitement!
They think someone walking in the alley tossed a cigarette in the bushes beside the garage. The garage itself only sustained a tiny bit of damage. And great timing, right as our Realtor was showing up with the "Sale Pending" sign under her arm and the day before inspections.
I don't want to think what could have happened had St. Nick not been out there or had we been away from home. Yikes! Poor St. Nick was beside himself last night, terrified that a forest fire would break out (the house we made an offer on is the one in a wooded area) or that the house would start on fire or or or ...
The most reassuring truth of all for both St. Nick and myself: there is One in control of the winds - winds that truly did not shift and kept our garage from sustaining more than minor, mostly cosmetic damage.
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...
A while back I was complaining to someone about how much I hated making lunch for the kids every morning.