Country Living

So it's official, we're in the country. It's amazing. Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance. Big creek in our backyard. There are big, big trees with ancient trunks so wide that we could hollow one out and make our own replica of the Pit of Despair inside. The view is breath-taking. It's why we bought the property.

The house is a simple cape cod. The kitchen is tiny, smaller than the kitchen John had in his Arlington apartment. It's also dirty. The entire house is dirty. I'm not sure what happened here but there is a bedroom upstairs that appears to have soot on the ceiling, which is very odd since there isn't a fireplace anywhere near there. And the carpets are discolored. The vinyl floor in the main bathroom is peeling up. The hardwood flooring has been worn down to the bare wood which is scratched and stained. The roof, HVAC, and water heater are all original to the house and the house is more than 20 years old. There seems to be dry rot setting into some of the wood on the porch and around some of the windows. Honestly, the house hasn't been kept up.

We love the area. We love the property. The house has a lot of potential too. We plan to redo the kitchen first, make it amazing and huge. The rest of the things will come later. I have a Honey Do list a mile long and I think many of the things on it will turn into Mommy Dos. The nice thing is that we can take it a little at a time since we plan to stay until we die.

As we add and change things to the house, we also plan to add other things like chickens, cows, and horses. The chickens will come first. Not sure where we will keep them but we'll figure it out as we go. We're also hoping to add a lot of fruit trees and a huge garden. You should know, though, that I'm not a gardener. Gardening has always been my mom's thing. I'll be a person with a garden not a gardener. Can't call myself a farmer either. Seems a little snotty for a former city girl, most recently a suburbanite to fancy herself a farmer just because she's got some land. Maybe in time.

So for now, I'll just be a person with a garden and some amazing land and a house that needs work.

Mohawk is to public school as crew cut is to...

So the school year begins. We're off and running. My blog has been dormant for a long, long time... roughly the time it took me to homeschool my oldest through third grade (though he could easily pass the test to graduate high school in D.C.) He doesn't play the violin or speak any foreign languages fluently but he does smile more often and he loves his mohawk.

Speaking of mohawks - I love my son's mohawk... mainly because it was my idea and my way of rebelling against the "establishment." My DH hates it. He threatens to shave it off every day but I know he doesn't have the time to do it so on we go. Will gets tons of compliments and comments on it. I love the look I get when moms ask, "So who gave him that idea?" and I say, "Me."

His pediatrician asked him which tribe he was a member of, Mohawk or Iroquois. The kids at camp called him "Mohawk Kid." I can't think of any other comments right now but there have been plenty.

I'm asked all the time my by conservative friends (and even the liberal ones) why I shaved a mohawk onto my son's head. I freely admit that I'm rebelling through my son's hair. If I was young enough, I'd shave my own hair into a mohawk but since I'm nearing 40, I thought my oldest boy could pull it off better than I. Is that wrong? I don't think so. Is it healthy? I don't think so. But it's unhealthy like a brownie is unhealthy - in moderation it won't hurt anything.

I know that there is potential for problems with body piercings and tattoos later on. The mohawk is a gateway hairstyle, afterall. But as misunderstood as my son feels, he's also a big fan of silly things and since Goth and Emo kids don't laugh at anything, ever, I think I'm pretty safe for now.

As for this blog, I'd like to keep it up - maybe change it up a bit but I'd probably be better served by spending my time working out. It's tempting to continue post, believing in my own, narcissistic way that people want to read what I have to say. We'll just have to see how it shakes out.

One last comment. I just ate my last cookie from Holland. In Holland, known for tulips and windmills, they have little celophane bags with red and white checks and the picture of a fat, mustached little baker that contain cookies that taste like the complete opposite of crap and are as addictive as crack and have many more calories. At least I think they have more calories. The bag is entirely written in Dutch and even though the numbers they use are the same as ours, I still have no idea what they mean. I also have no idea what they're called or what's in them. I will die if I don't find more of these cookies.

Nothing pressing. Just testing

I have nothing important to say. I was reading a friend's FB and she said she needed to update her blog and I thought, good grief, MY blog! So I raced over here to see if I could still get in. And yes, it appears that I can. My plan was to close this down after I downloaded everything off of it so I can start my crunchy con mamma blog. But I lack the skills to do so. Will need to ask DH.

As long as I'm here... the twins are nearly two and they are amazing.

I was marveling at Pooty Poot Head today. The angelic curls were pronouced since Mr. Cubby had "washed" his brother's hair in the sink earlier that day. He walks with his belly pushed out as far as it will go and rubs it often while trying to pronounce, "Belly button." His voice is as angelic as the curls, soft and high - like the Vienna boy's choir. He crouches over his Duplos as he plays rather than sitting and he makes tower after tower, proudly bringing each one over for me too see. He is a marvel.