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.

Lights and gifts

A year and a half after giving birth to twins, I finally feel nearly normal again. It took a fair amount of liquor after the kids went to bed, but I think I'm back in the saddle again.

Recently I've been thinking about vocations - what God is calling me to do with my life. I always wanted to have a big family and a country farm. 10 acres, one for each kid. Now God might have that planned for us, but I'm getting old and I just don't think we're going to be able to add 6 more kids to the mix. And I haven't been OK with that. I've been quite annoyed actually. How can God cultivate a culture of life if he makes those who are willing to give life - lots of life - bum ovaries?

God calls us to be a light on a hill for all to see and commands us not to put our light under a bushel basket. It didn't make sense that God would put my light under a bushel basket of His own making. It never even occurred to me that God's stock is in light and not in basket making and why I even considered that He'd do such a think is beyond my comprehension now.

Thankfully, at a tea last weekend, I realized that maybe I'm not called to be a beacon of fertility. (I know, you'd think that this would have taken less than 10 years to sink in). Presuming that fertility is a gift that God gives to everyone who wants that gift pretty much negates the whole gifty part of the gift. Maybe my light is simply obedience.

Of course we're all called to obedience just like we're all called to be open to life. But just because I'm open to life doesn't mean I'm going to be a beacon of fertility. And just because others are called to obedience doesn't mean everyone is going to be a beacon of obedience.

I'll never be sure of any of this until I meet my Maker but it is comforting to consider that in the midst of all the tears and the set backs is a never before noticed purpose. I like that.

It's Official

Oh I can't believe I just got off the phone with Will's school principal - well, no, that's not right. That part is believable. What I can't believe is that I just told her that I'll be home schooling him come January. I had a "what was I thinking" moment today. I have those a lot since I've started to seriously entertain thoughts of home schooling my brood.

More on that as things develop. Yeah, you know I'm going to post some crazy stuff here once all four kids are home with me all day long.

In other news, our 2 year old got his fingers wedged in our automatic minivan doors. He cried for 45 minutes straight. We were sure he had broken something. I took him to the doctor for an x-ray. Doctor said he looked OK but gave him a splint. Long story short, aside from a little bruising and tenderness, he's back to normal.

The twins are fine. They're nursing colds and cutting teeth but are sleeping through the night more often. They're on solids now - recently trying chicken and sweet potato combo and for tomorrow we have turkey with veggies. Mr. Cubby tries to feed them goldfish crackers, gum, Tic-Tacs and various non-food items. So thank goodness they're getting teeth.

I can't believe it's almost Christmas. Miss Boo (our new name for our sweet baby girl) and Mr. Poot ... I should change it to Mr. Poo so they rhyme... are 7 months old... oh and someone is crying.

Must dash.

Picture Crazy

I'm so exited that I found the post a picture button. How did it take me nearly a year to find it? Oh right, it's because I'm a conservative. Duh.

Here are pictures of the twins right after they were born. I guess I could add them to an earlier post but I'm too tired to hunt it down right now. Maybe some other day.

Crazy Halloween

Our Halloween in a nutshell went as follows:
Will lost his Darth Vader costume and went as Pope St. Pius X instead. (I made him a pope costume because he had to be Pius X for the school All Saints party). He chased our neighbor, Iron Man, shooting him with Jesus rays from his crucifix - which just goes to show you that boys can make weapons out of anything.

Mr. Cubby was finally persuaded to wear his Dragasaurus costume after I wore it around the house on my head on Halloween morning. He was fascinated by the whole knocking on doors to get candy thing and as we went from house to house he alternated between saying, "Trick or treat" and "Hi. Gimme some candy."

The Twins were mostly miserable and wanted to go to bed but we took them out anyway. We borrowed a parenting tip from one of my sis-in-laws telling them, "You're going trick or treating and you're going to like it."

Will's proudest moment, aside from wearing his saintly pontiff costume was carving a vomiting pumpkin. He's very proud of how gross it was... so proud, in fact, that he told many a kindly old lady who gave him candy on Halloween night about his "pumpkin that has lots of vomit coming out of his mouth but not real vomit just seeds and the inside of the pumpkin part."