We had just finished breakfast. Mark turned on some music, and we began our “normal” family business for the day. As I’m cleaning up in the kitchen, I think I hear muffled screaming. I go to the hallway; it’s not Olive. I figure it must be our neighbor’s dog who has a howl that resembles a screaming child. I step into the backyard — nope, not the dog, but someone is definitely screaming. “HELP ME! OH GOD — SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP ME! MY BABY!” Hearing this woman’s distress immediately caused my mind to spin will all sorts of conjured scenarios. And while my heart raced for my throat, I couldn’t seem to move my feet fast enough. I pounded on the window, letting Mark know that something is happening out front. We both ran and opened the front door, where we could now see the rueful woman anxiously pacing a corner of the courtyard across the street wailing and screaming. “OH GOD! PETER, HOW COULD YOU? SHE’S DEAD! MY BA-BY.” Mark looks back at me as he runs across the street, “CALL 911!” And just as he reaches her, she steps out from behind the iron fence…
holding her dead dog.
Now. I love dogs. I can even understand crying, maybe even wailing over a family pet. But, come on, if you’re going to WAIL AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS so that every neighbor for a quarter of a mile can hear you, at least specify my DOG! All she could manage to shrill at us was, “I’m sorry. But it’s MY BA-BY! OHHH GOD!” I felt like a schmuck for how annoyed I was in that moment.
Speaking of endearing “pets,” we have chickens. Yes, you read correctly — chickens. And as surprised as I am to say/write those very words, I’m more pleasantly surprised by how much I like them. We went in with three other families to share fresh eggs. 5 at our house, 8 at another house. Mark and our friend Danny worked really hard to build their own coops, and last week, we were able to bring the little “ladies” (as we refer to them around here) to their new home. The boys promptly named their hens Henry and Peter. I had to later explain to them that all hens are female. “Not these.” They replied. “Because they’re named Henry and Peter, so they’re boys.” They’ve apparently not quite understood all of our conversations about anatomy. Anyway, everyone was happy until one morning last week when we awoke to find one hen missing and another eviscerated in the coop. That’s right. Murder. It was disgusting. Apparently the uneven terrain of our backyard had left a slight (about 1″) gap at one part of the coop. Enough access for something. That night, I looked outside, after hearing the hens “cheeping” like crazy to see a big, fat possum. Mark was out having a beer with a friend. I didn’t know what to do, so I threw a baseball bat at the possum, hitting him smack on the butt. He looked around, then focused back on the hens. I had to retreat inside, recognizing my defeat and how little I know about these types of over-sized vermin. Unlucky, he left. But, Mark is waiting for his return — with a machete and a ditch blade (seen in the last picture). We’ll save that for another post.
Filed under: musings
Even today. A day that we find out that Blythe has a staph infection which requires excessive hot baths, ointments, and antibiotics (not to mention the glorious job of popping puss pockets on her butt cheeks), when dirty laundry seems never-ending, and our exhaustion seems resolute, yes, even today, Mark, I’m grateful to be yours (and theirs). I suppose “happy” is relative. But, I am –especially these 8 years with you. Even today. Happy anniversary, Love.
In spite of the recent, occasional desires to wanderlust off the edge of the earth, I’m still here — at times in my pjs until dinner or sitting among heaps of folded and unfolded clothes or beguiled by a trance-like stupor trying to remember exactly why I stopped drinking caffeinated coffee so many years ago or simply lost in our rat-race-paced life right now. Who knows? Nonetheless, I am here, and completely baffled that yet another month has passed. It occurred to me that while the first month in newborn-dom mainly entails that you survive, the second month always seems a little more daunting with the reintroduction of everyday life. You know, the kind of everyday-ness that must resume without regard to you having the time or energy but somehow has the power to make you feel “normal” again: grocery shopping, meeting with friends (in any capacity), cleaning or straightening the house (which lately feels like a lost cause), and so on. So naturally, what better way to simplify our new life than by packing everyone up and heading to the circus. (Thanks to the library giving the kids free tickets in exchange for reading books.) Admittedly, it was a little crazy and EXPENSIVE — $10 for cotton candy! Yikes. I suppose they justify the absurdity by packaging the delicious anomaly in a “cool” hat, which Liam promptly lost. Burke, on the other hand, disappeared the entire intermission into his own, lifting it enough only for his hand to deposit another fistful of billowy sugar. Delightful. Blythe danced like a wild-child the entire first half and hated the cotton candy. She crashed at intermission. Five-week-old Olive handled our night on the town like a champ either sleeping, eating, or glaring at me wide-eyed. Really, we had a great time, from the dachshunds’ tricks to the caged-motorcycles to the crazy rope lady, and especially getting to enjoy all of this with our good friends, the King and Norvell families.
Of course, we squeezed in a few Easter egg hunts at the beginning of this month too, which means we’ve spent the rest of the month dealing with the kids’ candy obsession. “Did I eat enough for a piece of candy?” “Why can’t I have candy for a snack?” “But I ate all of my breakfast!” You get the idea. Here’s some pics from the “hunt” at Mark’s aunt and uncle’s. As you notice Blythe made sure to bring one of her cell phones for the outing. This girl can talk. And she’s not even talking to anyone who can respond yet. A few weeks ago I had all the kids with me at Target, where Blythe found a princess Blackberry on an end-cap. She picked it up and proceeded to talk to ____ as we walked through the store. At one point the boys found the art supply isle and started to wander. Blythe, without skipping a beat, keeps the phone at her ear, simply sliding the mouthpiece away from her cheek, and lunges one leg toward the boys with her free arm pointing toward the cart, and yells “boys! get back over here.” She then proceeded with her conversation. Oh dear.
Mark passed his 3 grueling exit exams last month, which means he’s FINISHED his M.A. in European History (with a 3.95, I might add — we’re so proud of you, mark/dad.). And not a moment too soon, seeing as he then had an enormous playground to erect in our backyard (courtesy the kids’ generous Popo and Jojo) before the entire Douglass family came in town to visit Scott & Diana, who were in town from Morocco: 11 large, heavy boxes of wood needing to be drilled and assembled and 25 building hours later, it too was finished, mostly anyway. At some point during this operation Burke ran by me exclaiming to Liam, who was riding his bike closely beside Burke: “Liam (sounding more like “We-um”), I already told you, I just don’t have racing legs!” Sorry kiddo, you must have gotten that from me.
day 1
day 2
day 3
We had a great visit with the Douglass family. It was so good to see everyone, Scott & Diana in particular. The young cousins and pint-sized aunts played hard together, as if they had seen each other just yesterday rather than 9 months ago. I love that about children. Here’s some pics of all the kids, including wading/swimming in the local sand volleyball court turned pool due to all of the rain. Yes, it was fresh, but still stagnant water.
