Embracing my inner three year old

I know that I am 48 years old with a house, a husband, three sons, a daughter-in-law, a grandson, a granddaughter who is trying to make her debut a month early, friends, family, three jobs that pay, two or more jobs that don't pay, and eight cats. I know that I am very lucky. However....

I don't feel well. My head hurts and my head and chest are cloggy and I hurt when I sit up and hurt more when I lie down and all I want to do is go to bed. But no. Yesterday, I took the day off (HA!) but ended up babysitting because the babysitter didn't feel well and if you are almost 19 and don't feel well you can ask your mother NO MATTER HOW CRAPPY SHE FEELS to pick up the slack. And I worked on a charter and a couple of grants. And I had to talk to an auditor, who was a nice enough guy but for Pete's sake. I'm sick.

I almost had to come into work, which might have been a good thing, since at least at work people don't usually whine at me. But that situation worked out, although not permanently, and that's an issue I'll have to deal with another day. When my head doesn't feel like it's going to implode.

And all I want to do is sleep this weekend, but NO! Joseph turns 19 and seems to think that should be acknowledged in some way. Katy is still having contractions, so baby Ali may make her entrance this weekend and disturb my nap. Another Virgo. As if the world doesn't have enough. I need to work on my jobs that don't pay and one or two of the ones that do pay. I need to sort my laundry in case it ever gets cold again. I need to clean up mounds of cat poop.

OK, well that's enough of that. Time for baby Kathy to take a nap, have a little quiet time, remember that the world does not revolve around her. And take some medicine. I'm thinking Rum & Diet Coke with Lime.

Baby on Board

Last night, Bob and I slept (sort of) in a bed with a year old baby. Gabe, our adorable grandson, has the family trait of hogging the bed. His father used to sleep with his feet pressed against something --- the base of his crib, my back, his Dad's back. Robert's son does a wonderful imitation of a starfish --- spread out with legs and arms claiming the ripe center of the bed. Bob and I huddled on our respective edges. Gabe slept peacefully. We managed to sleep (sort of).

Grandchildren are a great blessing and a great joy. Not the least of which is being able to send them home to their loving Mommy and Daddy when the time comes.

Weather Report

It is still August, which means we can expect more heat and humidity for the next month at least. But the last couple of days have been cooler. 80 degrees and breezy, thanks to tropical storm Fay. We don't get any damage up here, far away from the real storm. We get rain to drop into the bucket of the perpetual drought and a soft wind that feels foreign in a stagnant August. Please notice that for once, I am not complaining about the weather.

This morning is dawning with electrically violet skies. I'm sure the sailors are not feeling good about that. I am not a sailor. I will enjoy the rain and wind from the comfort of my house.

Maybe I will clean my room. Maybe I will work on Gabe's baby blanket --- the one I'd like to finish before his sister is born. Maybe I will curl up on the couch and read a rainy day book. Maybe I will write one.

80 degrees and breezy. The possibilities are endless.

Happy Birthday Gabe

Today is my grandson's first birthday. It is difficult to describe the joy he has brought. Happy Birthday, sweetie pie.

Happy Anniversary

Yesterday was the anniversary of my parents' wedding. If Mom were alive, it would have been their 49th anniversary. Since I just turned 48, Mom would have said, "It's our 48th anniversary," a joke which failed to embarrass me soon after I was able to understand it.

My parents had a strong and strange marriage. They were an institution, to me and to many of their friends. They would argue, bicker, and pick at each other. They would hug and kiss in the kitchen when they made supper. They traveled together and separately. They supported each other and gave each other room. Most evenings, they sat in their places, reading and watching television, occasionally commenting, discussing, or arguing. It was strange to watch, but it worked for them.

As Bob and I get ready to celebrate our 23rd anniversary tomorrow, I recognize that marriages are strange, especially from the outside. Not the dysfunctional, violent, disjointed, cruel marriages that aren't really marriages. The partnering of two people who have realized that not only can they stand to be with each other, they can't stand to be without each other.

Whether they are married in a church, in a courthouse, or in their minds, it is their marriage. Happy anniversary to everyone who is lucky enough to have this.

What's with that?

It is about 78 degrees and raining. Not a thunderstorm, but a solid gray downpour. What's with that? It's August. It's supposed to be hot and muggy with chance of pop-up thunderstorms. The weathermen will have to go to work and record a new forecast.

I'm not complaining. Well, yes I am. I love rain. I love solid gray downpours. I love 78 degrees. But my head has revolted at the change in weather --- barometric pressure, temperature, normalcy. I don't know what. I can't think. I can't eat (always looking on the bright side.) I can't go to bed because I have too much to do.

Yeah, that is not complaining. That is whining. I think I'll stop.

Another Sunday in August

The weather forecast is the same: humid, hot, chance of pop up thunderstorms. It's actually cooler than it has been. In the 90s, I think.

I am making butter pecan ice cream for my mother in law's birthday party. It's the super-rich kind with a custard base. I've had to combine two recipes to make this work. I hope it does work. One recipe was too large for my ice cream maker. It looked to complicated too.

Butter pecan is my mother in law's favorite ice cream. I know she will like this, probably better than anything else we might have given her. She won't say how fattening it is (although someone will). She will eat some and share the rest and it will be nice.

Channeling Martha

The stupid Hostess got loose in my brain and announced that she was having a party to honor Gabriel's first birthday. This seems simple enough. The family alone makes up over 50 people. Add a few friends who are a part of Gabe's life and our lives and we have a nice crowd of friendly people. Ask my brother, sister, and father to help with food and beverages. Katy gets the decorations and the cake. E-mail or call people, since we aren't being too formal. How hard is that?

OK, all I have to do is clean the house. A house that includes 8 cats, most of whom can't find the cat boxes even though there are three of them in the house. A house with stuff in rooms that aren't supposed to hold stuff. In August, when the backyard will be full of humidity and mosquitoes. What was I thinking?

Oh well. It will happen. And we will have a good time. And Bob will make me promise never to do it again. And the Hermit will swear on a stack of Martha Stewart Living magazines that this won't happen again. But it will.

080808

Since eight is my lucky number, this should be a good day for me. Maybe the roots of something good are happening. Or maybe I should enjoy the goodness of my life in general.

It's been an uneventful day.

I had a nice conversation with my counselor about world views, collaboration, and communicating with people who see a different world than I do.

I delivered payroll to an unappreciative client and am trying to remind myself that it is her problem not mine.

I bought a bunch of essential oils and made a recipe that is supposed to repel cockroaches. Since I know a nuclear blast won't kill them, I'm just trying to repel them now. I'll let you now how that works for me.

The recipe called for 4 drops of thyme oil, 8 drops of lemongrass, 4 drops of lavender, and 4 drops of peppermint. I hope it repels the roaches. My sons are complaining of the smell, but I sort of like it. I wonder what that says.

I am reading Til We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis, and thinking about how people acting to protect someone they love often harm them. And I'm thinking about how to avoid that.

Things to avoid: harming people I love, cockroaches, and irritable clients.

Mars in a full house

Mars (the cat) is recovering nicely from her surgery. She slept the first night and hid in a cupboard for the second day. Last night she got outside, which is not what I would have liked, but is what Mars likes.

She seems very content. It's almost as if she knows that she won't be burdened with more litters of demanding kittens. She was a good mother, but you could tell she was getting tired of it. Now she can be free and easy. The solitary cat she seems to want to be. And that isn't easy in a house with 8 cats and four people.

After the next payday, I'll get the next one taken care of.

One down...

Lydia asked if I had 8 cats or if the extra four would have made eight. The answer is: I have 8 cats.

Koala is my blind 16 year old (I think) blue calico. Someone we knew was feeding her, but their cats didn't like her, so she needed a new home. Robert wanted a cat for his birthday. Since his birthday is in January, the animal shelter didn't have a lot. I don't think the guy understood I didn't want a kitten, but it worked out. Koala is a dear.

Before I could get her spayed, she had a litter. Her son Colby is with us still. Her daughters Maggie and Alyss live with my brother. Colby is yellow and white and does a fine imitation of a bear rug.

Joseph brought home Mars, who is getting spayed today. She is doing well, I hear from the vet's office. She has had too many litters. We have Taz, a black long-haired male.

And we have the four kittens, currently called Moosetracks (calico), Turtletracks (tortoiseshell), Charley (black and white), and Thierry (gray and white.) I don't want to keep them, but I've had bad luck giving away cats, except to relatives and close friends. They are full up right now.

So, I am going to have the kittens spayed or neutered, then find homes. At least then, I won't feel guilty about giving them away to make more and more cats. Even though they are beautiful and sweet, there are enough of them.

A Sunday morning in August

It is August in South Carolina. The month in which television weathermen tape their weather report and go on vacation. "Highs in the high 90s or low 100s. Folks, it's going to be hot out there. Drink plenty of water and bring your umbrella because there may be some pop-up thunderstorms with hail the size of Volkswagens. There is a chance of high winds. Have a nice day."

Sometimes, just for variety, there is a hurricane somewhere. People in SC care about hurricanes. Even if it is in the Yucatan peninsula, South Carolinians will buy bottled water, extra batteries, and white bread. You never know when those babies will change course. It's not just SC, of course. People in from Florida to Texas and up to North Carolina feel the same way.

This morning, it is sunny but hazy, which means nothing. Last night there was a magnificent storm. I think it was centered on my house. Lightning and thunder blasted at the same time. The bedroom was lit up with flashes. It was like the footage of the bombing of Baghdad. Very scary, especially with two large pine trees right outside of my bedroom window.

But there is little or no damage here. I'll send the boys out to pick up pine cones and limbs, but I don't think we'll need the chain saw. My son and daughter-in-law didn't call to tell us a tree fell on their house. I haven't heard from other family or friends, so I believe everyone is safe and sound.

At least until tonight. Got to go buy batteries...

Cats and more cats

Yesterday, when I got home, I heard a voice calling me. A neighbor I have met and talked with but don't know well.

She has told me that she loves our cats (a good thing, since they WILL walk in her yard) but that she has three (or four?) rescue dogs that don't like them so much. Yesterday, she told me that she had a litter of kittens that had been left at her office. They are less than two months old. It is amazing they are alive. She is keeping them in her house, but...

I panicked. After making the right "Oh, my," noises, I thought "Please don't ask me to take the kittens. I will say yes and Bob will leave the house and never come back."

She simply asked me to let her know if anyone wanted a kitten or four. I said I would. She said she was very attached and wanted to keep them, but wasn't sure if it was a good idea. I told her that our cats had always known to stay out of fenced in areas that contained dogs and that inside the dogs and cats seemed to get along.

I said I'd keep a look out for anyone who wants cats, and she'd see how it worked out for now. I know it will.

And then I vowed to call Dr. Battle and make an appointment to have Mars spayed. They are all lovely cats, it always works out for now, but I think we will stop at eight cats.

And, by the way: Do you know anyone who wants a lovely kitten? Or three?

August First

I decided to change the layout of the blog. It's sort of like redecorating the house, but without the paint fumes.

My AOL horoscope told me that a new moon in my sign is a good time to start new things, which I guess it good. I'd kind of like to finish some of my old things though. So maybe my new thing will be finishing what I've started. The baby blanket for Gabe (who will be a year old August 17). The scrapbook from the trip we took two years ago. The Charter for the new middle school. The Enrolled Agent Exam. The kitchen. The garden.

Maybe finishing will be my new thing. Then I can start a whole new bunch of new things and spend the next 48 years finishing them.

6 Words to Describe What I Want My Home to Be

I think we've come up with six words (or phrases, since we are ornery folk and don't follow rules.)

• Clean
• Friendly
• Safe
• Light
• Cheerful
• Orderly

Wow, those were single words. Now for the ornery part.

I've discussed clean at length: clean, but you don't have to be able to eat off the floor. However, it would be nice if you felt good about eating off the table.

Friendly, but not too friendly. Come on by, sit a spell, go home. Y'all come back now, y'here?

Safe. It seems self-explanatory, but home safe means more than a roof & walls that keep out rain and burglars and other bad things. It is a place to be yourself and to be accepted with all of your weird dreams and bad moods and wishes for hugs even if you are a big boy/man or girl/woman. Of course, if you are in a really really really bad mood: go to your room and be miserable there. That's why you have your own room. Thank you.

Light. I love natural light. I often prefer the natural light to be gray and overcast, but I'll take a big window with light sheers over drapes and closets each and every day. Often I'll work or read in the natural light instead of turning on the electric ones. People will say, "Don't you need a light?" "You'll ruin your eyes." "Where are you?" I don't care. I say I have a headache and need lower light. I'm often lying, but don't tell.

Cheerful addresses my idea of decorating. I like bright colors. I want great big prints of sunflowers and poppies. I want my cinnamon couch covered with yellow and blue and green pillows. In my dream world, cheerful involves plants growing and things baking, but that's a want rather than a need. I do have African Violets.

Orderly, as we all know, is different from clean. Clean means you won't find bugs or syrup on it. Orderly means you can find it. I want to be able to find all of these things that belong in my house. When I decide (someday) to decorate those glass balls I bought at Michael's, I want to be able to find: the balls, the paint, the ribbon, the sequins, the dried herbs, the whatever. I'm unnaturally attached to my label maker, or I would be if I could find it. I'm unnaturally attached to the IDEA of a label maker. With bright colored labels. Labeling bright colored canvas boxes...

Sunday morning

My horoscope tells me to take time to relax today. That is particularly tempting, since my sinuses are bother me, throwing off my hearing and balance as well as my mood. I'd like very much to go back to bed with a book. I won't of course, not yet.

I am taking my oldest son to my office so that he can install ceiling lights. In our back office, we can't see at night. Not a big problem in the summer when we close at 4:30 and the sun doesn't close until 8:30, but a very big problem in the winter when we try to close at 6:00, but don't, and the sun has left us by 5. We have a ceiling fan with a light which the boss wants to keep. I'm down with that, since I don't want a big tray fluorescent light. So Robert will install two little eyeball lights over the desks. It should provide light without being obtrusive. I can't wait. I can wait to go into the office on a Sunday morning, of course. Oh well.

Then I am cleaning all of my dishes, sorting cans, bins and bags, and reassembling my kitchen. I don't know if we've made any headway for the long run, but the shelves are clean and I'm ready to go. Sort of.

Civil War

One word that comes to mind when I think of what my home should be is "Welcoming." Doesn't everyone want their home to be welcoming? Maybe not. And a part of me doesn't want mine to be too welcoming either.

There is an internal battle between two aspects of my personality. I call them "the Hermit" and "the Hostess." The Hostess reads Martha Stewart Living and thinks of all sorts of cute things to do to make the house welcoming to hoards of theoretical guests. She buys things that will make really cute party decorations. The Hermit points out that the house is in no shape to receive guests. They agree on that, and the Hostess suggests getting to work, cleaning, painting, and arranging pretty things. The Hermit says, sure, but let's read up on it first. Then she gets a book and three magazines on decorating and goes to the hammock.

I don't think the Hermit wants company and she knows that the Hostess wants something close to perfection before she starts hosting. You can see who has the advantage here.

So, do I want my house welcoming? I think it's unrealistic to think the house will be perfect, of course. It's also unrealistic to fear that it will be so welcoming I won't be able to get rid of people. It would be nice to have friends over for dinner or just to hang out awhile. Not too long. Not past 8:00 on a week night. Maybe not on a weeknight at all...

Maybe I can have some people for dinner. The Hermit is getting three cookbooks and a half dozen magazines. Maybe I'll just have a cook-out. The Hostess is rushing to World Market to buy cute cook out containers, napkins, throws... Maybe I'll just sit down and read my book while they work it out.

OK, my house should be:

1. Clean
2. Welcoming, but not too welcoming

Two and a half down, four to go.

home is...

The question was asked (by Annie at writers and witches, and words...oh my! who asks the best questions) what six words would you like to have describe your house. I have been thinking about this and asking my children and husband what they think.

Since they are men, they have trouble with the exercise. I say, if the house were the way you want it to be, what words would describe it?

They say, clean, which is cool. I say, let's go beyond that. Let's accept clean (first word: "Clean"), then talk about what other words would describe it.

They look at me, puzzle their faces, think hard and say, "If we all pitch in, we can keep it clean."

I say, I know. Clean. I have clean. Now close your eyes... no, don't roll them, close them. OK, keep your eyes open. The house is clean...

"It's not."

I know it isn't. We're working on that. Now move beyond clean...

"It doesn't have to be beyond clean," they say. "Not like we're going to eat off the floor."

My turn to roll my eyes. Close my eyes. Sigh.

OK, so some houses are formal.

"I don't think you can have a formal house. Not with Gabe and the baby to be named later."

I know, I'm just trying to make a point.

"Me too. If it's formal, the babies will tear it up."

I rub my head.

What about color? If you could paint your room any color you want, (but you can't paint it black), what would it be?

"I can paint it black," says Joseph.

You MAY NOT paint it black. (Pause while they sing "Paint it Black")

Bob adds: "Don't paint it any weird colors." Since I'm not ready to talk color, really, I let it pass.

OK, so what do you want?

"Clean and not formal."

"You can't have formal with kids."

How about if I have a house without kids? Or husbands? Or grown children?

"That wouldn't be any fun, would it?"

So, bottom line: we're working on it. Clean, informal. And don't even consider quiet.

The Third of July

I am ready for the long long weekend. Since I don't work on Friday, I am trying to take Thursday off, at least mentally. While waiting for people to pick up their payroll checks, I am making lists of things I need for the barbecue tomorrow. I'm bringing a watermelon, buns, chips, a croquet set (look J, I spelled it correctly!), and my family. I will need more sunscreen, chairs, towels, sunscreen, hats...

When I leave here, I will stop at the produce stand down the road. She has watermelon at 2 for $6, which isn't bad. I saw pretty tomatoes as I drove by this morning. She has flowers and other plants, too. I wonder if I can get them in the ground this weekend?

A good thing about a Friday holiday is that you get the visiting over with on Friday and can recover on Saturday and Sunday. I have lots to do this weekend. I am trying to scrub my kitchen cabinets. We started last weekend and didn't finish, so the cabinets are empty but the living room is full. I'll grab the kids and start scrubbing on Saturday.

I am also reading the Narnia books. They are shorter than I remember, written on maybe a fourth grade level. The theology/philosophy is more mature. I've read articles about the books by people trying to tie the stories to Biblical events, which shows they don't get the point at all. Religion & spirituality is about how we are now, not how they were then. It is growing and continuing, not engraved in stone. But that's just my belief, of course.

So I have a good bit of reading to do. I'm also reading Dracula, which is a little spiritual too. I recently finished The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. It is about Dracula, sort of, and the style is similar to Bram Stoker's, which means it's more formal than I am used to reading. But it has made me think about evil both supernatural and natural. I wonder if I can protect my children from pedophiles, murderers, and thugs by wrapping them with garlic and wild rose? I might give it a shot.

And now the payroll has gone out. I will head home with my lists and try to get everything done before I crawl in bed with my books. Wish me luck and fortitude. I think I'll need both.

Fruit Cocktail and other trials of mothering

I have been thinking a lot about food, parenting, and fruit lately. This meandering has lead me to a strange childhood fruit cocktail memory. I hope I haven't shared this already. I'm too lazy to check.

When we were children, we loved fruit cocktail in the can. The can only had one to two cherries --- maraschino cherries that don't really look like cherries. You know what I'm talking about. So when we had fruit cocktail, Mom would cut the cherries up and make sure each of the three children had the same number. We always checked.

As Mark and I ate fruit cocktail that a church man gave us this morning, I told him that story. He looked at me quizzically, a pretty standard Mark look. I offered him the cherry. He said, "No thanks, I don't care for that."

I also remember that for awhile Mom bought three kinds of cookies at the store (Oreos, chocolate chip, and wedding cookies) and divided them into three containers. Each child had his/her own container and when it was gone, it was gone for... I guess a couple of weeks. I remember checking to make sure my siblings didn't steal my cookies. I remember trying to make mine last longer than the others, but I doubt I was successful.

Equality was very important to Mom. She counted jelly beans into our Easter baskets and chocolates into our Christmas stockings, making sure each of us had exactly the same amount. She told me that she always spent the exact same amount on each of us for Christmas and birthday presents. I don't remember thinking that my brother and sister got more than me (except the cherries), but I guess she made sure the issue never came up. Even if one of us needed something and the others didn't, she'd make sure we either all got it or no one did. She continued this even as we grew to adults.

I don't know if this is a good plan. It seems that "to each according to his need" would be more reasonable, but then, I'm a pretty needy person.

Sometimes I worry about giving my children equal treatment, and I know that right now, I'm not. Will someone be short changed, or will it even out in the long run? I think I need to be mindful of the way I give attention --- material and emotional. But just as some children don't need as much help materially, some don't want as much emotional contact. I try to give them all of what they need and some of what they want. And I think that's working out, but I do think I need to evaluate the whole thing.

And of course, stop rambling...