::: in the bleak midwinter :::

Usually, this time of the year, trying to get any schoolwork done at all is such a drag. I'm so affected by the weather, the brown dreariness of it, that I feel nothing like learning, accomplishing, teaching, and I feel only like burrowing, hibernating, lounging and lazing.

I'm not saying that I don't feel that way now, during this bleak midwinter, but I am saying that I'm learning to force myself into a discipline of sorts. Where I would normally awake and say, "Well, I slept in too long today. The whole day's shot. So much for that," I'm instead saying, "Okay. So I awoke late. We'll forgo the normal schedule and get some breakfast, and I'll read to the girls while they're eating."

Usually, forcing myself to start something creates a type of perpetual motion, and I find myself gaining some steam from each thing I make myself do. If I'm completely unmotivated, folding and putting away a load of laundry gets me somewhat motivated, and it continues on from there.

I'm not sure why things seem so overwhelming right now. Life is going very well, I'd say, for the most part. Sure, there are things that could be better, relationships that could use repairing, and money is always a strain, but, for the most part, life is good. But even one small thing, one extra stop for an errand, one more meeting or phone call or page of a schoolbook, and the thought makes me want to crumble. And yet, if I eliminate all of those things, if I find myself without commitments and activities, I sink into a boredom that serves pretty well as depression, and then I simply don't know what to do with myself.

A friend has recently offered to loan me a therapy light, and I'm looking forward to seeing how that works. I plan to use it during lesson times when I'm reading to the girls aloud. That should make for plenty of exposure to the light, given that the bulk of our day involves reading aloud.

I also really feel that I should get out and take walks, but just the thought of it almost sends me to tears. Isn't that pitiful?

So, for now, I'll keep forcing myself to do what needs doing and looking for light whereever I can find it. I'm so thankful for those around me who are patient and loving and kind and pitch in whereever they're able. Without you, I'd be completely lost.

::: happy thanksgiving! :::

::: created :::

The sunbeams were so gorgeous yesterday that they filled me with a strange sense of nostalgia. It helped immensely that one of them made itself at home in my bedroom, that it chose to highlight something I had completed--washing and folding linens. From my desk, the basket of thrift-store embroidered napkins, cotton tablecloths and quilt-pieced aprons just about drove me to distraction. I loved the look of those freshly-laundered things, and all I had done was wash them and place them in a basket. I hadn't even created them, yet they filled me with a sense of accomplishment. That's no small feat these days.

So often, what the sun brings to light, or at least what I see, are my shortcomings. The smudges on the windows, the dust on the bookcase, the handprints on the walls. Is everyone's tendency toward seeing that which is undone? Why can I not focus on those things I've accomplished? Why can I not give thanks for the good things? Why can I not be at peace?

My daughters have been working on a care package for their brother who is going through discipleship training before leaving for Africa the first week of December. I haven't had the patience or taken the time to teach them needlecrafts. I was never interested in learning to sew, though my mother sewed wonderful things for me and for our home. I don't really recall that she ever tried to teach me; the only recollection I have of my experience with the old metal Singer was a duffle bag for Brownies and a broken needle which brought about my mother's wrath. Sweetheart in particular is so drawn towards needlecrafts of all kinds, whether it's sewing, knitting or anything else that involves needle and thread, and I feel guilty for not having the skills or even the interest to teach her.

Thankfully, my mother-in-law spent time showing her how to cross-stitch and that has sent Sweetheart's finger flying. She has even taken to teaching her little sister a few simple stitches.

A few years ago, a friend of mine was sharing how her eldest daughter grew up and left home before she realized that she'd never shared with her daughter her passion for preserving. She'd always been so caught up in the actual process that she 
never taught her daughter how to put up beans or make jam or can applesauce. Her daughter was now in college, living on the other side of the country, and the realization that she'd "failed" her left my friend weepy and grief-filled.

Shortly after the realization, her daughter called home to give a life update. After some chatting about this and that, the daughter shared offhandedly, "Oh, and guess what, Mom! There was a group of grandmothers who got together to can jelly, so guess what I learned to do!" My friend's shoulders lifted from the relief of that weight. Education never ends! Learning comes from everywhere! Teachers are all around us!

For today, I want to focus on our accomplishments. I want to wander through the day and dip our toes into our interests. I want to trust that my gaps will be filled, that should I forget or skip or run out of time to share some passion of mine with my children, that they'll find it along the way, if that's what they need.

For today, I want to see the beautiful things that the sunbeams illuminate, no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential they might be.

::: thrift store find :::

After finishing my shift at My Favorite Thrift Store on Friday, this pretty bedspread was hanging on the wall rack. It was marked "8.00, as is," no size given. I pulled it down and gave it a quick inspection but could only see a small yellow spot, which didn't seem to reduce the value to $8. I got it home, washed it up, and the yellow spot was gone. It turns out that it's a queen-size "Ret Rac" Chenille bedspread from Carter Bros. Unfortunately, it's not all soft and comfy like I think Chenille should be, but it looks pretty and will give my Amish quilt a break once in a while.

::: who's gonna drive me home tonight? :::

Van = Dead
Reason = Transmission
Yesterday's trip to return the rental car = Not So Bad Anyway

On the way home, we decided to make stop somewhere new, wander around with our mouths agape, and spend the three-hour drive home trading all kinds of ideas.

I've now experienced IKEA.

The ideas were cool, and there were a few things I found that I kinda wanted, and a couple that I really wanted, but most of it was stuff I could do without. And I couldn't help feeling like I was simply shopping at a very large, very trendy Wal*Mart. Everything was made in China or Indonesia or Taiwan, even though the "face" of the place was Sweden, so I'm not sure how I feel about that. But I loved the free Wi-Fi, and I did buy a few dishtowels for .49 each and a pillow form for a thrift-store pillow cover. Bo actually spent more money than I, picking up a set of mixing bowls for the chocolate factory at a whopping $3.99 for a grand total of $7.85.

We're going to be doing a few more home improvement projects and I can see how some of the IKEA stuff could really help. I love their super-long, cut-to-fit curtains and all of the coolio-schmoolio ways you can hang them. Curtains I definitely need, and since I don't sew, it helps to find a place that has them in all lengths with no sewing required. Sad, huh? Still, there it is.

The van shall not return to us. I spent part of the morning drooling over the '10 Odysseys, even taking ten minutes to "build my own," which I pretty much tricked out except for the ski racks, the bike racks and the factory tent which was so incredibly factory, dude.

Now, if I could just come up with that $41K, I could give the dealer a jingle and say, "Let's roll, buddy."

Consumerism. It's what's for breakfast.

::: the girls are back in town! :::

At first, I was afraid I wouldn't be ready with everything I wanted to accomplish by the time they got home, but it didn't matter anyway, because I was so busy looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of my mother-in-law's car cresting the hill of the lane that I didn't get much done, anyway. Bo came home for an extended lunch, my dad, who the kids call "Pop" or "Papa," was asking about them every five minutes, and I was looking into the last details of their big surprise, a renovated room, a room with a few fresh coats of paint, beds that were brought back from the dead--or at least from the barn and livened up with a few coats of white--, a vase full of clear candy lollipops in room-matching color animal shapes, and a dish of chocolates from the chocolate factory where Bo works.

When I finally did hear the crunch of gravel, and that car finally did crest the hill of our lane, I could barely contain myself. Three weeks! It had been three weeks since I'd seen my little girls! While Pop and Bo made their way downstairs to greet them, I stayed in the house, in the kitchen, behind the door just waiting, waiting, waiting for my prey, and when The Baby giddily climbed the stairs and rounded the corner--RAWR!--out I jumped, with my arms opened wide. She flew into them and I lifted her high as we spun and laughed and hugged and giggled and interjected and punctuated it all with I-missed-yous and I-love-yous and it's-good-to-be-homes.

Then came Sweetheart, toting her heavy bag up the stairs, steadfast and faithful, and waiting for her to come to the top seemed a lifetime, but then there she was, also in my arms, laughing and hugging tightly. Oh, it was so good to see them again. So down we sat to look at their treasures and creations--The Baby's rock collection and garage sale finds (she's a thrifter, like her mama), Sweetheart's scrapbooks and photos, and The Baby's favorite find, a pink ("Yes! It's pink!" I thought as Grandmas pulled it from the bag) garage-saled lava lamp that survived the trip from Illinois to Ohio. Chatter and chatter, giggles and giggles, one girl talking over another, and then, it was time for Bo and I to reveal our surprise. Up the stairs they ran, and I hurried behind them, trying to get there in time to see the reaction. Would they like it? Would they be surprised?

They loved it so much they didn't want to leave it, and so, they didn't. A fashion show ensued, with me taking pictures of each outfit they donned, and then, after dinner, they asked me to cuddle with them in their room, so we turned off all of the lights, save the PINK lava lamp, and all climbed in to one freshly painted twin bed and cuddled and talked and cuddled and talked until I fell asleep.

This morning, when I peaked in on them, I found that The Baby's bed was empty.

I guess more cuddling was in order, as I found her curled up next to Sweetheart in the other bed.

I'm so glad they're home.

::: i'll be coming home :::

One of my favorite memories as a child is returning home from camp to find that my mother had lovingly redecorated my home, removing the beloved but outgrown Scooby Doo wallpaper, cleaning and organizing, and installing a new corkboard wall to see me into my teen years. The Baby and Sweetheart have spent the last three weeks away with their grandparents, aunts and uncles in far-off Illinois, and while they were gone, spurred on by this contest, Bo and I played remodeling fairies, painting, cleaning, organizing and redecorating. Using paint we already had, elements from around the house, some bed frames we'd had in storage that we put a fresh coat of paint on, a gallon of floor paint from Lowe's, an inexpensive area rug, some fun finds from My Favorite Thrift Store, and a whole lot of elbow grease, we spent those three weeks creating a new, cleaner, less cluttered environment for the girls. All said and done, the whole project cost less than $75. I'm expecting them to pull into the driveway with Grandma and Grandpa any minute. I can't wait to see what they think!

::: glass of milk :::

I'm painting your bed

with strokes of white,

covering over what's chewed,

and chipping

and imperfect.

A new coat, Glass of Milk,

on the headboard

and the footboard.

I'm painting your bed,

on the porch, in the breeze,

forcing myself into the cracks

that were neglected

that were missed before.

I try to avoid painting

the porch rail,

the spiderwebs.

I'm painting your bed

while you're away for a time,

forming relationships with others,

distant from our home

but not from my heart.

When you return,

you'll rest in clean sheets

with a cat at your feet.

I'm painting your bed

and it's hard for me,

because I have good ideas

which are often started

but not finished.

And so I force myself

to accomplish this thing

before you come back to sleep.

C is for...

Canning!

It's harvest-time here in Ohio, so we're eating what we can, and what we can't, we can! Mostly we've been putting up tomatoes--whole for soups and also in ketchup and spaghetti sauce as well as "sundried" (or dehydrated) for pizzas--but we also did some applesauce and apple butter. Today, I taught Bard how to can tomatoes and she did a batch on her own. When the jar lids emitted that pleasing "POP!" I patted her back. She'd done good!

She also made fennel-lavender tea which was an absolutely gorgeous shade of purple. She added lemon to a glass of it, and it turned lemonade-pink! We determined that fennel is a natural PH indicator. What fun!

I've been putting things in the freezer, too. The excess basil has gone there, as well as batches of raspberries, blueberries, salsa, jalapenos and green peppers and peaches.

I hope to get some corn in the freezer soon and maybe some more stuff--onions and pizza sauce, maybe. Pears would be nice, too.

Are you canning this year?

After tragedy, laundry...

"We should all do what, in the long run, gives us joy, even if it is only picking grapes or sorting the laundry.”

~E.B. White

I do enjoy clean laundry. I enjoy smelling it, whether on myself or on other people, wearing it, seeing it whipping in the wind or even soaking in the rain. I even enjoy folding it and putting it away if it's fresh from the dryer, toasty and effluvious. There are few things that make me as feel prepared and organized as having freshly laundered clothes, sheets, rugs and curtains gracing my abode.

This may hearken back to the days of my youth. Then, I didn't care much for laundry one way or the other. I was like most children--yes, even like my own--who considered the term "put your clothes away" to mean "shove them under the bed or throw them on the closet floor." I also equated the term "clean your room" with "pull out all of those clean clothes from under your bed and on your closet floor and throw them in the laundry hamper."

We had a hamper back then. It was a kind of plasticky wicker, golden in color, with a solid hinged top. It sat at the end of the hallway and the dirty (or, in my case, clean) clothes disappeared from it and reappeared in my closet or drawers. Now that I think about it, I don't believe I ever really had to put my own clothes away. I just took off the clean outfit I didn't want to wear and put it in the hamper. Does anyone have hampers anymore?

What I did have to do, however, was take the clothes out of the dryer. The best way to get out of this, of course, was to pop open the dryer door, feel the clothes, and make an assessment. Not dry yet. Whether they were dry or not, I could garner a few more moments of freedom if I snapped the door shut and restarted the dryer.

This worked okay for the clothesline, too. It was my job to haul the big plastic laundry basket out to the back yard and retrieve the clothes from the line. After more than a time or two of claiming they weren't dry yet, I eventually had to pay the piper. If it was an especially warm and breezy day, I couldn't even get away with one round of procrastination.

There was an art to removing the clothes from the line. Foremost was the placement of the clothesline pole, a long aluminum rod with a kind of v-shaped attachment on one end which doubled quite well as a lion-taming rod, sword, lightsaber or javelin. If the clothesline rod weren't strategically positioned, clothes would--GASP!--touch the ground, and then the whole thing was a mess. The best thing to do was begin with the sheets, then other long stuff like crispy, crackly, stiff towels and cardboard jeans. After those were snapped and wrangled into submission, it was time for shirts, which hung upside down so as to avoid pointy shoulders, and then washcloths and underwear. While I never claimed to enjoy this activity, I still have fond memories of it and recall being very precise about how I organized the clothes int he baskets.

Clotheslines took a hiatus from my life until about six years ago when we were living in a small cabin with very minimal electricity. For many months, "doing laundry" meant packing fifteen million baskets of dirty things and toting them up a gravel footpath to the car which would take us to the local dirty laundromat. This was a total and complete conflict. The joy of clean clothes meets the dread of the filthy place. What on earth was in those washing machines before my load? And who had folded their clothes on this table before I? Still, baskets of fluffy, fresh wash was the payoff, and even when I was largely pregnant, I enjoyed getting the clothes clean. Joy of joys, I can still remember the day my dear husband lugged our old washing machine from our city house to our country cabin, rigged it up on the front porch, and made me one happy woman. A top-notch clothesline was constructed which stretched from my porch to a distant tree, between two pulleys. Some strong connection to my ancestors surfaced when I laundered my clothes then; with my hillbilly washin' setup, I'd step from my cabin onto the porch and pull those wet clothes from the washer. With each snap of a clothespin, I felt a sense of purpose and accomplishment much different than my writing, childrearing, research and volunteer work gave me. It forced me, too, to slow way, way down, to bring my daily routine to a crawl. And because it was my only means of doing laundry aside from the last-resort laundromat, that slow-down period was completely necessary.

Now, some people claim to love the smell of line-dried laundry. I'll confess. I don't like it. While I'm truly a nature-girl through-and-through, give me a Downy-fluffed, machine-dried towel over a stiff-as-a-board, wet-dog smelling line-dried one any day. I guess I'll never make it as a homesteading purist.

Who knew that something so inocuous as laundry would come so close to being tragic?

When we built our house several years ago, one of the features I lobbied very hard to acquire was a second-floor laundry room, and a nice one at that. I had to do a lot of fast-talking to convince my husband that it would be safe and very, very handy. For nights, he researched dryer ducts and washer pans before he was assured. I've rarely been unhappy with the choice. It's very definitely convenient to pull the clothes from the dryer and whisk them right to their destinations. If I have a terribly large pile, baskets full of clean laundry travel from the laundry to my bedroom where my queen-sized bed is transformed into a folding center. I turn up the tunes while my tee-shirts tumble-dry, putzing around the bedroom doing odd jobs. By the end of the day, the laundry is done and the bedroom's in order. Quite productive, indeed.

So, I had a new second-floor laundry with an efficient flourescent light and some handy shelves, but because we'd decided on hickory doors and custom kitchen cabinets, there really was no appliance budget. We took some of the little cash we had and bought a very old, very used washer and dryer pair from a very old, very used furniture store. The clothes have never felt clean to me, and I don't think it's just because it was someone else's washing machine. For one thing, the hot water feature stopped working about six months ago, and the fabric softener dispenser had a very crafty way of tossing all of the liquid around the top of the machine, completely avoiding the clothes. On top of all of that, the clothes never smelled clean, no matter what kind of detergent or fabric softener I would use.

But it wasn't the washing machine that caused the real problem. It was actually the dryer that conspired against us.

My husband and I were minding our own business, sitting in our bedroom having a heated discussion about global warming, when the fire alarms started to sound. I didn't jump up, I'm ashamed to say. But, in my defense, we have the kind of fire alarms that go off when the toast is too brown, or when the shower's too hot, or when the summer humidity is too high, or when a housefly has a fever. I figured that one of the kids was burning popcorn, so I ignored it, continuing my side of the argument. After several minutes, the alarms were still sounding, so I decided to see what those crazy kids were doing.

Once in the hallway, it became clear that this wasn't your average popcorn smoke. The hall was filled with a thick, plastic-smelling grayness that sent me toward the kitchen, assuming that it was something left in the microwave too long. Fortunately for us, we had left the laundry room door open. Had it been closed, I'd likely have continued past it and headed down to the first floor. If I had, we might have lost our home. What I saw, out of the corner of my eye, was a pile of flaming clothes flickering on the floor in front of the dryer. I strolled as calmly as I could back into the bedroom and stated, "Um. We actually have, um, a fire..."

Bo leapt from his spot and raced to the laundry room where he quickly called everyone to action. Ironically, a decorated ash bucket that my mother-in-law had filled with pretty girly things and had given the girls for Christmas, was put to use as an anti-fire weapon. I dashed back and forth between the laundry room and the bathtub, filling pails and soaking towels to put out the ever-increasing fire. One of us insisted that Bard gather the kids and get them outside. Every minute that passed had us wondering how long it would be before we'd have to join our kids outside, too and watch helplessly as our house burned to the ground.

Thank God, Bo was able to extinguish the fire and disconnect the gas dryer, which we had determined was actually burning inside, at the motor. With the help of Houdin, he hauled the dryer out to the front yard and we proceeded to fill baskets with smoldering laundry, dumping it into the bathtub and the front yard.

Obviously, at the moment when I was able to breathe a sigh of relief and praise God for our safety, I wasn't thinking about the fact that I no longer had a dryer. I was just trying to absorb the shock of having a fire in my house. But, before long, five kids, five dogs, two adults, a cat and a live-in father made me quite aware of the fact that we'd need to replace that dryer.

Money's tight. At this point, a trip to the laundromat was more affordable than a brand new dryer, even at sixty bucks a pop. Not enjoyable, just more affordable. It was clear, though, after one massive laundry trip, that this couldn't last.

Yesterday, I arrived home from work to a wonderful early birthday gift. My dear husband had shopped for and purchased not only a brand new dryer, but a fabulous, awesome, amazing new washing machine! I am now the proud owner of a Whirlpool Cabrio washer and a Duet dryer, two of the top-consumer-rated machines. Two of the BIGGEST machines on the market!

So when I got home from the greenhouse today, I started washing everything I could get my hands on--blankets, pillowcases, socks, slippers, stuffed animals, small children, large dogs, annoying relatives--and entertaining myself by watching the load swish and swash (the machine has a clear top), admiring the bright lights and colorful knobs (Sweetheart and I even turned off the lights so we could pretend we were in a spaceship), and reading the owner's manual to learn about all the mad skills my new machines have.

I'll bet my mother would laugh if she could see my washing machine, if she knew that I actually have to read a manual to know how to use it. She'd probably be a bit baffled that I throw all of the clothes in the dryer and the dryer actually knows when the clothes are dry. I'll bet she could never imagine hanging her clothes on the line and having a little timer tell her how long it will be until they were ready to be put away, or having a moisture sensor check them for doneness.

And even though I will continue to love my fluffy, fresh-from-the-dryer towels, I'm still lobbying for a clothesline.

Role with It...

Lately there have been a lot of thoughts running through my head about my role in life.

I seem to get like this specifically when I'm busy with things that pull me away from the home, like work (right now, I'm working for a local greenhouse part-time), or classes (either my kids' or my own), or volunteer work, or activities, or social gatherings. My being gone really takes a toll on the state of the house. Right now, it's a disaster area. And that causes me a lot of stress.

But being gone takes a lot of toll on me, too. What I really want is to be a home-maker. I want to be with my kids, read to them, bake things, cook meals, clean the house, do laundry.... I know, I know. It sounds so June Cleaverish. But it's true. Nothing relaxes me more than a clean, organized home, a neat yard and a bucolic barnyard full of well-cared for animals.

Unfortunately, I'm the only one in my family who really has strong desires regarding these things.

So I feel like I spend a good portion of my time fighting the inevitable messes and prodding, bribing and threatening the masses to take a look around and take a bit of inintiative and take CARE of things!

Lately, I've been feeling the pull to get me back in the house. I almost feel like I'm caught in a trap, expending time and energy at the greenhouse, forensics club, choir, and even the housecare things that take me away from home, like grocery and thrift store shopping, and I'm wondering if it's all really where God wants to have me.

I'd like to wrap up this post by saying I had a wonderfully insightful epiphany about this while showering this morning.

But I can't. Because I haven't.

Last week when we were preparing for the forensics tournament, I just felt like my life was completely out-of-control, how I spend a lot of time serving in other areas for other people, and then my own home, health and family suffer because of the time we spend away. As we were preparing to leave, The Baby, who's four, wrapped her arms around me and said, "You're leaving again? Already?" and clung to me, bursting into heartbroken sobs, begging me not to go. Yesterday, after two days of being gone for the tournament, she clung to me and continually offered me "surprises" that she had for me. She was emotional, weepy and clingy. She really needed me. And I was gone. For what? What's so important? Especially in light of the fact that my other "little girl" was four just yesterday. And now, she's seventeen.

It's a complicated thing, this life. And being a mother? Oh. My. Goodness. Pressures like I never would have imagined.

Even at the tournament, I knew that I had certain responsibilities, but I also had children who were presenting pieces and wanted me to see them. No matter which choice I made, I felt guilty. If I went to see them, I felt like I was shirking my responsibilities. If I didn't go see them and made myself available for other things, I felt guilty for not being a good mother.

I think part of it is always second-guessing myself about what I'm "supposed" to be doing. Or maybe just what I think other people think I'm *supposed* to be doing.

Like now. I'm supposed to be running, and shopping for a dryer, and buying milk for my family and another family, and dropping things off at the thrift store, and checking on the goats, and heading to the greenhouse.

But I'm here. Trying to figure our my role in life.

Have you ever struggled with this?

::: homekeeping meme :::

Aprons - Y/N? If yes, what does your favorite look like?

Yes. I love aprons. Aprons are things I have to be very careful about not over-buying because I just get this magical nostalgic feeling when I see a good one. I have several favorites for different purposes. I have a few long green chef's aprons for when I'm dressed for guests but still cooking. I have a grey apron with a handtowel attached, given to me by my mother-in-law, that I use for everyday. I have several vintage aprons that I've collected, and also a few that the girls and I have given to us by my mother-in-law from her mother-in-law's things.

Baking - Favorite thing to bake: Quiches, pizzas and cheesecakes.

Clothesline - Y/N? I have one at our cabin, but not up here at the house. I'm lobbying hard for one, but my husband hasn't quite caught the vision. I keep trying to tell him that hanging out linens is THE ONLY way to eliminate dust mites. Maybe this summer I'll get one. When I lived at the cabin, I really felt a strong connection to my clothesline. That right there? May have been the lamest thing I've ever said.

Donuts - Have you ever made them? Oh, yes. Greasy donuts are a weakness of mine, but I have tried to steer clear of them since I've been running. Bo taught us how to make donuts using storebought biscuit dough. Not gourmet, but interesting.

Every day - One homemaking thing you do every day: Putz around, cleaning and wiping things.

Freezer - Do you have a separate deep freeze? Yes, but I would love to have another. One for meats and one for veggies and breads.

Garbage Disposal - Y/N? Several. They're called dogs, cats, goats, pig, chickens, children, husband, father, rats, rabbits...

Handbook - Home Comforts.

Ironing - Love it or Hate it? I'm kinda in-between. I like ironing once I get it started, but we don't really have a lot that needs ironed.

Junk Drawer - Y/N? We call it a "tool drawer," thankyouverymuch.

Kitchen - Color and decorating scheme? Natural Hickory (top) and milk-paint cabinets in hunter green (bottom) with a bisque on the walls. Lots of wood. White and green dishes. Above cabinets changes seasonally.

Love - What is your favorite part of homemaking? When things are absolutely organized and clean and I'm baking or cooking something and someone just happens to stop by.

Mop - Y/N? No. I clean on my hands and knees, then I can get the baseboards, cupboards, etc.

Nylons - Dont' really wear them.

Oven - Do you use the window or open the door to check? Open the door.

Pizza - What do you put on yours? Feta, onions, fresh garlic, olive oil, spinach, fresh basil and oregano, mozzarella, homemade sauce, and whatever else happens to be around. Pizza-making is a creative experience. It's an art!

Quiet - Cook or bake, check e-mail, read either to myself to or the kids.

Recipe card box - Y/N? What does it look like? I have a drawer, a shelf full of cookbooks and two notebooks that need some more organizing.

Style of house - What is the style of your house? Greek revival farmhouse, two-story, white with green shutters and a porch on two sides.

Tablecloths and napkins - Y/N? If Sweetheart is around, yes. She always gets everyone a napkin.

Under the kitchen sink - Organized or toxic wasteland? Ick.

Vacuum - Right now, our vacuum is broken, so it's few and far between when I can borrow a vac. Since we have wood floors all over the main floor, it gets swept daily.

Wash - How many loads of laundry do you do per week? I could never even take enough time to count. Dozens.

X's - Do you keep a list of things to do that you cross off? Oh, yes. Definitely. I'm a list-maker.

Yard - Y/N? Who does what? Dearest Bo does the mowing, I do the landscaping/gardening, he and boys do the tilling, kids and I do the weeding, I do the dreaming. :-)

Zzz's - What is your last homemaking task before going to bed? Putzing and tidying. I like to see the kitchen cleaned so I can awake to a clean kitchen. It gets me down if it's messy in the morning.

I tag PeacefulLady, Impromptu Mom, SewDuck's Jill, Diane from Circle of Quiet and Donna from Quiet Life.

I'd really like to tag ALL of my readers, so let me know if you do this so I can go see what you wrote!

::: july was national ice cream month :::

July was National Ice Cream Month, so we focused on ice cream a lot. We read about ice cream, bought a hand-crank ice cream freezer, tried several ice cream recipes, talked about ice and salt and why ice with salt is colder than just ice, and Bard read the entire Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream Book. To do a unit study on ice cream, check out these links:

A How To Make Ice Cream report
Ice Cream Analogies (requires a PDF reader)
Ice Cream Flavor survey and Ice Cream bar graph
Ice Cream Facts and Trivia at makeicecream.com
Here's a site that tells you what kind of person you are based on your favorite ice cream flavor. My favorite is Breyers Butter Pecan. :-)
And then, of course, there's A-Z Home's Cool's ice cream page. It includes a really promising looking link to an activity called Ice Cream and Algorithms which I haven't yet done but would really like to do.

::: sweetheart's room :::

Yesterday Bohemian put a few more coats of paint on Sweetheart's twin beds that I found at a secondhand furniture store. After he was finished, I dragged him into town to peruse the very coolest shop in the county. My friend Stefanie has the shop I only need to dream of owning, and I think she's the only one who could pull of such a totally hip place. Stefanie finds stuff, either in salvage yards, yard sales, resale shops, whatever, and spruces them up and makes groupings that are SO cool. I bought a hot pink plant stand, a little end table full of drawers and two matching tables for the feet of Sweetheart and Baby's beds. I stole a lot of inspiration, too. :-)

Bohemian perused the music store while I was salivating at Stefanie's place. He really wants a nice acoustic guitar or a new pickup for the guitar he has. I'd love to find a way to get these things for him. I'll have to think on it. I suppose the best way would be to stop spending money on other things. :-/

Before I came up with that revelation, I also stopped at the store and bought a quilt for Sweetheart's bed, not a pricey one, just a Wal*Mart one. I picked up some greenery for the kitchen, too.

When we got home, I dry-brushed a cream color on top of the pink on the headboard and footboards, and some pink and cream on the end tables I got from Stefanie's. Bard used Handi-Tack to stick five little vintage dollies on the top shelf of Sweetheart's very cute Ethan Allen dresser/hutch that I found at a different used furniture place.

The final product (which actually isn't quite done yet) is so cute. I still need to find some vintage or vintage-style curtains, a few little rag rugs, and some artwork for the walls. There was a way cute vanity at Stefanie's that would fit in Sweetheart's room, too. It has a huge vintage mirror on the back. I'm not sure if I'll get it, but it's definitely appropriate.

We've been playing a lot of Phase 10 as a family, and on Friday night, we played Scatagories. Monet, who is 9, really likes to play and we let him look at the clues before we start the timer so he can get a head start. Bard is the one who really loves to play. :-) Edison isn't into it at all.

But Edison has been very into magic tricks. He, Monet and Sweetheart put on a show for us on Friday night, complete with dancing, magic tricks, juggling and public speaking. :-) It was a lot of fun.

Edison and Monet have been spending a lot of time playing Star Wars Gallactic Battlegrounds. Monet thinks it's a good game to play. Find out more on the next post. Also, they've been spending a lot of time playing Uno, and even including Sweetheart.

Until next time!

::: a room for sweetheart :::

Yesterday, Bohemian and I got up early (early for us on a Saturday, anyway) and went to breakfast. The goal was to hit the used furniture store in a neighboring town and to hit a couple of yard sales that started Saturday morning. Also, Bard and I had seen a used four-string electric bass that Bohemian had wanted to check out.

After breakfast, we headed toward where I thought the furniture store would be, but I hadn't been there so I was counting on seeing a sign, but as we approached the center of town, we still hadn't seen the store. We stopped at the general store and asked an Amish teenager there, but he didn't know of anywhere. I went inside and asked the Amish cashier , but she didn't know of the place, either. I was about to give up, but an Amish customer knew right where it was, just a mile up the road on the main state route! I thought it was funny that the other two locals didn't know it, but I was glad that we were able to get directions.

The sign outside the shop said "Quality Used Furniture," and it was, indeed. Many of the items in there would have been considered antiques, and her prices were that of an antique store, too. Since I was there looking for a bargain, I was a bit disappointed. There were some great things there, but the prices were so strange. A single bookcase could be $195, while a whole bedroom suite was $350. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason.

And then, as I turned down the last aisle, there it was. The sweetest chest of drawers with a hutch on the top. It was painted a cheery yellow, looked to be original paint and original knobs, and had white beadboard behind the hutch. The hutch had two cupboard doors and a shelf, and inside the cupboard doors were another shelf and a mirror on the door. Perfect for Sweetheart's room! It was a vintage Ethan Allen piece, and it was marked...$85! There was a sign above it that said "All hutches 15% off" and since this looked like a hutch as much as it looked like a chest or drawers, I asked. "Sure, I'll give you 15% off of that," the Amish woman said.

I wrote my check while Bohemian prepared to load the piece into the Jeep. He took out each of the mortised drawers and carried the HEAVY thing, which was in two pieces, out to the vehicle. I was already putting it into her room and decorating it with goodies in my mind before we even got it home!

But before we went home, we headed to the yard sales. At the second sale, I found five gorgeous little vintage dolls decked-out in crocheted dresses and hats. Mentally, I lined them up on top of Sweetheart's new hutch. I also found sweet hand-embroidered tea towels, a set of hand-embroidered "his" and "hers" pillowcases, two nice rag rugs in good colors, and a green bowl from a Prak-T-Kal vaporizer.

Saturday evening, we primed and painted Sweetheart's floor, a sweet, light pink called "Kissed by Juliet." Tonight, we primed the two twin beds I found at a different used furniture store and a long pegged shelf we've had for ages. They'll be painted pink and then cream and rubbed through to give an antiqued look.

I'm already mentally shopping for bedding at Target. :-)