• a Monday list

    This is a Monday list that I’m posting on Tuesday but since I wrote it on Monday I’m going to stick by my guns and call it a Monday list. Even though it’s Tuesday. I’m stubborn like that.

    1. On Saturday my younger son got shocked enough to break the skin. The kids had found an old mixer and were happily blending up weeds and water. I gave them a big lecture about sticking their phalanges in the running beaters, but I never thought to check the cord. So when my son went to plug it in, or unplug it or something, he got one whammy of a zapper. He cried for a while, and when he cries for longer than ten seconds, I know he’s really hurt ‘cause he’s one tough cookie.


    (And yes, the shocking mixer has been banished from the playing field.)

    2. Then on Sunday afternoon, my older daughter jumped over the hammock, got her feet tangled up in it, and hit the concrete face-shoulder-arm first. Now she’s all sorts of stiff and she says it hurts to chew hard food.


    Blowing on one of the ouchies.

    I don’t know how much longer we can maintain our track record of zero broken bones. (I didn’t just jinx myself, did I?)

    3. My older son sat in a chair and it broke. No injuries, except for the chair’s (but it was already almost done for anyway, so it doesn’t count).

    ***

    Interlude for Semi-Relevant Story

    When my husband and I were getting ready to leave Nicaragua, oh, about 13 years ago, we decided we wanted to take some rocking chairs home with us. So we went to the market in Managua and found a rocking chair vendor. My husband circled the chairs, prodding them with his foot, testing the weave of the seats with his hand, and grilling the vendor on the price. And then, to test out the comfort level, he plunked his skinny behind down in a chair and CRASH!—the chair dissolved in a pile of pieces on the floor, and my husband found himself inelegantly sprawled across the hard concrete in the center of the bustling market. He leapt to his feet, eyes sparking rage, while the vendor flooded him with apologies and explanations and I tried not to pee my pants from laughing. The chairs, it turns out, weren’t fully assembled. They were just stuck together to show what they looked like. They were actually well-made and would not, under any circumstances, fall apart once properly assembled, the vendor promised in a rush. But my husband had already stalked off. I had to track him down and talk him off the ledge. Then we went back and bought two chairs.

    End of Interlude

    ***

    4. My younger daughter, unlike the rest of her siblings, had no mishaps to speak off. She did, however, magic marker her lips a startling red.



    We call her Marilyn.

    5. I am reading Foreign to Familiar: A Guide to Understanding Hot- and Cold-Climate Cultures to my older children. A week ago, some friends loaned us the book and I promptly devoured it, lightbulbs flickering on every step of the way. Then my husband read it, and now my children.

    Author Sarah A. Lanier talks about the differences between hot cultures (usually poorer countries, hotter climates, more relationship-based) and cold cultures (industrialized countries, cooler climates, task-oriented).

    My husband and I are often confused and baffled by all the “wrong” answers we get when asking Guatemalans for directions, opinions, and pointers. What’s so hard about giving a straight answer? we wonder. We just want the facts! But! To the Guatemalans, it’s not about information—it’s about relationships.They don’t want to hurt our feelings by giving us an answer we don’t want to hear, or by telling us they simply don’t know.

    The book, while quite helpful, leaves me with lots of questions. Namely, how do I, a task-oriented person, go about communicating, living, and working with people who don’t say what they think, or relay the facts accurately? I wish the author would give more how-tos, tips, and directives for dealing with this “problem” because I’m from Virginia and I want information.

    6. My kids finally had a successful skype visit with their homies. The computer got carried around so the Virginia friends could take a tour of the house, meet the neighbor kids, and see the dogs.

    Overheard: Aw, they’re so cute! I want to touch them but there’s this screen in the way!

    Afterwards, my children were glowing. Even though they’re handling the seismic lifestyle changes with a stellar amount of grace and good humor, they miss their friends.

    7. As I was working on this post, I came across a link to a youtube poetry slamming performance. While it loaded, I went out to the kitchen, made my coffee, and helped myself to a piece of chocolate cake. Back in my room, I clicked “play.” And then I tweeted this: Poetry slammer Katie Makkai on “Pretty.” Catching my breath, wiping my eyes, and reposting as fast as I can. WATCH IT.

  • the quotidian (4.29.13)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
     everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    Of a misty morning: the Bezaleel kitchen chimneys.
    Ready to sell: sweet raisin biscuits.

    Sweet raisin biscuits: a close up.
    It’s this recipe, but with shortening (in the States it would be butter, of course) instead of lard, 
    plus with the addition of 1/4 cup each of sugar and finely chopped raisins. 
    Before baking, brush the biscuit tops with milk and sprinkle with more sugar.

    He thinks I’m funny.


    By one of the school’s maintenance men: two new chairs 


    On loan from friends: we have music!
    (Fact: too many, as in dozens and dozens, of consecutive listening of Country Roads
    will drive this mama batty.)

    Speaking of batty…
    What we thought were exuberant crickets living in the eaves of our house have turned out to be bats. The occasional (fast becoming ever present), foul stench of what we thought was an old mouse nest 
    has turned out to be a couple piles of guano. 
    The conclusion? I am now, officially, batshit crazy.
    ~
    Also, any advice as to how to get rid of them?
    My husband just pointed out that half of the family is suffering
    from nasty allergies: um, might it be because of the bats?


    On loan from neighbors: The Hobbit. 
    The two older kids and my husband stayed up late a couple nights in a row 
    to watch the whole thing, unbeknownst to the two youngers. 
    (As for me, I went to bed. I am not a Hobbit fan.)


    Fire-starting: with magnifying glass and paper.


    Oh, and gun powder
    (I’m a little slow on the uptake sometimes.)
    Frogs eggs. Or something.

    With glorious abandon: how the bougainvillea flaunts its colors.
    I can not, nor do I want to, get over this spectacular plant.
  • church of the Sunday sofa

    One of my girlfriends has been faithfully collecting and sending our church’s CDs, but we’ve never gotten around to listening to them…until today.

    I had thought the children might groan and moan about having to sit through a church service at home, but to the contrary. They were thrilled.

    Overheard:

    “I don’t have to get dressed up!”
    “In English!”
    “We can stay home!”
    “Yaaaaayyyyy!”

    I handed out helados (this time, frozen smoothies in little cups with sticks stuck in them for holding), poured myself a cup of decaf, and we gathered around the computer with blankets and pillows.

    The kids leaned in close, trying to figure out who was leading music, reading scripture, saying the prayer. (Actually, they argued quite loudly over these things. There was much loud shushing.) They sang along with the music. There was a little hand clapping. When the leader asked the congregation for a show of hands affirming a new person for one of the job positions, all six of our hands waved vigorously. And when our dear pastor started talking, the children shouted, “That’s Jennifer!” All the familiar, sweet voices were like a hug.

    We started out sitting up, but as the service wore on, some in our gathering tipped over sideways.

    I sat at a little table and messed around with some watercolors (a gift from a sweet reader), and before long, a couple children joined me in splashing the browns, reds, and blues onto little squares of thick, white paper.

    And, because no (CMC) church service would be complete without them, there were Harry Candies for sucking on.
     

    Every Sunday, Harry, an older gentlemen and fellow sitter-up-front-er, slips pink mints to my children. It’s as much a part of their church service experience as the offering and children’s story. So a couple weeks ago when we received a package from Harry, we all guessed what it was right away: a whole container of pink mints, but of course.

    When it came time to rise for the benediction, some of the kids popped reflexively to their feet. And thus concluded our visit to the Church of the Sunday Sofa.