The blessing of fences.

I live in an old house. In a wonderful old neighborhood. A stone's throw from our church. It is so idyllic.

A few weekends ago my sister came to pick me up, I was getting out of the house. Freedom! Yippee! As I got in her car, I saw a woman climb out the window of my neighbor's house and walk onto my property. I did not recognize her, so I watched her. This was not the first time our lovely neighbors have used our backyard as  their personal shortcut to where ever. I did not want to allow that practice to continue.

As I watched an older gentleman began to heft himself out the window as well. At that point I unrolled the window and kindly informed the woman that she was on my property and I would appreciate her vacating my property. Yes, of course I sounded that put together and proper. My sister and I continued to sit there as geriatric man struggled to get out the window. He hit the ground with a thud and had a hard time straightening up. What possessed him in the first place? As we continued to watch, I pasted my "oh, bad choice" look on my face and continued to watch. The woman laughed nervously and said "we were just trying to be sneaky." The man was still attempting to stand upright. "Yea. Great," was my response.

We watched them until they exited the front of our property and made it to the sidewalk and finally crossed the street.

As my sister and I continued on our merry way, I called my husband to let him know what had just happened. (And to toot my own horn a little bit. . .I handled that like a star!) Needless to say he was less than impressed with out illustrious neighbor.

A few mornings later, I awoke to screaming outside. Wonderful trespassing lady was in my yard again . .. but she was being kindly escorted out front by our local police. As I watched out my window, a DIFFERENT man popped his head out that very same window to follow her and was immediately apprehended by the police. (what the heck! Are both doors in that house broken?)

I know I am biased, but that man looked evil. Yuck. Gave me goosebumps. Bad news. There were numerous police cars around my house for over an hour that morning. It was not looking good for my house, but the boys LOVED it. Oh they were waving at all the policemen and the policemen waved back.

The policemen however, did not have the courtesy of telling this obviously interested homeowner WHAT our neighbor was doing on my property. . .or what the heck was going on. I watched them for the entire hour, isn't that code for "Hey officer, care to fill me in?"

That's okay. I have it all figured out. It must be crack. Or meth. Right? That crap is everywhere and it could be the motivating factor that had Grandpa Moses thinking he could climb out a window unscathed the other day.

My dear hubby visited our neighbor recently to get the scoop and to let her know that next time someone is on our property we will be calling the police. Turns out that our REAL neighbor moved out of the house when her mentally ill son brought some friends he met on the street home with him. She did not want to live with her son and his new homeless friends so she went and rented an apartment a few miles away, leaving the house next door occupied by her mentally ill son and his formerly homeless peeps. THAT is who I saw climb out the window. Awesome. There is a flop house right next door to me. . .a flop house whose only apparent means of exiting is by the window that borders my property. Wonderful.

As I was cleaning the kitchen today I saw that Ms Crack-Jailbird was back. Uh, I mean my lovely neighbor was home, and in the back yard. What was she doing? Whatever it is. . .it looked strange. I grabbed a chair to better see out my window and over our fence. I discovered it was easier to perch on my countertop, so I did just that. Eli walked in on me and said, "um, not safe, mama. not safe."

He was right, I got down. Booo hiss.

As I was making the boys lunch, I could see her head out in the back yard again. What is she doing? It looked like she was washing her clothing in a very large brick oven. Yes. .. like I said, strange. Once the boys were sitting and eating, I could not resist. . .I grabbed the chair again and climbed up on the countertop to see if I could figure it out. Nope. I gave it my best shot and am lucky she didn't see me pressed up against the kitchen window in my robe....

I start to get down. Oh wait. . .flames? Did I just see flames?

When I took Eli upstairs for nap time and I made the fantastic discovery that I had a wonderful bird's eye view of my neighbor's back yard from the window on the landing. Score. There was a fire. In an outdoor brick stove of sorts. What was she burning? SO strange. .. clothing? Is that turpentine next to her? What is going on? How can I justify the length of time that I have been watching this? Why can't I figure it out? Why am I not more embarrassed by my watching?

At this point I am tempted to go outside and be neighborly. Perhaps I should pull a Wilson and peak over the fence. "Hidey ho neighbor. I see you are out of jail. Whatcha burning?" I resist. I am glad the fence is there, even when it gets in my way.

Hubby gets home from his work trip today. The laundry is not folded and put away....dare I explain? Welcome home, hun. I am sorry the laundry is still sitting there. . .I was busy minding someone else's business and maybe losing my mind in the process. *uneasy chuckle*

Adoption brain and the 10 lb block o'chicken

I cook, but not willingly and not well.
I think, but not willingly and again, not well.

I am doing my best at the coupon game, still a little new to it and still a little too lazy to be really good at it. However, I stumbled on an awesomely spectacular deal a little while ago at a local butcher shop (EW.) I got a 10 lb back of chicken quarters for 7.90. Now, I admittedly don't like to use my brain, but that seemed like a wonderful deal so I hefted that bag of chicken into my car and happily went home to brag of my find to my husband.

Several nights later chicken was on the menu and my husband agreed to cook.. ..yay! He took that bag of chicken out the the freezer. Looked at it. Looked at me and shook his head. "I know! Unbelievable deal, right? I SCORED! You are so lucky to have me around to find such awesome deals for you." He grimaced and shook his head again. Then he dropped the entire bag of chicken on the kitchen floor. Thud. The house shook. He picked it up and threw the bag back to the floor, with force. Massive thud. He looked down at the bag and then at me.

The bag was then picked up and placed on the counter. Husband started rummaging around and I went about my business until the grumbling and strange racket became impossible to ignore. I walked into the kitchen to see my husband with a hammer in his hand, repeatedly whacking the chicken. . ..with increasing force. This went on for a while, yet I did not venture any further into the kitchen. Hubby turned to me with irritation, "nice 10lb chicken ice cube you have here Becki. GREAT DEAL! We are having Pizza for dinner." Uh-oh.

I walked over to see the chicken glacier. There was no evidence of the beating that ice cube just took. Not a dent. Nothing. I can see how that could irritate someone. . .. so I put the chicken in another ziploc baggie and placed it back in the freezer.

What the heck was I going to do? Obviously it has to thaw out. But once it thaws, do I have to cook it all at once? I am pretty sure I have no need for 10lbs of chicken at the same time. Can I thaw it and then just re-freeze it? Am I going to poison my entire family with this silly block of chicken?  What the heck am I going to do. Google failed me, in an epic way. I refused to admit defeat, still believing in the deal of the century. . . .and I sang, "she's a young thing that cannot leave her mother. ..  "

A week later my brain stumbled on the solution and again, I was a genius. Order restored! Father's Day BBQ! Invite the family over, it will be fun! Most everyone agreed to come. .. perfect! On the menu? CHICKEN!
So, the night before the BBQ that big block o-chicken was once again resurrected from the freezer and set on the counter to thaw. Before falling asleep we commiserated together that perhaps I was out of my mind.  A BBQ for 13 people? Why do seemingly simple tasks seem overwhelmingly impossible?? We have never BBQ'd anything other that hotdogs and burgers. . . .we fell asleep wondering if tomorrow was going to work at all, but comforted by our abundance of hotdogs and burgers available as back-up.
On his Father's Day morning, dear Hubby was greeted with a river of bloody chicken juice and goo all over the counter and floor. Serious gross out moment. Being the awesome man that  he is, he cleaned it up and disinfected the kitchen, so when I woke up all I saw was his grimace and a sparkling clean kitchen.

An hour before the guests were set to arrive, Husband looks at me with a grin, "I am not sure about this today. That chicken looked sad. Every chicken leg was broken. When I was transferring them to ziploc baggies, they just flopped around. One piece looked like the meat was on the outside and the skin was on the inside. .. is that even possible?" I looked at him with disbelief. "What are you talking about? And whatever you are talking about, could you have talked about it any earlier?" His response: "Uh, remember the hammer? I thought that it hadn't even made a dent. Uh. I was wrong."

The laughing began and didn't end until we both had tear streaked cheeks. On the menu? Hammer tenderized chicken. Pulverized chicken pieces. Awesome.

Somehow our mini BBQ gave those broken chicken quarters a new lease on life.  They were DELICIOUS!

Totally wonderful metaphor for our adoption! It is an awesome deal, to bring Pasha into our hearts and family, but it takes time. It may not always be pretty, we may feel pulverized. We need to wait for everything to thaw out and resist the urge to take a hammer to it. .. and as with most things, it is BEST when shared with friends and family. I know this is super belated, but honestly that IS how I roll, I hope everyone had a blessed and happy Father's Day!

BATTER UP!

After months (or more) of riding the pine, our names have been called. . .we are up to bat. This is an insane move by the "coach." Seriously. There are so many other players that could have been called up. . .so many. People with a far better batting average. People that have been training for this moment. 

My knees are shaking, I fear my grip might even slip on the bat. You see, I have been here before. I trained hard, I put my all into this game for seven years. Only to strike out . .repeatedly.  I took a couple of pitches in the gut, a couple knocked me down. I can only imagine it was painful to watch. It was even more painful to be on the receiving end. After my final strike out, I took an early retirement.

It did not make me hate the game. The game has such value, it makes such an impact, the world is changing due to this game! I was an avid spectator, paying what I can to support those up to bat. .. cheering and yelling as loudly as possible, but my butt never left the bleachers. My heart never stopped dreaming of an epic comeback, but that was so far out of the realm of possibilities, I was never spurred to action. Fear is powerful.

However, fear is not as powerful as hope, or love, or God. Out of practice, out of shape, perhaps out of our minds, we responded to the call and we are up to bat. . .. 

Maybe

Maybe- one of the most hopeful words I have heard in a long time. Maybe- a word that often gets overlooked; under utilized and misused in this household. A word I didn't realize I was longing to hear until I heard it yesterday.

Prior to yesterday, I really didn't love the word maybe. It was often used to put things off or to dismiss them altogether. It was an easy way to stop a conversation in it's tracks.

Yesterday maybe was said in earnest. With thought, with fear and hand wringing. With wide eyed honesty. My heart rate increased. My mind went into warp speed and I was filled with hope and possibility and trepidation. I nearly cried. Okay, I cried, but just a little bit.

In the past I have been a "yes" woman. I always sang my loudest in church when "Here I am" was played. "I will go Lord. .." But I have gone and I have struggled and I have been tested.

The past few years I have spent far too much time nursing my wounds and slowly crawling back to myself and to faith. Any progress is good progress in my book, and I am coming to terms with the journey that I am on and where that road has led me in the past. I wish I could see the reasons in God's great plan for the things that have occurred, but today I am still reveling in the power and the hope of tomorrow. Dreaming of where life will take us and eager to begin. . .

Blown away by the power of a maybe.

Tough Love and Fear

Man, I needed a gold star, a pat on the back, a "job well done" last night. Sigh. Who knew that when the phrase "Tough Love" was created they were talking about how tough it was on the parents. My two year old got to me last night. I made a threat. One not thought out. Call the authorities!! 

What a day. I am done making excuses. "He's tired." "He is not feeling well." "It's a new experience." "He's only two." Well I am done. Starting last night. I stuck to my guns last night and I refuse to let that be for nothing. 

I sent my 2.5 year old to bed last night at 6 pm. His normal bedtime is at 8. He did not get his bath. He did not get to read a book. He loves his routine and I deprived him of it.  I was really worried that meant hell night for me. . . .what with his pox and all. But I stuck with it. Consequences for both of us. He refused to stop throwing couscous on the floor. I made an idle threat. Shame shame. (Have any of you tried to clean up couscous from a floor? Those sticky little balls are my nemesis.)

I was shocked by how difficult this was for me. I thought that I would sail through this phase of parenting because I am totally good at being the bad guy. I am persistent and determined. . ..boy was I wrong! Being a parent makes me retrospective and totally apologetic to my parents. I never realized that when they punished me, they were making their lives harder in the process. So eye opening!

I stayed up far too late worrying about how badly the night was going to suck and what God awful hour Eli was going to wake up at. Really constructive and intelligent. I know. Perhaps my husband is correct to question my "genius." On the flip side, I read this. And laughed til I cried. (I have hopes that people share my blogs as much as I share others. .. . I have this crazy idea that my ramblings can help or at least brighten someone's day. If I cannot be useful, I do try to be entertaining.)

I finally went to bed. I dreamed that I was pregnant. Though my dream didn't last 9 months, it was one of those really long life like and accurately mundane dreams. I was super excited until I delivered a dead baby. 

After all of my strong words about fear yesterday.. . .I am still afraid. 

Oh Poops!

Almost 3 years ago, my dear husband and I were in Target, again. I was pregnant with my first child and trying to follow everyone's sage advice, I was stocking up on diapers. My hubby did not get this at all.
Him:"We already have 3 boxes of diapers. We could open our own diaper store." (Okay, for the sake of the story I may ad lib a little because, it was over 3 years ago!)

Me: "Um, you know babies poop, right? Like, alot; 12 or more diapers a day, alot."

Him: "WHAT?" This could be heard in every corner of Target. Not kidding.

Me: "Have you heard anything I have been saying for the past 8 months? You do know we are having a baby, right? You do know babies poop, right? Have you read any of the books I gave you?"

Him: "Um.. ..Uh. ..yea, but I haven't gotten to that part. 12 or more? NO WAY!" Again, far louder than necessary since I was stand right next to him. Literally. He was looking at me as if I had told him Bigfoot was living in our basement.

This exchange caused quite a little giggle fest in the diaper aisle. One Mama walked by and patted my husband on the arm and said, "12 OR MORE!" She walked away laughing. This makes me giggle just remembering.

So, not much later, Eli arrived. What a joy. What a transition and the affirmation from the nameless Mama in Target was right on the money. Often more than 12 diapers were used a day. Hubby could still not believe the amount of poop such a tiny person could produce. As much as I tried in the early days to fight it, I could not. His nickname stuck: Mr. Poop. He graduated to Prof. Poop in daycare and his loving caregivers could not believe his production as well. (He is amazing in other ways too, but this has just been incredible.) So he is Mr. Poops, Poops, Stinky Butt Boy and Poopsy.

So, Mr. Poopsy has the Pox. (Hey, this sounds like an awesome kid's book! Perhaps that should be my next project.) Most people have been sympathetic and supportive with remedies and such. . . .but some. Well, some have not. Some near and dear people felt the need to tell me all the awful things that chicken pox could bring. Blindness. Hospitalization. Infections. Ugh. We have all had the chicken pox, well everyone except my hubby, but that is another story. And we all survived. Without going blind. Without hospitalization. Without cause for worry. Yes, it was no fun, but we survived. We didn't sprout feathers. We might have scarred, but we did not perish. We simply itched and moaned and got over it. It seems some people actively choose to live in fear, and search it out.

Have pox, will weed whack.

So, to prove those fears wrong:

You can still smile with the pox.

and do yard work.

Life is such an adventure. Fear is normal, but dwelling on fear clouds judgement and hides the joy. Why would anyone want to hide from joy? There is too much joy to dwell on fear. And too much yard work.

The Happy Dance

I had two cookies and a Pepsi for lunch today. I just thought someone might be interested to hear that. It really does boggle the mind that I have not lost those pesky extra pounds. .. . strange, right?















In other breaking news: He. DID. It! For the first time in almost 4 years, my dear Husband closed the shower curtain after his shower. You have no idea how amazing this is!

No, this is not my bathroom, but I wish!

For the past 3 years I have offered him daily reminders to close the shower curtain. Yup, offered these reminders, kind of me, right? (This allows the water to drain properly and reduce the development of mildew on the curtain, though I am sure you all know that already, or perhaps you are now discovering just how obnoxiously anal persnickety I am. I will own this and give you all permission to feel sorry for my husband at any point. I won't feel slighted. Nothing can bring me down today!) 

I abhor cleaning the bathroom, especially the tub, so anything that keeps that area cleaner, I am all for... To the extent that I have calmly recited the following line each and every time I walk into the bathroom to a curtain wet and bunched up at one end of the tub. . . .. "You know dear, that if you close the shower curtain, it stays mildew free for much longer." Over and over and over and over. I continued to calmly repeat this even when dear hubby lost his temper because Eli was not listening to him. Don't read into that. My husband is a fabulous father, the two's can frustrate the best of us. 

I am celebrating this victory. Heck, I might put it on the calendar to commemorate this occasion.

 And, there is a big AND here. 

AND he took removed the cold bag of tea from his mug before putting it on the counter for me to wash. (though this is not the first time this has happened, I am just tickled to see the trend continue!) I am beside myself. 

Is this a sign of things to come? Is he staring to recognize my zany brand of genius? Dare I dream? eh, either way, I am doing my happy dance.