a bear's world

The Scene: Firmly ensconced in hour ten of what should have been a mere eightish hour car drive home from a weekend at Gramma and Poppy's. We've hit it all - a massive traffic jam (the result of a huge accident earlier in the morning), a lengthy downpour, RVs going 30 mph (if that!) through construction zone after construction zone, you name it. The girls have endured it all with tremendous charm and humor. That is until we hit "the wall." Anyone who has children and anyone who is acquainted with children knows this phenomenon well. It is that dreaded moment when enough is enough. As our Bear hits this impenetrable emotional barrier, she offers the one happy solution her two-year-old brain could muster.

The Dialogue:
Dave: "Hang in there, girls. We're almost home!"
Bear: "I drive now! I drive now! Daddy, peas? Oh peas? I drive now?"
Me: "But sweetheart, you're too short."
Bear (letting her chin fall to her chest in utter defeat): "Oh."

The End.

Post Script: We did make it home - eventually - and the Bear taught me a much-needed lesson in optimism. Needless to say, I owe my little family a ton for weathering the lethal combo of long drive and quick turnaround so I could meet with my new advisor!

a bug's life

The Scene: "One of those mornings": everyone is moving so slowly its barely perceptible, nothing seems to be where it should be, no one is eating breakfast, every sock and shoe has lost its mate, and we were supposed to be on our way to visit my 88-year-old grandma 45 minutes ago. And did I mention my grandma will NOT hesitate to call the Highway Patrol if she thinks we've taken too long because she's sure that will mean we've been in a horrific accident and are too injured to use my cell phone?

The Dialogue:
Me: "I give up! This is one bad day!"
Bug: "That's okay, mom. It's a good kids' day. You can borrow from us."

The End.

Post Script: We successfully avoided the 911 call, I gained invaluable perspective, and we all lived happily ever after.

Ode to a Creaky Home....

As we are approaching the one year anniversary of our official move into our first house, I thought I appropriate to pontificate on the complete and absolute love I harbor for this home. We actually received the keys over Labor Day weekend last year, but spent most of the month fixing, cleaning, and painting. Oh! The painting! Even though my wrist still cringes at the sight of a paintbrush, it's difficult to believe we've only been here a year. It feels like we never lived anywhere else! So without further delay, I offer just a few reasons I love our home.

I love that the girls rooms are PAINTED in pretty colors they picked out - "precious purple" for Bug (fancy words for lavender), "pretty yellow" for Bear.

I love that the girls have space to run, swing (at last!) and dig in the garden. After years upon years of apartment dwelling, it still brings tears to my eyes to look out over our quarter-acre yard. (Now if I could only get the hang of gardening and yard maintenance!)

I love that I still do a double take whenever I leave home - just to see my cute house one more time.

I love that I fell in love with my house years ago when I walked an old boyfriend out to his car following my sister's wedding reception. ("Wouldn't it be wonderful to live in such a lovely little brick home across the street from such a beautiful reception center?" Me, July 1999.)

I love that I can wash and DRY our clothes within the confines of our home. This doesn't mean that I manage to stay on top of the laundry, but it is a sheer joy to have the freedom to do as much or as little laundry as I need to, whenever I need to. Over ten years of laundromat fun have taught me gratitude for even the most mundane blessings.

I love that our home has a history. The hardwood floors were walked on over sixty years ago! And the creaks and squeaks that have ensued over time were earned!

I love our gigantic twelve-paned window in the living room. Yes, at times it can feel as though we live in a fish bowl, but to have a wall almost entirely made up of a window? And not just any window, but a window that looks out over our enormous sycamore trees? It's heaven.

I love that we have TWO full bathrooms. Need I say more?

I love our cozy family room in the basement. Due to a lack of remodeling prowess by former owners, this room has neither window nor heating vent. Yet somehow it is the most perfect, coziest spot to curl up and read, watch a movie, or just hang out. It's our little bunker that is completely sheltered from the outside world.

I could go on and on and on..... But I will spare you, for now. In closing I would like to include just one more thought.

More than anything, I love that the perfect circumstances converged to allow Dave and me to give our girls a home of their own. A home that will be theirs for the foreseeable future. This is where we will nurse injuries - of both body and soul. This is where we will hold holiday dinners. This is where we will enjoy Cinnamon Roll Saturday for many Saturdays hence. This is where the four of us can always retreat for love, joy, and security. This is OUR home.

Here We Go a Wallowing.....

I'm not proud. I admit it. I have been deeply ensconced in a good wallow this past month. And over nothing of monumental importance in the grand scheme of things. My girls are amazing, healthy, and happy. My husband is patient, funny, and wicked smart. My home is lovely. Summer's oppressive heat at last has broken and the leaves are beginning to turn. So what if my major advisor has decided to ride off into semi-full retirement and will be handing me off to the professor in early modern England who my department just hired? And really, does it matter that I received this news out of the proverbial blue right after I finally finished my first chapter draft and felt like I might be able to do this thesis thing after all? Yes, I will be working hundreds of miles away from an advisor I will meet for the first time in about a week. True, I will never have a class, seminar, or even TA-ship to build a relationship with said professor. And for those of you keeping score at home, my soon-to-be-former advisor was indeed the last professor remaining in the history department who served on my comps committee and original thesis committee. Is that really such a big deal? Apparently, it was. A big enough deal to render me completely numb and utterly useless for a few days. Old movies were watched. Favorite books were read. I think a milkshake was involved at one point. Yet, every day something amazing happened. The sun still came up. Ellie's school year commenced. Ginny learned about a hundred new words. Dave started this round of classes at the U. Dear friends discovered new pregnancies or continued counting down the days of pregnancies long-endured. Life went on. Imagine that. And so I shall plow forth - slightly daunted about writing a thesis for a relative stranger, tepidly abashed for my rather pathetic behavior, and vaguely intrigued by what lies ahead. You never know. This new advisor could be the driving force that will propel me toward the Pulitzer Prize in History. (The Pulitzer. For a book about river engineering projects in early modern England. Then again, maybe not.....)