Timber

This morning Jon and I were getting ready in our bathroom when we heard a crash, scrape and thud right outside our window. We both immediately thought that the window air conditioner unit (temporary--until we replace the AC for our upstairs) had fallen out of the window, skidded down the roof and crashed to the ground. Jon opened up the door and there was the unit, secure and blowing cold air.

"Was it that screen that you propped out there?" I asked. Couldn't have been. That was too much noise.

So, Jon looked out the window. The tree.







The flowering pears are known as 20 year trees. Ours made it 19. They're beautiful in the spring and grow very quickly. I think that is why the housing development planted them. But over the last few years neighbors have had chunks of their trees splitting off. Oh well. So long front yard tree. We'll have to plant something that doesn't fall apart after 20 years.

I'm just glad that only the gutters were hurt.

!4 years

Saturday was our 14th wedding anniversary. We celebrated by leaving all the kids at home with Gem (first real sitting gig for her) and going out to dinner. We got all dressed up, so I set up the tripod and tried to take a picture of us when we got home. Didn't turn out very well, but I'll take it.



Just pretend like you don't see my bra straps. Oops! I had to edit something green out of Jon's teeth too.

Roommate's Visit

My college roommate, Sarah, visited our home over the last few days. She brought her two children and her mom along on the trip. We mostly hung out at the house, but today before they left we went to the park and Chick-Fil-A. It was a short, but nice visit.



This is my silly roommate. She really did grow up, but there is still a hint of the silliness. See that mischievous face?



This is the only picture of the two of us together from the entire visit. Gem took it. That's her little boy, Benjamin. I just met him for the first time. Last year when she came he was not even a thought.



She and Joel adopted him from Ethiopia about five months ago. I could just eat him up. He has the sweetest temper--and those eyes!



This is Sarah's daughter, Rebecca. She is only two but looks every bit of three.





My little boys--I mean "big boys".

Rub-a-dub-dub, A Friend and a Scrub!

Here's the friend.



And here's the scrub.



What a great crew. They actually wanted to wash the truck. I knew that it would turn into a water free-for-all (and I was right), but figured that the truck probably wouldn't turn out worse in the end. They got off the break dust and dirt and only left water spots behind. Not bad!

Rub-a-dub-dub, Three Kids in a Tub

Swings, Water and Boys

Assassin.




Sacrifice.




Upside down.




Upside down too.




"Wook, Mom, I standed in the sween!"

Pigtails!

Potato Peel Pie anyone?

I just finished a book called The Guernsery Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. It's about the German occupancy of an English Channel island during WWII. The story is full of interesting details of the happenings on the island called Guernsery. There is a mild love story throughout, nothing that will send anyone gagging. The entire book is written in letters, to and from various characters. Different facets of the story emerge from the varied perspectives.

I liked it, but didn't love it. I found I could bear to put it down. It reminded me of Daddy Longlegs, by Jean Webster, probably because it is also written in letters.

The most interesting part of the book, to me, was the afterward. It told how the author stumbled upon the story and about how this book was a life's work of a woman who had never been in print before, but had quite a reputation as a great storyteller. Sadly, she died right before the book was released. It's wild success (NY #1 bestseller) is a testimony to how the book has been embraced.

Charming. That's what it was.

While Away the Weather

92 in the shade and our upstairs AC is out. I think we'll inflate the blow up mattress and camp in the playroom tonight. Glad it's not the downstairs AC.

Someone once said that air conditioning settled the south. I believe them. Scarlet O'Hara looks so beguiling in her green and white hoop skirts and flouncy straw hat, but I bet she smelled horrific, sweltering in that Georgia heat! I swear that I'm dripping wet by the time I get the mail and come back to the house. I can't imagine living in Louisiana.

I've debated for years about whether I tolerate winter or summer better (love spring and fall), and I've finally come to a conclusion (I think). I like summer better. I discovered that this morning while walking the dog. I only had on a tank top and shorts at 7am and was completely comfortable. In winter I have to bundle up with layers and layers. Ugg! Also, everything is green and sunny in summer--a major advantage over winter.

Over the years I've put parameters around my decision making. One rule is that I can't make up my mind about these two seasons when I'm in another one. In other words, I have to decide I like summer on one of those blazing hot days. And I have to decide I like winter on the 7th day straight of ice, wind and snow. I try to avoid romanticizing them from afar.

So, my favorite seasons in order of favorite to least: spring, fall, summer, winter (I think). I'll let you know for sure around the end of January.

Dog Days and Sheep

The dog days of summer are here, and every day I'm reminded that the day does belong to the dog. It's like having a new child. She has to pee. She has to be walked. She refuses to walk. I remind her who is the Alpha in the relationship. We walk. We run. We feed. We clean up. She chews. She pees again. We put her in her crate. And the cycle keeps going.

At first, I bucked the system. There was very little patience in me for this animal--quite different for me when it's a child. I resented the fact that I was getting up at 2 am for the whining, tail-wagging snippit. I didn't like that frustration and anger accomplished absolutely nothing and that treats and sweet talk alone were impetus for change. And mostly, I didn't like that she refused to go on a walk. A dog that doesn't walk is a dog with too much energy. Hence, the need for a walk. Yet, she refused. Crouched right down and I had to haltingly drag her around the block.

But now my attitude has changed. I'm learning a lot from that tail-wagging snippit. I heard a story once about a man who inherited a large portion of land. He moved his family there and raised livestock on it. One of the animals he selected was sheep. He wanted to learn from new perspective what it meant for God to be our shepherd. He found that being a shepherd wasn't all that fun. First of all, the sheep were absolutely dumb. Secondly, he would poke and prod, but the sheep wouldn't follow, even when they were hungry, thirsty or freezing. He literally had to drag them sometimes. But the worst thing about the sheep was the ram. The man named the ram "Rambo" because this sheep hated the man. When the man would approach, Rambo would lower his head and charge.

But the man noticed something different about the rest of his family, especially his young daughter. She would call or just walk by and all the sheep would follow--even Rambo. This infuriated him and he hated the sheep all the more. He pushed harder. They balked harder.

Then an event happened that changed this man forever. The sheep were just days from birthing. It was early spring with ice and snow. The sheep refused once again to come to the barn. The man threw a fit and just went inside. That night, all the sheep miscarried. His anger had accomplished nothing but harm. The incident made him change. He took notes from his little daughter and began responding to the sheep with kindness for stubbornness, with patience for slowness. And eventually, even Rambo would follow him. The man did, indeed, learn what God is like.




I guess I'm learning some of the same lessons. Annie is a good teacher. And she's cute. I guess that helps a little. Another side benefit is that she's making me get out of bed at 6 am and take a good long walk/run. I've needed that discipline. So, thanks for the dog days, Annie.