Jonathan's Terrible, No Good 7th Birthday

It's birthday time in the Hambly household. At the end of July we have Rick's birthday, followed the next day by Jonathan's. Usually I bake 2 separate cakes, one for each day. This year however, Rick's birthday cake was so rich and delish that the thought of another cake the next day just made our tummies ache. I had made a dozen cupcakes the day of Rick's birthday and asked Jonathan if we could just do a cupcake tree on his. How cool would that be. He was very reluctant, but agreed. Amanda, being the little Happy Homemaker, helped with the cupcake project and put her spin on things, too.

And here's how it went down:




Jonathan: Yes! It's my birthday.
(He was so excited about his birthday that he picked out that shirt the day before to wear to the cake and present celebration)




Amanda: Yes! That's a very fine cupcake tree if I say so myself.




Amanda: As a matter of fact Jonathan, I put those pink candles on right there. See them?
Jonathan: Did you just say PINK candles?



Amanda: I am just so clever and so cute and so princessy!
Jonathan: Um, wait, there are pink candles on there?
Timothy: Sooo, when are we eating cupcakes?



Amanda: No wait Jonathan, pink candles HAD to be on there. See they match my pajamas and everything. It will look better for the picture if we all match. Here, turn around and see.
Jonathan: I have pink candles on my cupcake tree!!



Derick: This is taking much too long, I'm just going to reach in here and spear a cupcake right now.
Austin: Must. Not. Destroy. Cupcake. Tree.
Timothy: Uh, I'm outa here.
Jonathan: I can't believe how lame this is.
Amanda: I think that went well.


Amanda: We must X out bad attitudes. See, look, X. Like this.
Derick & Austin: Yes, X out bad attitude. Be happy, like us.
Timothy: Cool dudes, but can we just get on with it.
Jonathan: I can't believe this is MY BIRTHDAY! Can we just turn out the lights?




Finally, it's all about me. And you can't tell that the candles are pink in this light.

Wuzz N. T'Me

I have read stories and watched creepy movies where kids "see" things that adults don't. Now I didn't really buy into that too much, but kept an open mind just in case. Once my kids were able to speak they kept talking about this little mischievous little one that would just come around and try to stir up all kinds of trouble. My kids named him, Wuzz N. T'Me (must be French). Anytime something came up missing, or broken, or spilled or eaten or anything else that my kids would NEVER do, Little Wuzz N. T'Me somehow became involved. I would give the kids the stink eye when they mentioned that name, but they wouldn't back down on who the real culprit was. "No!" they cried, "It Wuzz N. T'Me! Promise!"

But then we went on vacation to the Smokey Mountains and I think this picture finally captured Wuzz N. T'Me. He was on his way to dump french fries and a soda in our brand new van while my perfect kids slept.




Little Stinker!!

Ok, ok, I was trying to take a picture of fireflies and Jonathan was running around in front of my camera. But really, how else can one explain those fries and soda in my BRAND NEW van? Just 'cause we went through the drive-thru 8 times in 4 days doesn't mean anything. At least not with my perfect children.

Barefoot Summer

There's just something about being a kid and going barefoot in the summer. As a young 'un I used to start out summers with a nice pair of sandals. But only one pair. As the summer progressed either I could never find the lost sandal-mate or just couldn't be bothered to put the things on, so more often than not, I was outside barefoot.




A kid learns a lot of lessons going barefoot in the summer. If you're a suburban type child you find that black asphalt gets really hot, but the painted white lines don't. When your feet are hot gutter water feels great. If it's slimy with algae that makes it even better. The real linoleum floors in the Green Frog Market in Bakersfield feel much better on those bare feet than the concrete floor of the K-Mart on Bernard Ave.

If you're a country kid you learn that dry dirt gets quite hot and sometimes even tumbleweeds feel better that dirt. Pastures look great from a distance but once in them cow pies make softer stepping stones. Irrigation ditches full of water are a reason to celebrate, but even those that ran a week prior still have their saving graces and are to be greatly appreciated.

As I grew up, so did the need for shoes. Unless I was at the beach, to be seen without shoes was about as Ragamuffin as one could get. In So. CA my kids hardly knew a day without shoes. If they ever were without shoes I sure wasn't going to tell anyone about it!



And then I moved to the south. Here I see little ones run amuck without shoes all summer long. There is just something so refreshing to see little girls in sun dresses running barefoot in the grasses. Little bare footed boys wearing shorts and clutching a soda in the local Walgreen's.

The biggest plus is that it sure makes life MUCH easier for me to yell to the little ones, "I've got to run to the store, who wants to come with me? No, don't worry about your shoes, just get in the car." Divine freedom for me and wonderful life lessons for my kids.

CA Girl Meets Fireflies

I love Disneyland. In CA we had season passes and would go random Sundays after church just to spend an afternoon. Of course, each and every time, we had to ride on the Pirates of the Caribbean. As far as I was concerned, the whole ride could have consisted of gently gliding through the Bayou Swamp listening to ol' Uncle Bubba strum his banjo and watch the fireflies dance in that night sky. THAT was the south. THOSE were fireflies. My whole life. Until I got to Tennessee.

The sighting of fireflies was a very much anticipated event when we first arrived in TN. It was the end of July/early August and figured the fireflies would be just be everywhere. Little did we know that fireflies like tall grass and dampness. Our lot was freshly graded and the creek had been cleared out, so any fireflies that had been around were long gone. However, we just figured that we must be in a fire fly free area of the state. Sigh.

Come early September I was picking up oldest son a couple days a week after school in the late afternoon. One time after a long day as I was driving home with the sun just sinking below the horizon, the shadows getting long and the mist starting to settle in the holler my headlights caught the reflection of an animal's eye near the creek along the side of the road. He had turned back suddenly right before he was going to cross in front of my car. I figured probably a raccoon. Then near the creek again, another animal lurking in the darkness. Hmm. Must have been a opossum. Driving along I see eyes of another animal, this time much taller. A deer maybe? I had seen them before right there get a drink then bound out of the creek bed and across the pavement. My eyes are now glued to the over grown vegetation in the stream bed next to the road as I drive along. I see more eyes! But what where those animals?? I couldn't see! They moved so fast. I began to get nervous, feeling like Snow White lost in her darkened forest with eyes tormenting her forcing her further and further and further into blackness. I had only been in Tennessee for a month. WHAT kind of freakiness lives out here anyhow?

Finally a little flash of light appeared out in the open, no sign of an animal anywhere. Then my brain blinked like a light bulb (ha ha) and said, "Firefly!! Did you see the firefly?? Look!! There's some fireflies!!" My kids thought I had lost my mind, but when they finally saw some blinks of lights they just sorta said, "Cool. Hey mom, do you know what's for dinner?"

However, the magic of fireflies are contagious. Our lot is now properly over grown and we have many fireflies visit on summer evenings. We love to watch those Twinkle Bells play. Sometimes we turn up the music from the speakers on our front porch and watch the fireflies "dance." Yes, they actually dance! They pulse with the beat. It's like a Redneck disco. Drink a couple of glasses of wine and watch those little guys for a while and we should be charging admission.

Who needs Disneyland anyhow?

Country Home

I think as parents we always wonder if we are doing what's best for the kids. I mean that I think that living out of town is fun and pretty and peaceful. The kids probably think is boring and boring and boring. But when we lived in California, take a look at what they did to my garden. To me that shows that they crave adventure and outdoorsy things. Right?

So now that I have a garden in TN, we decided on a pre-emptive strike and got the back hoe over and dug them out a big swimming hole. It's not deep, but neither was the one they had in CA. And this one they get to share with fish, tadpoles, a couple of snakes and at least one turtle.


Boogie boarding TN style!!


Spring fed water right there!

Because It's Easier To Be Yourself

The Poser:




The Reality:




Now tell me, which one looks more fun to you? I'm taking door #2 and calling it good.




:)

The Long Trip Home

Cades Cove, TN now part of the Smokey Mountain National Park.

I have always had a love for the mountains, particularly the Sierra Nevada range. When I was a little girl my Dad and siblings would camp near Red's Meadow for weeks at a time. See my parents were divorced and custody mandated that my Dad get visitation in the summer. He was a Professor of Geology and had class field trips during the summer, which left him not a lot of choice but to bring we kids with him. Anyway, we would fish and swim in the San Joaquin River. Red's Meadow was where I discovered the joy of pumice....rocks that would float. We kids would jump off high ledges to land into piles of pumice and sink down as in a pile of leaves. I would hike passed Devil's Postpile and on to Rainbow Falls with my Dad and then on to various points along the John Muir and Pacific Coast Trails. I had the advantage of my Dad being a Geologist, so I would learn all about how the mountains were formed and looked on in amazement as we discovered granite that had been gouged and polished by the ancient glaciers that had once been. As we hiked the trails I always hated to turn back, I always wanted to know what lay ahead. One of my friends from High School must have shared that same feeling and trekked the entire Pacific Trail. You can check out his journals here and be green with envy as I am: http://delnorteresort.com/.

But every summer, the camping came to an end and it was back to the San Joaquin Valley. Which wasn't so bad as it was surrounded by my favorite mountain ranges. Later, from the age of 12 through 15, I would live in the Southern Sierras. Some of the most magical times of my life.

As always life changes and I was brought to live with my Dad full time. He lived in the shadow of the another smaller mountain range, but I was no longer in them. I would look up at them and yearn for the pine breezes that I knew were there, but was stuck in the dust and flatlands of our horse ranch. I truly felt like Heidi who longed for her mountains, who felt that she could only be herself THERE. That love for mountains had to have come from somewhere.

My Great great Grandma was born in Cades Cove. She was the 7th of 10 children born to her parents and the first one to be born in Cades Cove. She lived her life there, meeting her husband and bearing children. Life in Cades Cove was one of much self preservation. She and her husband were farmers. They owned about 180 acres, which wasn't enough to sustain the family, but even in the 1880's, all the land in the Cove had been taken, leaving my GGGrandparents no other choice but to leave in order to own a bigger farm. My GGGrandma had never been out of the Cove until she packed up her family and by wagon headed out of the mountain valley. My Grandparents would later settle in Texas. There are not a lot of mountains in Texas. Although the Smokey Mountains are not a grand mountain range like the Sierra Nevadas or the Rockies, they are the mountains that Tennessee and North Carolina have to offer. I can only imagine that my Grandma would oft times think wistfully of her mountain valley home and long to be back there.

So here's to my Grandma Feezell....I made the journey back to where you lived. After many generations I made it back "home" for you. Thank you for the love of the mountains that I know you must have somehow instilled in me.

.

Tennessee is Not for Girls

What I thought Tennessee would be like:





How it actually is:

I've grown up all over. Born on the Bayou, raised in the San Joaquin Valley, the Southern Sierra's, the Inland Empire, Dallas TX. I am no city girl who cringes at the sight of a June Bug. I have had rats run across my feet, dealt with scorpions, chased off coyotes and my horse and I have walked right over a rattlesnake in the grass (my horse, dog & I encountered a mountain lion once, too.) I've caught gopher snakes in pillow cases, cared for caterpillars until they were butterflies and have milked horses and goats. But I'm here to tell you, very little of that has prepared me to what I would find, and what will be found, in this fine area of the United States called the south. These are not ordinary bugs, spiders and snakes. These are Confederate Crawly things.

Once, in the wee hours of the morning, around 1:30 am, I heard a small commotion coming down the hallway toward our bedroom doorway. We have cats and kids so small commotions are not uncommon and didn't think a whole lot of it. A few seconds later, I hear something that sounds somewhat like a helicopter and it's coming closer. I open my eyes just in time to see a huge insect dive toward my hair. In an act of desperation I throw the bedsheet over my head and let out a yell. This rouses my husband and asks what the heck is going on. When I tell him and turn on the light, he is dubious. We look for the giant insect, but it is no where to be found. I think I heard the husband mumble, "Women." as he rolled over to get some more sleep. I lay in the darkness wide awake. A few minutes pass and suddenly husband lets out a yell and a direct order to turn on the light. The thing had made a reappearance and was trying to take husband as its hostage. We finally spy it on the ground, the thing is huge, and ugly. I trap it in a towel and throw towel and all out into the darkness of the night.

With these things as their allies, I have no doubt that the South will, indeed, rise again.

Yard Work Tennessee Style

Once upon a time we lived in a little house, with a little yard with a little lawn and little trees, with a little baby and a lot of time to enjoy weekends. As the story goes the little baby was no longer a little baby and several other little babies came onto the scene so we decided that maybe a little more would be a little better and we moved to a half an acre. The little family had a lot of fun on the bigger little half acre. The little boys played with Tonka trucks in the dirt. The little girl helped me in the garden. The little birds chirped in the trees and gardner came every week.

If a little more was a little better the last time around, then even more would be even better for the next chapter in the 10-OC. We moved in, stood in bigger awe of the bigger yard we had, but we never knew what bigger work was. Alas little garden tools laugh at us. We bought bigger electric weed whackers and chain saws. Those are now "women's tools", because even bigger gas power is the only way to go around here. Bigger tractor mowers are needed to cut the bigger lawn. Now the bigger boys play with bigger Tonka trucks, renamed John Deere (but they're still painted yellow so to me they're still just Tonka trucks). In the summer a weekend is not enough to keep up with the bigness of it all. What to do? Well, take a backhoe, dig a bigger swimming hole in the creek and splash around until the little fireflies come out.

That's yardwork.

And the moral of the story; The grass is always greener over the septic tank.

Driving With The Windows Down

Summer is almost here. The Twinkle Bells (Amanda's pet name for Fireflies) are putting on a show for us every night. The LawnChair Theater is showing movies every Friday and Saturday night starting at dusk. Summer traditions in the Fork are once again in full swing. The unofficial announcement of summer? Driving with your windows down.

Last summer was our first full summer spent in our house in the Hallow. Well, in the entire south for that matter, so we weren't well versed in the subtle changes of the seasons. Sure the leaves greened up, the weeds got tall and the chiggers started biting, but there is more than just that. As I would drive from my rural setting into "town" I would notice that on my country road and those cars & trucks heading away from town, everyone had their driver's side window down. I just figured that A: the weather was finally above 50 degrees and boy didn't that warm air feel nice; or B: thank goodness it's warm enough that I can leave my window down so I can spit and chew properly. But then the weather heated up. It got nice and hot and humid. Yet these country boys (and brave gals) would drive around with their window rolled down. Surely all these cars had air conditioning. Right? Why would anyone want to drive with their windows down?

Then it started happening. As I traversed the country roads two to 4 times a day taking oldest son to football practice, I would begin to recognize the cars and trucks of my neighbors. We would both wave to each other as we approached and passed. My wave consisted of taking my hand off the steering wheel and opening my hand, or waving it furiously if it was someone I knew better. Their wave consisted of an arm extended high in the air, right out their open car window. Soon in order to feel more part of the culture, if I saw a car approaching that I recognized and knew I'd have to wave, I'd push the button to lower my window, give a shout out wave and then button that window right back up. Oh but wait, there's someone else that I know, working in their yard. Window down, arm out, window up. Here comes another car. Window down, arm out, window up. Repeat. Maybe 6 times before I hit town. It began to make sense to me now. Window down meant you expect to wave. A lot. At least until you hit town. The peeps in town don't wave quite as much as they do in the country. I only need to remember to roll the window back up when I get into town. See, I have the idea in my mind that I could go toe to toe with Fergie, well at least Pink, and so I usually turn up the radio quite loud and prove my point. Another reason why those in town leave their car windows up I'm sure.

And so the lesson is now learned. If the weather is 65* (for locals, 72* for former So. CA girls), when I get in my car it's seat belt on, A/C cranked up, hair in pony tail and window down. All the way to town. And then all the way home.

On a final note, as my friend Sydney learned (also a So. CA transplant) you don't need to do the window down thing at night, or you'll risk a bat flying into your hair and consequently into the back of your Extera. Thanks for passing on that nugget of wisdome Sydney!

Planting Seeds

Spring is arriving in Leiper's Fork. The bluebirds are coming back and frogs leap from the creek bank as I walk passed. It is time to think about the garden and if I am to have one this year. Last year we weren't able to get one in as we were out of the house while it got repaired from the fire, so I was quite anxious about getting started on one this spring.

We decided on a spot in a clearing amongst the pine trees where there would be good sun during the day. The area is just south of the barn which will protect tender plants from a northern wind. Last summer we planted a few fruit trees there, so the location seems perfect for a garden too. We waited until a rain softened the soil and then broke out the tiller. (The same tiller that hung off the back of our moving truck announcing our arrival to the folks in the hollow that we were here and ready to break some ground!) The dirt was wet and clumpy and the mud stuck to everything...this is some mighty fine clay soil out here, I think someday I'm going to till some more up and make an adobe garden house out of it. But in a few days as things began to dry the ground was ready to be worked; raked and leveled and cleared and amended. Ready for seeds and tender new plants. Ready for willing hands to help keep seedlings from being choked by weeds or ravaged by insects. Ready for gentle rains and yummy sunshine. Ready to burst into life with just the right combination of nature and nurture. We can hardly wait to see what it brings forth.

The tending of a garden is not that unlike the tending of children. In the beginning there is nothing but a promise of life. That something is there that will eventually be seen, but for a time it remains hidden. Then emerging into view, to feel the warmth of the sun, to drink in the air, to be known that there is new life. Carefully we care for it, giving small amounts of nutrients, guarding it from the harshness of the day, making the way easier for growth. Soon it becomes stronger yet we still cautiously feed and water it. Then we find that we are checking on it less often but are amazed at the little one's progress at each milestone when we do. Things change quickly now. We boast at how well the little one is thriving. We no longer pull little weeds from among it's roots with our fingers, but get aggressive with the hoe. The little one may get knocked over in our over zealous efforts, but we right it back up again, press the roots firmly in the ground, sigh, and continue on. Buds begin to set, then bloom. The little one has almost reached it purpose, it's beginning, we can see it, we can anticipate it. It's going to be lovely.

As all children are lovely. Even those that did not get sewn in a garden tended by love. Even those that struggled to find sunlight among the thickets. Even those that rose up too quickly, or those that sat underneath the snow. In fact, they are to be considered even more lovely, for any flower, or bud or fruit that they are able to bring forth is one truly worthy of amazement.

The Money Pit

So you're the proud new homeowners! Aww! Congratulations. You've worked hard. You have so many ideas on how to make your new home just perfect. Big dreams, maybe some do it yourself projects, just a tweak here or there. Soon it will be just as you want it.

GOOD LUCK with that.

Our home has been a work in progress, for well, about 2 years now. Sure we only bought the land 2 years ago but that is when progress started. Designing, plotting, erasing, starting again. Then we broke ground and things really got going. Fortunately we were 2,000 miles away and didn't see all the day to day progress but we knew it was chugging right along (I swear that's the only way to have a house built. You be far, far away). Finally the day comes and we move in. Ya there was the punch list, ours maybe a little longer than typical, but manageable. Too bad the dang thing had to go all smoke house crazy on us before we got the list completed, but we just tacked on about 130 little things to the bottom of it and kept our chin up. I mean how long could things take? Really? Well I suppose if things were done according to some sane person's schedule it wouldn't take that long. But this is construction we are talking about. Construction in Tennessee.

Don't get me wrong. I love seeing Bubba and Junior and Bubba Jr and Bubba who drives the red truck and the Bubba who drives that Vega. They are all great guys. We love company. But when Bubba says he wants to start work tomorrow, I make a mental note to at least brush my hair that morning before I send the kids off to school. Maybe even pick up the house a little bit, do some dishes and sweep up some Legos.

So I wait and wait and wait. Maybe Bubba isn't coming over like he said. 2:30 and the kids will be home from school soon. Eventually up the drive comes Bubba!! Now the particular job doesn't sound too difficult, he and his team are to work on paint and drywall in our house. He takes a look around and decides he needs some more materials for the job. He'll back back in 2 days. Is around this time OK? Ya, sounds OK to me, I'll do my errands tomorrow and then the next day I'll be lazy like I usually am and start picking stuff up around noon.

6:30 am the next morning and I hear someone coming up the drive. I answer the doorbell as I lick my finger with spit to try to wipe off yesterday's mascara from under my eyes and there's good ol' Bubba ready for work.

He comes in and starts laying out materials and saws and drop cloths as I try to shuffle kids out of the way before they head off to the school bus. Bubba mentions to me not to worry about a thing as he has 7 kids himself and boy was it a hoot one time when the middle one decided he wanted to take a reciprocating saw to the electrical outlet. About burned the house down that time, but how are kids supposed to learn a darn thing if you never let them touch anything?

Eventually kids are off to the bus stop and Bubba looks like he's making good progress, I mean that big pile of dust seems to show that right? Soon it's 10:30am and it's time for lunch break. Apparently a long lunch break. Kids are home from school. I make a special mental note to keep them away from reciprocating saws. Bubba reappears and says that he's going to have to come back tomorrow, he'll leave his stuff under the tarp where the kids won't be inclined to fiddle with it.

The next morning at 8:30 I was pleasantly surprised to see Bubba coming up the drive. And not only him, but 2 more trucks full of guys. Apparently Bubba decided he wanted to get this job over and done with. I knew he'd come through! I greet him at he door with an enthusiastic "Hi there!" He lets out a sigh and informs me that he has gotten called to another job and needs to take his equipment over there. But it should be a quick one and will be back in 2 days.

So the next day I figure that I may as well go treat myself to a trip to Target after all I had been through and jump in the car for a little shopping. I come home and unload my treasures and then decide to go check the mail. Upon my return from the mailbox I notice a little note on the door. It reads, "Came by to finish job. You were not home. Be back next week."

Next week. WHEN next week. What day? What time?

Sorry. Doesn't ever get any more detailed than that.

Driving in Tennessee

Now I know that Tennessee must have some traffic laws, problem is I have never actually witnessed anyone following them. Well, I take that back. The one and only traffic law to be obeyed is the speed limit. And rule of thumb there is to take the speed limit and reduce it by 10 mph just to be on the safe side. The double yellow? Just double the fun to cross. Red light? Just a suggestion. Stop sign? What's the point. Left turn on green? Only in emergencies (pray that you are the point car in the left hand turn lane. If you find yourself 3 cars back it would be much easier to make a right and then a U-turn.)

Let's just say that the roads in TN are roads only in that they may have some asphalt and a few painted details. And at one time, they were probably more than adequate for vintage Model B's. And since change comes slowly to TN, I would say that the roads are still adequate for Model B's but that's as far as it goes.

Now I'm sure to someone who has lived in 10-OC for 25 years or more, the roads make some sort of sense. There are no straight roads in TN. To head off to the south, you must first start out on the road that is marked "west" which begins its life heading north. Never turning off that road you will eventually end up south of where you started. I have a feeling that most of these roads began their lives as cow trails. Then one fine day a farmer thought that the cows had a pretty good route going and decided to drive his truck down after them, then the neighbor across the way decided that it all looked pretty fun and he'd take a shot at it too. Later some local kids dared each other to drive on the rut tracks and before you know it that road was paved and a Route 46 sign stuck in beside it. As a matter of fact I know that they had to be single file cow trails because there is no way 2 cows could even pass side by side and still have room before falling into the ditches that line each side of the roadway.

When I first started driving these roads I drove about 35 miles an hour in a cold sweat. I didn't dare take my eyes off the road because there is no room for sight seeing, with that double yellow on one side, a white stripe about 5 feet over to the right of that and the 3 inches beyond a 4' deep ditch. And when a semi is coming from the other direction at 60 mph, well, I'm telling you, all the Six Flags white knuckler rides have nothing over it! Add to the excitement deer jumping at you, turkeys playing chicken , bicyclists using the double yellow as route guidance and you're in for quite an adventure. One day I got brave and tried to hold the speedometer at around 58 mph. I made it to 2 miles to the red flashing light at the 2-way intersection before I had to drive back home to go lay down for 3 hours.

Driving on the back roads is something entirely different. I have yet to figure out why there are double yellow lines on these roads as they are not wide enough to warrant the effort to paint them. My theory is that they are there mostly for the hound dogs. So they know just how far they can run out into the street before getting skinned by a tire. Tree limbs get trimmed when unsuspecting semi trucks drive by. Actually I think it's a licensed betting sport out here to see how many limbs a semi can knock down before putting a hole in the trailer. And the locals, the locals can somehow smell it if you're new around here. When they see you driving, they cross the double yellow and wait until you've slammed on your brakes and have one tire in the ditch before moving over. Then they give you a big wave and a smile as they drive by.

Yep. A lot of good fun out here on the Tennessee public road system.

The Biggest Little Smoke House in Tennessee

So when I used to think about Tennessee before I lived here, I'd think that there was more tobacco and smoked hams than there were people. Lots of smoked hams. And those smoked hams were in smoke houses tucked away behind every respectable house with at least 8 hound dogs in the yard. And come smoking time, boy did it smell nice in the ol' holler. Funny that when went house hunting, we couldn't find one decent smoke house.

But we found that if you just hold on to your ideas for a while that the ideas come to you. And just 6 months after we moved to Tennessee we had ourselves here the classiest smokehouse in Leiper's Fork. Heck, we were so dang proud of it that we invited the Leiper's Fork Volunteer Fire Department out to come take a look at it. And did you know that they got so excited over our new smoke house that they called in the Fairview Volunteer Fire Department to come take a look-see at it, too? You should have seen it. It was just breathtaking....there was a whole parade of lights and sirens running up and down our road. People nearby where already standing in line out front of the place just to see when we would start selling our cured hams and bacon and jerky and venison. You just can't buy that kind of advertising anymore. As a matter of fact the sheriff came out and was directing traffic just to keep things moving. And the neighbors were so nice! They were so excited for me and so worried that the new business venture would go to my head that they would just run up to me and give me a hug and tell me that everything was going to be OK and to just trust God to help us through this until things were back to normal. You just can't find that type of people anymore. Things were going quite well and the excitement was building by the minute. As a matter of fact one of the school buses came by and parked in front of the house for about 20 minutes before the Sheriff was able to convince him to turn around. Then that bus driver went out to the school and told everyone there about the new smoke house in town. When something is this good, word just travels so fast.

But you know what? I think the Volunteer Fire Department got a little bit jealous of our new found calling and began to think that maybe a smoke house the size of ours would just be too much for this little town to handle, you know with all the traffic and things, because they ran up into our house with their fire hoses full of water and put our whole dang operation out of business!!! Pretty soon all the smoke stopped pouring out from under the roof and you can't have a very successful smoke house business without smoke. The people waiting in line could see that their orders for hams, bacon, jerky and venison were not going to get filled anytime soon and after much low level exchanges amongst eachother they decided to go on home. The neighbors were still so sweet though and held my hands and told me to call them anytime if we needed anything at all, since they knew that most of our money was tied up in the new smoke house thing. Did you know that even the Red Cross came out and tried to cheer us up by giving us some gift certificates to the local hotel, so we could get our thoughts together and not have any hard feelings about things because you know that most businesses fail the first year so we are actually in some pretty good company and if I talked to enough people I bet I can find some that have had to deal with things like this too. I mean where can you find hospitality like that except here in the south?

So anyhow, I suppose that Leiper's Fork isn't quite ready for so much success, so we will try something a little different next time.

And We Have Arrived!!

Well, yes I know it has been awhile and left you all hanging, but in Tennessee time we just arrived like a week ago with no worries; just in time to sit back and enjoy some bugs and the view. So far the place is great and the people are great, nice and friendly. The locals don't pay much mind to that yellow line in the road, but one learns to play chicken mighty fast in these parts, so maybe we're fitting in alright.

The house wasn't quite ready when we expected, but we barged our way in and lived without some creature comforts for awhile and things are still getting worked on every now and then. That's fine with me and I enjoy a knock on the door every now and then. I just kick some toys out of the way and tell the construction workers to have at it. Now if I see the builder coming on by, I break out in a cold sweat. I mean I warned the guy that I have 5 kids. Five that never learned not to put dirty hands, crayons, markers, Hot Wheels cars, basketballs and the like on the walls. That beautiful paint job, gone in a week. Those beautiful hardwood floors, distressed in a month. I know, I know, it's just a house, but builders take pride in their work and sometimes to see it lived in a little more than expected can just depress a guy. But sometimes a little living is good. To get out in the night air and just breath it in. Like what happened the other night.

This isn't so much a kid story, where one of the kids does something crazy, I have enough of those. It was just one of those days stories that happens to the best of us. Now we're from Southern CA and we're not used to the 55" of rain that comes along out here, but we are learning. And we learned that having 18" deep water collecting in the crawlspace of your house isn't the best thing. So our builder has some guys take a look and the determine that somewhere out there are some drains that just aren't draining quite the way they should be. They start off with some shovels and before I know it, there's a backhoe in the front yard starting to dig some holes. The boys decided that since it was getting on to 3:00, that they probably just do this job tomorrow. And so it was.

The next day they continue to look for the blocked drains. Apparently they pretty much gave up and decided to dig some trench for the new drain pipe. Apparently they weren't quite sure where the water main line was because they dug that up, too. And promptly broke it in two. Since the kids were in school and the one that is home is in diapers yet, it wasn't a huge deal for me that I was without water. But the combination of broken water main and the release of water from under the house resulted in some pretty wet soil. And if there wasn't enough of a party on my lawn, here comes the propane truck.

Well, I knew we were probably in need of propane, so I hoped that the propane man would brave the crowds and at least take a look at our tank. He sure did and he decided that indeed it needed some filling. And filled it got.

By 4:00 I had water back on in the house, a dry crawlspace, a filled propane tank and a school bus full of kids coming home headed down the road. Oh what a day. But back to putting those Christmas decorations away. So I take a box out to the garage. And it smells like propane. Of course it does, the propane man had just been there. But it smells like propane A LOT. So, I decide to take a peek. And it really stinks. And the tank was hissing at me. I didn't think tanks were suppose to hiss, but this being a Tennessee tank it's apt to do just about anything it wants. So I decide to give it about 5 minutes to get a hold of itself and just cut that stuff out. Only it didn't want to. And I didn't want to, not only having been here a couple of months, but it left me no choice. I had to dial 911. And they came. Down our quiet little street. Red lights flashing and just giving the kids the thrill of all thrills....firetrucks in your very own driveway!!

Mr. Hissyfit Propane Tank was given a quick look-see and it was determined that he was going to be trouble and that the house must be evacuated. Coats were grabbed, shoes put on and we quickly made our way out into the dusky winter air. Where we waited for propane man to make a call and tame our tank beast. Only he was busy, somewhere else. 90 minutes away. The kids sat in the fire truck to stay warm. Cars were parading up and down in front of our house. Looking at the excitement that had descended upon their quiet little place. And finally, my husband, who I was able to warn by cell phone about his first encounter with Leiper's Fork's finest, appeared. We were told it would be at least another hour before things could be secured and we could go back into the house, so a few Happy Meals and playland action was called for. Seatbelt laws be damned, we got into the G-35 and headed out.

By the time we got home 90 minutes later, all was quiet and dark and yet again peaceful in our little part of the woods.

Picking Up Speed

Well the time has come. The moving van arrives in the morning. Time to start packing things out and loading them up. It seems like all of a sudden our normal household has become more like a madhouse. All changing in just an instant. A lot like when the phone rings.

When the phone rings at our house, it's like the signal that all semblance of order is to be abandoned immediately. It can be calm and quiet in the house, kids watching TV or playing with toys without any screaming or fighting or such. No one is hungry or needs a drink and not one really cares where Mommy is at the moment. But if that phone should ring, the atmosphere changes and changes quickly.

All of a sudden there are urgent needs to be met among the troops. Instantly everyone wants to know where Mommy is and things need to be answered and responded to immediately. Important things. Things like, "Can we have a cookie? I need chocolate milk. Is it OK if I invite 8 of my friends over? Can I ride my bike in the street?" I answer them all the same way. Making the scariest face I can, waving my arm wildly about my head like I am fighting off a swarm of angry bees and adding a boot kick with my foot all while cheerfully answering the phone caller with, "Oh yes, we are all doing fine here." My answer only persuades the kids to move 6" out of the reach of my foot while still preparing their second wave of attacks by gathering up packages of cookies and chips and water color paints to be opened.

"Oh but PLEEEEESE Mommy! Can't I just have ONE can of soda?"

Thankfully things have gotten a little easier on us mothers with the invention of the cordless phones, as now I try to outdistance the throngs of 4 feet tall and under younglings by heading up the stairs while still cheerfully carrying on the telephone conversation. I disguise my breathlessness of climbing up the stairs with a little faux cough and wheeze. But 10 seconds behind me and there they are! With juice boxes and marking pens and a 36 pack of Crayolas. Their demands growing louder and stronger. It's time I take a stand. I put my hand over the phone, grit my teeth and say, "NO! Get. Out." That just causes one to cling to my leg and implore to me, "Please Mommy? Pleeeeeeese?" I try to shake off said urchin as I wander upstairs from room all while brightly following my phone conversation. Once I break free, I head back downstairs where I can converse in peace. In my wake I strategically place roadblocks in order so slow my entourage down. The dining room chair in the kitchen doorway. Hot Wheels cars placed at eye level. Packages of fruit chews next to the TV. All the while making my way to that one place of solitude.

I have often wondered if callers knew that if they talked to a stay at home mom for more than 15 minutes that chances are she was probably locked in the bathroom or closet somewhere. A closet is the preferred choice as there is less echo, but the bathroom is a good alternative during peak conversation hours. There the fan can be turned on to help conceal the noise of kidlings pounding upon the bathroom door. However, usually in 5 minutes or less, the mom is flushed out, fleeing yet to another space.

With beads of sweat on my brow I lower my head and navigate my way through the children, continuing on the search for a that ever elusive noise free area. Once again up the stairs, down the stairs and finally right outside the front door. But in the back of my mind, I am fearing retribution and I can no longer stay on track of the conversation and the phone call must be terminated. Returning the phone to the receiver, stumbling on a Hot Wheels along the way, I survey the damage. Dining room chair turned over. Fruit chews opened and smashed into the carpet. TV turned up loud enough that the neighbors can understand it through their double paned windows. Kids looking somewhat weary and defeated yet otherwise contented and happy.

But I got to listen to a friend talk on the phone, so it was worth it.

Using the Force

The house seems to be in it's final count-down
to being ready. We have tried to explain by phone and email to our builder during this whole process certain requests for our house. Now that Rick is in Nashville and can go see the house in Leiper's Fork we have found that even though we thought we were quite clear, we maybe just weren't clear enough. I guess we were not trained in using the force of the Good Side and the old Jedi mind tricks quite well enough. But even Jedi Masters don't get it right all of the time.

And even if we did think we were clear, sometimes the person we are communicating to has some other image in their head and thinks we understand each other perfectly.

Sort of like one morning when my 3 year old had something very important to tell me.

As a mom, I have gotten pretty used to rude awakenings in the middle of the night and some groggy early mornings. This particular morning, my three year old had gotten up quite early. The sky was just turning a soft grey outside. Rick wasn't home, but on a blissful business trip with a mini bar and turn down service, so I was once again in charge. Little son comes up a bit timidly to my bed and starts talking about how there is a kitty sleeping on the daybed in the guest room.

"Yes even our kitty needs sleep dear. Please go back to bed." is all I can mumble.

He walks off toward his room to and I have great hope that he is content with my answer and my infinite wisdom and he will go back to sleep.

A few minutes later I can hear him breathing again at the side of my bed.

"There is a kitty sleeping in there. He's on the bed, but not on the bed." he tries to explain to me.

"Ya well kitties are funny like that." I tell him. "Just leave him alone and go back to bed."

He slowly leaves my room and I put my head under the pillow thinking that if he comes back he won't know I'm there.

A few minutes pass and I hear him fidgeting by my bed.

"Mom it looks like Freddie kitty but he's different."

Ok, now I'm starting to stir a bit. "What do you mean he's different?" Foggy thoughts of the cat being stiff with rigor mortis enter my mind.

"Well he's like a different color." he answers softly.

Now I am becoming more awake and I begin asking myself what in the world did that cat get into that would change its fur a different color? Last I saw our cat was a long hair black cat with just bits of white on his face and paws. I then remind myself that we are now living in the urban/wildlife interface and we have encountered many small creatures around our house. I begin to figure it out, Oh dear Lord, it must be a opossum. A wild, rabid opossum has gotten into our house and is making a new home on our guest day bed. I can't think. I have to clear my foggy mind. What should I do next? If I go in there it may go crazy and escape and then be running wild all through the house. If I ignore it, it may have babies on the day bed and then I'd have 8 wild rabid animals in the house. I then begin to formulate the thought that the 3 year old had been in the room with that creature several times and that didn't seem to agitate the animal. So I instruct my 3 yo to quietly please go see what "kitty" is doing now. "But don't go in," I explain, "just look and then close the door so "kitty" can't get out."

He dutifully and bravely faced the dangerous task I had asked him to endure. He comes back with a report that it is "Still there and sleeping." I think well of course it is, being feverish with rabies and all. It must be too sick to move much anymore and I was thankful that my 3 year old had enough sense not to go and pet it or anything.

I decide I need to quiz toddler son some more.

"So, it looked like Freddie kitty but was a different color. What do you mean 'different color'?"

"It was like Freddie kitty but with more white."

The wheels were churning in my mind. Black animal with more white. Holy smokes! A SKUNK!! Of course! They were all around and I could smell their sweet fragrance when the dogs next door decided once every other night to bark at them and chase them toward our house. One finally decided to just move in.

Now things were getting a little more complicated. If I scared the skunk I would be buying tomato paste for the next 4 years. This was something that had to be dealt with in a very cool and quiet manner. Should I call animal control? The fire department? Being the thinker that I am, I decide that a peek in the room with a baseball bat at the ready would be a pretty good plan before I went off alerting TV news stations about the wild animal I went one to one with heroically saving not only my own children but very possibly every child in the neighborhood. Yes indeed, this skunk picked the wrong daybed.

I tip toe quietly to the closed guest room door and press an ear to it in order to pick up any rustling sounds. It seemed pretty quiet it there, but skunks are known to be that way. Then as I wait I ask myself if it really is a good idea for me to combat this animal by myself. The decision is made that I must press on. I slowly turn the door knob and crack it open just a tiny bit, bat at the ready. The room is lit by the pale grey sky just enough that I can make out most of everything in there, but see nothing on the daybed. Being a bit more confident I open the door an extra inch to get a better view, but still see nothing. The poor thing must have been scared and scampered into the darkness under the bed. I back out of the room, close the door and whisper to toddler son asking him just where was the "kitty." We wait a few moments and then he comes closer and we softly open the door together. He points to the daybed and quietly replies, "Right there." Well, the wild animal obviously wasn't right there any more. So we enter the room, just a step or two.

"Look!" he says getting louder, "He's right there."

Holy crap! "WHERE?!" as I start prancing up and down hoping nothing climbs up my leg as we back out of the room with me swinging the door closed behind us.

"It was right there on the bed." he says calmly.

Things are starting to get creepy. I've seen those movies where kids see weird things that grown ups can't. I just never thought it would be one of my kids and that they would be seeing haunted Pet Semetary stuff on our guest daybed.

I catch my breath and proceed with caution. I knew that the haunted animal would now be agitated because not only did I show fear, but I slammed the door closed on its tormented face. A few moments pass and I courageously crack open the door again and look more closely at the day bed. I don't see anything. I glance around the room and see nothing out of the ordinary there, just a lamp and piggy bank on the side table, my sewing machine and assorted odds and ends as usual on the other side. Yet toddler son still insisted that the "kitty" was still in the room.

Once more I back out of the room and I get down on my knees so I am at my little boy's height and instruct him to point to the "kitty" when we open the door. With all the fear I have pushed aside and armed with the knowledge that the creature must consider my son his friend, I cautiously open the door. He points to the bed, but just passed the bed. I put my eye to his finger and I finally see what it was that he saw. From his toddler view the big old fashioned ivory with painted sleeping dark eyes piggy bank on the side table, did indeed look like a semi-white kitty sleeping on but yet not quite on the daybed.

And people think that moms can't solve mysteries!

House for Sale

The Buy Me Fairy needs to come fly over our house in California!! After a few months on the market, price adjustments, open houses, scheduled (and unscheduled) showings, our lovely house is still For Sale. We love our house and can't understand why someone just hasn't walked up and offered us a million dollars for it, but I suppose not everything deserves to be so easy. And some things just take a lot of constant work. Like laundry.



Ode to Laundry

My washer churns
My dryer burns
Clothes scattered every where.
I need more soap
I'm losin hope
My dressers are all bare.

I sort and stack
Socks and slacks
Different colors like I know
But that one last sock
Surely mocks
That in he didn't go.

Tried in vain
To get that stain
Out of my favorite shirt
How can it be
That moms like me
Must deal with so much dirt.

Crouch and reach
I find the bleach
And pour in generoulsy
And if I'm right
Things turn white
And I dance around with glee.

Fold and fold
It's getting old
But laundries being done
I look around
More on the ground
I think I just may run.

It could be worse
I often curse
I wonder in my head
If it'd be OK
For just a day
We all go bare instead.

The hamper grows
With laundry woes
Will this chore be ever complete?
I hang in there
Vow no underwear
Will bring me to defeat.

I take a day
Just one away
From my laundry due
How could it be
That now I see
My pile has grown by two.

I throw in more
Behind the door
I'll do some clothes tomorrow
But man alive
It's grown by five
I'm drowning in my sorrow.

I see some room
Behind the broom
For just a few more things.
Then I'll start
I'll have more heart
With what a new day brings.

Now there's more
Than I've seen before
But I bet I still can do it
Within the hour
I have the power
But I think my fuse just blew it.

I will be brave
And will not cave
But finish this washing dance
Alas no more fun
Call 911
It's a laundry avalanche.

She's Growing Up

So the transformation continues. From bare land, to a foundation into a peek at what the finished house will look like. I guess at this point I can say that the house is "potty trained" as it is officially "in the dry." We flew out to Franklin the first weekend of April, ignorantly bliss of tornado warnings and golf ball sized hail. And even though it was a bit unnerving for me, it wasn't all that bad. What does that tell you about living with 5 kids? It does tend to get a little chaotic here at home, even on what should be a typical quiet evening. Like one not too long ago.

Rick was off on a business trip and I was holding the fort down fairly well. That particular evening the house was a mess and the Mac & Cheese dishes sat in the sink, but those were things I planned on tackling after the kids went to bed. However my plans were going to be changing. I soon found out that the 3 year old had an explosion of a poopy diaper. I put baby daughter in the baby bouncy seat and started with the diaper changing. It didn't take long for me to figure out that it was going to take more than a fresh package of baby wipes to clean up that mess, so in to the shower he goes. Looking around the bathroom it became obvious that with 3 older boys sharing a bathroom, letting the place go unchecked for more than 2 days was a bad idea. I begin to wipe things up when I discover that the toothbrushes are on the floor in a puddle of pee next to the toilet.

I take toddler son out of the shower, towel wrapped and into the hallway. Then step over various toys and Playdough creations taking the toothbrushes downstairs for sanitation rituals, which included running them under the sink and zapping them in the microwave. Now because my husband just happened to be on a business trip that evening so there was no back up for me in case I unexpectedly happened to go brain dead, which unbeknownst to be was just about to happen. One of the older boys was upstairs playing on the computer, the toddler freshly showered and baby daughter was not screaming her head off to be held. I was in charge and boy was it showing. It was a crowning moment!!

But then this strange smell began wafting through the house. This electical short ciruit wiring smell. Something was smoldering and it seemed to be coming from the computer. I pull a few plugs, inspect a few wires, palm the drywall for hot spots, but turn up nothing. Now fearing an electrical fire regardless I do what any calm, cool and collected Mom would do. I dial 911 and ask for the fire department to please come quickly. I was instructed to get all the kids out of the house. So out we go. Into the dark. Then we hear in the distance the sirens coming. Dogs start howling. Crickets stop chirping. Flashing lights start arriving. The kids start jumping up and down so excited to see firetrucks coming to our house. In OUR driveway. Mom is a hero!!!!

Well I knew it wasn't good when I take the first fire fighter dressed in full rescue regalia into the house and he can't smell a thing. I tell him to get someone else in there then! Of course you can smell an electrical fire. You are a fire fighter and have been trained for these things. I am a mom on the edge and I could smell it. How hard could that be?!? A huge older calming fire captain arrives next. Yes he could smell it. Yes it was stronger upstairs near the computer. Then he starts asking questions. When did the smell start? Where did it start? Did you turn on the oven?

"No" I tell him, "We just had Mac & Cheese, no oven involved!"

He calmly climbs the stairs and has a sniff. The smell not so strong anymore. Then we hear the young "can't smell anything" cowboy of a firefighter yell up, "We found the problem!" Oh thank God. The children and I will be saved tonight. He opens the microwave and pulls out 3 melted, exploded and otherwise disfigured toothbrushes from the microwave. The calm fire captain glances out at my brood who are running all around out on the driveway and asks, "I wonder who put those in there."

I sputter ... cough... then answer as quickly as the words could come out of my mouth "Well I did. You see my husband is out of town on business and I have these 5 little kids and one had this HUGE poopy diaper and I had to get him in the shower, and well, I saw all the toothbrushes in this pee. And well I have 4 boys you see and they share this bathroom and well they HAVE to brush their teeth every night right? and gee, well, I didn't know that one of the toothbrushes used to light up like 3 months ago and if I did I certainly wouldn't have put it in the microwave where it would SMELL like an electrical fire with the wires and lightbulb and batteries and all melting like that and well I know you can understand because, like, I am here with FIVE kids and my husband is out of town and did I mention I have 5 kids?"

That 8' tall calm fire captain gently tells his crew that it's time to go on and all is secure and that the kids can come back into the house for a good night's rest. And he didn't even issue me a fire citation for the condition of the kids' bedrooms. I once again, counted my blessings.

Packing continues

Well what can I say? Packing this house with the kids in it is like herding cats. I want every box packed up neat and orderly; all game pieces together, all marbles in their rightful place, all Army guys sitting in their respective jeeps so when we unpack in TN it goes smoothly and things are put away neatly. Rick wonders why I just don't take some Prozac and either throw everything out and buy new, or just throw it in the box and be done with it, letting the sorting take place in the middle of the floor amongst a pile of knee deep toys the way it always does. After all, aren't the kids supposed to feel at home in the new house? But I press on and I continue to look like a little hen scratching through closets and pecking out a few things here, a few things there. Little piles of things that match with other things which go with other things that I am sure I just saw the other day while pecking through another closet. A true test of my mental capacity! Imagine my feeling of fulfillment when I have found the last game piece and placed it all in a well organized box ready to be inventoried, taped and sent off to storage!!

But what happens after I do find that last golden nugget and set it in the box with other matched treasures is that life calls me away for a few minutes. The lone box is left. Unattended. Open. Unmarked. Unsealed. I hear faint voices squealing in delight, "I CAN'T BELIEVE MOM FOUND THIS!!"
"Oh wow, I haven't seen this forever!"
"Look what else is in here!"

My work! Hours of searching gone in an instant. Puzzle pieces, action heroes, Hot Wheels track scattered again about the house. Pushed under the sofa, stashed behind the toilet, tucked between the wall and the bed. My pride swirls around me and won't let me seal the box until the contents are all back together! I search, I stack, and peck around some more until all pieces are together once again. The items are once again packed, but now the tape is missing. Certainly one of the 28 rolls of 150 yard packing tape must be around here somewhere! But I don't dare to leave the box! Scotch tape can hold it all together right? The marking pen! Holy cow, where did that run off to? I don't even want to see the movers' expression when they see how many boxes are marked in purple crayon. Inventory book?! Where did I leave that? I figure I'll just write it all on the back of an envelope, I'm always finding those laying around the house. When I find the inventory list I'll just transfer it all into the book then. I'm sure once I find it again there will still be a few pages in it that Amanda hasn't scribbled on.

Did I mention that packing seems to be going slower than I expected?