And Here We Are

It's sometimes handy that I've been writing here for 18 (!) years. It allows me to read older posts and shake my head with amusement.

Like this one from 13 (!) years ago, in which I discussed how much food I was going to need to make when the boys were older.

At that time, the boys in question were only the older two children. I didn't yet know I would have two more. And I really didn't have any concept of how much food would be consumed in our house 13 years from that time. I mean, kind of, in the abstract, but in reality? It was literally unimaginable then.

I am currently in the phase with one boy where I ask him every morning how many eggs he wants for breakfast and he asks me in return, "Is there going to be anything besides eggs?"

This was a morning that also included peanut butter toast, hence only five eggs. 

If he was given all the food he could eat, he would literally eat two full breakfasts, two full lunches, and dinner. Plus dessert. Since I am not nice enough to be cooking all day long, however, he has to content himself with snacks in lieu of the extra breakfast and lunch. And with staging elaborate death by starvation scenes every day at 4 p.m. when he's trying to convince me he's not going to make it another hour to dinner.

And this is just the one child. His younger brother will be right there with him soon, I'm sure.

We're just gonna keep ramping this up until they start leaving, I guess. And then A. and I are going to eat nothing but beans and tortillas forever more.*

* That is obviously a joke, but I certainly will not be making so much bread, granola, yogurt, etc., to say nothing of the full meals.

How Far Is Too Far?

Last time A. went camping with the kids, he bought a sleeve of those big red Solo cups for the gallons of milk and lemonade he kept in the cooler. When he got home, I collected all of those and washed them to use again.

I used one of them on the Fourth of July to give the son home with me a very patriotic-looking watermelon slushie. After he finished his slushie, he started to throw the Solo cup away. I stopped him and told him I would wash it to use again. He was incredulous.

"Mom. Seriously? I have never heard of anyone re-using a Solo cup."

Really? I mean, is that really that strange? They're thick plastic! They're easy to wash! Why wouldn't you re-use it?

He was also shocked that I wash out Ziploc bags. And empty sour cream containers. The tray with top that A. brought home from a McDonald's breakfast. Pretty much any glass jars. And I sometimes save sheets of aluminum foil if they haven't gotten dirty, although I don't go so far as to wash those.

I even wash and re-use birthday candles.

These have been used I think twice and have at least one more use in them.

It never occurred to me that any of this was really that strange, but maybe it is. What do you* think? 

* Although I suspect that if you read here with any regularity, you are most likely also a re-user.

Before and After Kitchen

Before we moved into this house eight years ago, I did a lot of painting. I painted the living room and entry, the dining room, the hallway, and Poppy's bedroom. Even though I got a lot done, I always regretted not painting the kitchen.

The kitchen was in bad shape. I don't know when it was last painted, but it looked terrible. The paint on the cabinets was bubbling and impossible to clean without actually scrubbing the paint off. It was nasty. But having my constantly-in-use kitchen out of commission for days to paint it was not very appealing.

So I never did it. And it got more and more gross.

However! When A. was planning his trip to New York for ten days with three of the four children, I knew my time had come. Accordingly, I asked him to buy me white paint for the ceiling and something yellow-toned for the cabinets.

The only pre-mixed, non-gray paint he could find when he went to Walmart, though, was an almond color. So that's what he got. And that's what I used.

First I painted the ceiling.

In progress.

I sent this photo to A., and he responded that he thought I was going to use the almond paint on the cabinets. I did. The brown you see in the top right is the color of the ceiling before painting it white.

He couldn't believe how gross the ceiling was. 

It certainly was.

To the remainder of the white paint, I added just a bit of the almond paint, to make a slightly lighter almond, I guess. I used that for the small area of actual walls. And then I painted the cabinets with the almond color.

I hate painting. I am not good at it; I am not particularly careful; and I don't find it enjoyable. But I got it done.

The paint was still drying, hence all the cabinet doors ajar.

I specifically asked A. to get something besides white for the cabinets so they wouldn't show smudges so readily. I actually prefer the look of the original white cabinets, but I don't regret using non-white. Everything looks SO much cleaner. And I can actually clean it! I can just wipe things down! Hooray!

I didn't have enough of the white paint to do the ceiling in the adjacent dining room, which desperately needs painting, but that can wait until I get back to Walmart for more paint.

To Each Her Own

I was at the grocery store with the oldest son last week and I told him he could choose an ice cream flavor. He surveyed the options for a minute before deciding on black cherry.

That was pretty much the last flavor available that I would have chosen. 

These were the small cartons of ice cream, so I also got butter pecan for the rest of the family. All of them like that one, although again, I don't care about it at all. It doesn't actively repel me like black cherry, but I still won't bother eating it.

I did choose one for myself, though: chocolate moose tracks. Chocolate, peanut butter, and more chocolate? That's more like it.

A tale of two ice creams.

A. has always preferred fruit-flavored candies, ice creams, and desserts. I have always preferred chocolate. Preferably with peanut butter. He does not understand this. I likewise do not understand why anyone would eat black cherry ice cream when they could have chocolate moose tracks.

Variety is the spice of life, they say, and I guess that means our lives are plenty spicy.

So tell me: What kind of ice cream do you pick, given the choice?

I Think I'm Gonna Make It

This is the first morning since Friday that I've awakened normally and gotten up because I was done sleeping, not because I was driven from bed because I felt so awful.

I don't know what this virus is that we've had in our house, but it certainly hangs on. I am still thankful that I never threw up like my kids did, but the continuing fever, achiness, exhaustion, and horrible congestion haven't been all that much fun, either.

It's been awhile since I've been sick this long. My house is showing it. It's a mess. I managed to do laundry on Sunday, but it hasn't been put away. I haven't been doing my typical continuous picking up, either, so everything is looking a bit chaotic and cluttery. And, of course, I haven't dusted or vacuumed.

It's all happening today, though. Interspersed with resting, because I'm still pretty tired.

Shall we end this random post with a random photo? Sure.

Very unfortunately, I had to bring a child to a not-close city for an appointment yesterday. The view from the window as we were waiting was very typical of any office park in any southwestern city.

Phoenix? Tucson? Santa Fe? Who can tell.

It occurred to me, though, that this sort of landscaping does not exist where I live. The parking lots, the sidewalks, the gravel with the bushes in it . . . it's only in cities. Just an observation.

Easter Altar Flowers

A few years ago I started buying fresh flowers for our church for Easter. I love fresh flowers, but this is the only time I buy them. Easter is the most important holiday in the Catholic church, and I feel like the altar decorations should reflect that.

Arranging flowers is one of my few hobbies. This is convenient, because buying all the arrangements I make at a florist would be several hundred dollars. Buying random assorted bouquets at Walmart and arranging them myself is much cheaper. Also, then I can make them exactly the way I want them.

Gathering the materials.

I bought all of these on Thursday and transported them home in buckets of water I brought with me. These stayed in A.'s relatively cool office until I was ready to put the arrangements together on Saturday.

I started by taking all the bouquets apart and putting like colors together.

Poppy helped me with this.

Staged.

I use the same box every year for the main altar arrangement. Last year, the plastic liner in it was leaking. I discovered to my great satisfaction, however, that the big plastic container of salad greens I bought awhile ago is big enough to function as a liner in this box, so I didn't have to buy a new one.

I don't have any of that foam florist's stuff to stick the stems into. I hate that stuff, anyway. It always falls apart. This year I tried using some of the sheep's wool we had from shearing, but when I got that wet, it compacted too much.

Last year I used criss-crossed branches inside the box to support everything, but that didn't work this year. I think because last year I was using a lot more lilac branches, which are stiffer than flower stems. I ended up finding a piece of chicken wire in the pasture and using that inside the box for structure.

I had several fits and starts with these flowers. They were fighting me. It took me awhile to figure out how to put them together in the way I wanted, with the right shape, height, and color mixing. I spent a little more than two hours on four different arrangements.

The central altar:

The lectern:

The saints' pedestals on either side of the tabernacle:

And then the potted flowers:

I'm not a huge fan of Easter lilies, so I only get a few.

And the bigger picture:

The view from our pew.

This is so much work, but it is also so worth it to me. It's an act of service that has the selfish result of making me very happy when I turn on the lights on Easter Sunday and see all those flowers.

Making the Grade

It's school progress-report time! These are viewed with varying levels of interest by my children. The boys mostly don't care, although all of them do very well in school, so they don't have much to worry about.  

Poppy, however, is VERY interested in her progress reports and report cards. This is the first year that she's had actual grades, and she scrutinizes them carefully*.

Her latest progress report apparently inspired her to grade me, which was one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time.

Not too shabby.

So obviously my strengths are cooking and gardining. (Yes, with an "i." It's like Anne with an "e.") I do pretty well with caring, getting them to bed, and the woodstove. Cleaning needs a little work--I have to agree with that one--but the overall score is good.

I've never once been tardy. Go me. 

I'm not entirely sure what all those excused absences are. Maybe when I was gone at basketball games and so forth? I do know what the one unexcused absence was: That one night by myself at the hotel is obviously inexcusable. 

If I can get through this motherhood gig with an overall score of 99, though, I will take it.

*She also has absolutely nothing to worry about with her grades, which makes this a pleasurable activity for her rather than an anxious one.

When Money Can Buy Happiness

At least, when a little money can buy a little happiness. Like this . . .

One of the extremely irritating places to me in my house is the pass-through. This is a spot where there were windows in the original trailer that became, well, glassless windows that lead into the added-on living room. 

There is a shelf there, and that is where our landline phone lives. Also the pencil sharpener, pens and pencils, tape, stapler, calculators, etc. It's basically like an office desk, which I do not have. 

That stuff was always all over the place on that shelf. Calculators spread out all around the phone, random pads of paper, pencils that had fallen out of the repurposed honey jars . . . It was a mess. All the time. And it drove me crazy.

Finally, and why this took me so long I do not know, I bought an organizer for this spot. I knew what I wanted to put in it already, so I looked for one that had the appropriate number and size of compartments. 

It cost me $25 and fifteen minutes to go from this:

Yuck.

To this:

Yay!

Of course, keeping it that way will require constant vigilance to put things away as they get taken out, but at least now I have somewhere to put them that is not just the general location of the shelf. And that is $25 very well spent.

An Unusual Benefit of Online Shopping

Several months ago I stumbled upon a YouTube series of videos that followed a family living in the mountains of somewhere in Eastern Europe. It was a remote place, and the way of life there was markedly unlike our modern American life. This family heated their house and cooked on a wood-fueled stove, which the mother of the family started every morning.

I also start our woodstove every morning, so I was interested to see how she did it. She used a small stick that she shaved into a firestarter by splitting it very finely with a big knife all on one end.

It looked like a serious drag to have to do that every morning. 

I start our woodstove using the kids' old math books (thin paper that catches easily), torn-up Amazon delivery boxes, and kindling my boys split for me.

The nascent fire.

Five minutes later. 

What that mother wouldn't give for paper and cardboard to easily start her fire, and here I am drowning in it.

As always, a little perspective is an excellent thing.

The Plague of Scent

The other day, I bought trash bags. I am always careful to check that the bags I'm getting are unscented. I find scented trash bags to be disgusting. If trash is going to smell, it will smell, and the scent of lavender or whatever in the trash bags is not going to help that. 

All is well.

I also needed big garbage bags for the dump. I get the biggest ones of these I can find, and the strongest. I detest small bags or big bags that rip whenever I try to pull them out of the big trash can in the shop. Walmart sells big contractor bags, and that is what I got.

I brought them home, took one out to put it in the can and . . . what is that smell? Are these contractor bags SCENTED?

"May contain a light scent" indeed.

I cannot imagine why my "extra-TOUGH" contractor bags "made for professional cleanup jobs" are scented. It's not a nice scent, either. They smell like a porta potty. Maybe that's what contractors expect in their trash bags?

I don't know, but it's gross and I am displeased. 

Thankfully, these bags are only ever outside, so I'm not confronted with their stench in my house, but still. I think that was unnecessary.

The Light Shines in the Darkness*

Just in the last few years, I have realized how much I like having additional light in the winter. Not lamps and light fixtures--although I have added quite a few of those to our home over the last eight years--but less-direct light.

I started putting up my Time Change lights about five years ago, just to illuminate the dim area between the kitchen and dining room. It does add a bit more light, but mostly it just looks pretty and cozy.

When I finish up the dishes at night and we're all in the living room, I like to turn off all the lights in the kitchen except these.

Just in the last few years, I've started using candles more, too. I started putting them on our table when someone donated a very large box of taper candles to our church that we couldn't use on the altar (because altar candles have to be majority beeswax, and these are paraffin). My children really love having the candles lit for breakfast if it's still dark outside, and always for dinner in the winter.

This year, I added a candle to the living room, too, thanks to the candle molds that Poppy and I used. The wax for this came from church, too. I actually ordered the molds because there was a big box of candle stubs that would have just been disposed of if I hadn't taken them to make into new candles.

Just that one small candle on the bookcase shining after it gets dark makes me very happy.

We made this one pink, with what I assume was an old Advent candle.

Small things, but they bring a disproportionate amount of satisfaction.

* "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." From the Gospel of John.

And Now, 46

Today is my birthday. Having a birthday so soon after Christmas has always been challenging. There tends to be traveling at this time, everyone is pretty tired of eating and celebrating, and there's a general feeling of let-down.

It's my own fault, though, as I was born three weeks late*. So I should have been born at the beginning of December, a happy and excited time. Instead, my birthday is two days after Christmas. 

There are some benefits to this, however. When I was kid, I always enjoyed that I never had school on my birthday. I still enjoy this, because getting my own kids up and out the door for school, along with whatever after-school activities are occurring, would be a buzzkill.

I also like that the Christmas decorations are still up on my birthday. 

The view from my chair in the living room. I just now figured out how to do a panoramic photo, so you can see all of my living room. Because I am always learning and growing, ahem.

I always spend the day between Christmas and my birthday cleaning up. It's my birthday gift to myself. I am much happier in an orderly environment, and Christmas festivities have a bad effect on that. 

A. is hunting with two of the boys, so it's going to be a low-key day for us at home. The past two years, I've run a 5K on my birthday, just because I could. The joke I made that turned into a rule for my children is that I have to do it every year in less time than my age in years. Running a 5K in under 46 minutes is not much of a challenge. If I could run at all, that is. This year, thanks to my pinched nerve or whatever, I can't run. 

Instead, Poppy and I are going to do a stretching video to start the recovery from whatever I did to myself. Seems fitting for my mid-forties.

Anyway, happy birthday to me, and feel free to eat some cake in my honor today. Or run a 5K, if you're into that sort of thing.

* Sorry about that extra almost-month of late pregnancy, Mom. That was mean of me.

On Singing

My brother's birthday was the past weekend. We have a tradition in our family of calling on the birthday and the whole family singing to the birthday person over the phone. I spent all day Friday reminding myself to call and sing when everyone was home after dinner . . . only to forget after dinner.

Boooo.

But! When I texted my brother to apologize, he said no worries, he had been at work anyway (he's an airline pilot) and wouldn't be celebrating his birthday until Sunday. Which meant we had another opportunity to sing.

To make certain that I wouldn't forget this time, I made a note to myself and stuck it on the refrigerator with a magnet.

I suppose a normal person would have used a note in their phone or something.

I sent this to my brother, and he responded that he thought I should keep it up there all the time, like a motivational "Live, Laugh, Love" reminder.

One thing I do not need to be reminded to do, however, is sing.

I love to sing. I do it all the time, often spontaneously. I have a pretty good voice, an incredible storehouse of songs in my head, and a remarkable ability to reproduce a melody. I sing a lot of songs from when I was a kid: songs from the radio, songs I learned in school, songs my family sang. 

I was very happy when our current priest instituted singing at our Masses again. I remember many of the hymns from my childhood and I sing those, too.

My mother is a singer and always sang in church choirs, as did my sister. I did, too, when I was younger, although I never learned to read music or sing parts well like they can. 

I feel like this is not as common as it used to be, however. Both A. and I were required to participate in elementary school choirs around 5th grade. I have never heard of this now, even in places much larger than here. A couple of my children are able to carry a tune, but not because of any formal training.

Do people not sing as much anymore? What do you think? Do you sing? Do your kids?

Home for the Holiday

We just returned last night from a week in New Orleans, so I am particularly thankful for a fun and safe trip.

This is not a house you will see where I live.

 I am also extremely thankful to be home. 

Where there is precious little green to be seen, but also no chokingly humid air.

But as always, home or away, the people who came with me to New Orleans are what I am most thankful for.

Happy Thanksgiving to all. What are you thankful for?

An Alcohol Evolution

Although I have never been a big drinker, I have always liked to drink sometimes. I still do, it's just that "sometimes" has now become "rarely."

The reason for this is mostly because when I have a drink, I want to be able to relax. I do not want to have a drink and then spend the next two hours cooking and cleaning up dinner, for example. I will not get home late from an event and have a drink before bed, either. Pretty much the only time I want to have a cocktail is at 4 p.m. We eat early and I go to bed early, so everything else is correspondingly early as well. 

So the situations in which I actually have a drink are very specific, and therefore very infrequent.

When I do have a drink, it is always a cocktail. I never much liked beer or wine. When I was younger, I liked rum and Coke. Later, I liked gin and tonic. And then for awhile, I preferred Sidecars.

All of those, however, relied on sugar for flavor. I find that now, I don't want any sugar at all in addition to the alcohol when I have a cocktail. That's why I now drink flavored vodka. That way I can have flavor with no sugar (or sugar substitutes, which I uniformly dislike). I always cut it with flavored seltzer, too. My favorite flavored vodka is peach. The lime vodka my sister brought last time she visited was good, too.

This makes a very light drink that is just enough to  be pleasant.

Especially pleasant in an actual cocktail glass.

So tell me: Do you drink? What do you prefer?

First Fire

Over the most recent two decades of my life, woodstoves have featured heavily in 17 of those years. We had a couple of years in our house on the Canadian border without a woodstove, and about six months in the rental house we first lived in in New Mexico didn't have one, either. But otherwise, I have built hundreds of fires to heat our homes both in New York and New Mexico.

Our woodstove in New York would hold a fire overnight, so it wasn't always necessary to build one every morning. But our woodstove here doesn't do that. I have to build a fire every morning. This is almost always my task, because I get up so much earlier than everyone else.

Looking at the weather forecast for today, I saw 48 degrees overnight and a high of only 59 degrees, with rain, for today. That, to me, spelled out "first fire" just as clearly as if it were in the forecast itself.

Accordingly, I spent some time yesterday cleaning up around the woodstove. I had to clear away all the things that had accumulated around the stove--the apple scrap vinegar that was fermenting, water jugs, empty ice cream buckets, etc.--and then vacuum off the woodstove itself and the area around it. It always gets very dusty over the summer.

The interior of the stove was cleaned out after the last fire, so that was ready. I had to shift the liquor cabinet from its summer position closer to the woodstove (and clean the cabinet and the area around it, because gross) to its winter position further over so there would be room for the wood rack.

Last, I gathered together everything I would need to start the fire: kindling that was still scattered in the area where the boys chop it for me in the winter, small pieces of wood, a box, and paper. I bring all of this in overnight so it won't be damp when I have to start the fire.

The younger children's old math workbooks are the best for starting fires, because the pages are so thin. And they like to see their math burn.

At 5:30 a.m., I layered the crumpled paper, ripped up cardboard, smaller pieces of kindling, bigger pieces of kindling, and small pieces of wood, and lit it.

The first flames of a very long woodburning season.

Barring difficulties like wet materials or zero draft, I can get a fire started in about ten minutes.

There it is.

When it's time to get the children up for school, I will get their clothing out of their rooms and lay it on top of the woodstove to warm up before they put it on. It makes it slightly easier to roust them out of their warm beds and into another cold school morning.

It's not yet time to burn the stove continuously, as the weather will fluctuate between pretty warm days and colder nights for some time yet, but the stove is now ready to go whenever its needed.

Are there any winter preparations happening at your house?

Again with the Painting

 Almost exactly two years ago, I painted the children's bathroom. I was very proud of myself for getting it done, and also happy that I could cross one more room off my list of rooms that need painting.

Except then I had to do it again.

After A.'s spectacular bathroom renovation in there that included entirely replacing the sub-floor and then putting Moroccan-style blue and white stick-on tiles over that, the walls looked . . . wrong. The white on the tiles was so bright that it made the yellow-y white of the walls look dingy. There were also a few spots around the bathtub especially that had gotten roughed up from the tub installation with deep scratches and peeling paint.

And then there was the bright yellow on the cabinets, which was a little much with the floor color and pattern.

Much as I hated to do it, the whole bathroom really needed to be painted again. 

When I investigated our cans of paint in the shop, I found that I really didn't have any usable paint left. Accordingly, the next time I was at Walmart, I bought some paint. This being a New Mexico Walmart, I did not have it in me to try to pick out a paint color to be mixed and then hunt down an employee to mix it for me. Instead, I took a look at the limited pre-mixed color options and went with the lightest blue available.

This was still not as light as I wanted it to be, even after I mixed in a whole quart of white paint I had. I forged ahead anyway. The end result is very blue. 

There are no windows in this bathroom, so the color is kind of hard to see. It's definitely blue, though.

I had wanted to paint the middle of the cabinets white for contrast, but I used my white paint to tone down the blue. So blue on blue it is.

I am not a huge fan of blue in general, and I am far from a professional painter, but this certainly does look much better than it did.

My next challenge is going to be painting the awful faux marble sink and countertop with white tub finishing paint, due to be delivered on Friday.

Yuck.

And then I will do the same thing--sink and all--in our bathroom, which A. just finished working on. At least that one I procrastinated so much on painting that I haven't done it recently.

In a couple of weeks*, we'll have two freshly-painted fancy bathrooms. And then I won't paint anything for a long time. I hope.

* I have to go get more paint for our bathroom. This time I'm going to get a gallon of white and just tint it a little with the blue paint I have left. I really don't want our bathroom to be quite so blue.

Can It Be?

Yesterday when I was in the middle of my third load of bathtub laundry, I took a break to call the appliance repair place yet again. 

Actually after I had hung up the second load and while the third load was soaking.

I didn't have any hope they would actually be able to tell me when my washing machine might be fixed, but I thought I should once again remind them that they still have it.

Imagine my surprise when the lady went to "go check," and returned to the phone to tell me it was done and ready to be picked up.

She also said "they" had been calling me and she guessed no one had picked up, but I know that wasn't true.

No matter. I CAN PICK UP MY WASHING MACHINE TODAY! 

Rejoice with me.

Two months of washing clothes in my bathtub with occasional trips to far-away laundromats is far, far too long.

The machine in question when it was new.

Is there anything you're excited about today?

Never Have I Ever

We used to play a game sometimes when I was younger called "Never Have I Ever." The idea was to come up with things that were common, but that you had never done. I think of this game sometimes when I'm reading about other people's lives online and realize how odd my own life is in comparison.

For instance, never have I ever . . .

Ordered groceries online. I suppose it would be possible for me to do this at the Walmart I go to. I see the shoppers racing around in there with their giant racks, and I think they'll even load them into the car for you. I just have never done it. Given the amount of complaining I see online about grocery substitutions or subpar produce choices, it is not something I will ever choose to do as long as I am able to shop for myself.

Even if I did order groceries online, I would still have to sort everything and load the coolers to transport it 100 miles home.

Used an Uber. The first time I ever heard of Uber was about ten years ago when my brother mentioned it. He was somewhat incredulous that I had no idea what an Uber was. We were sitting on the porch at Blackrock at the time, so I just waved my hand around and said something like, "You think that would exist out here?" I have still never lived anywhere where it might be an option.

Ubers don't drive these roads.

Paid for anything with my cell phone. Almost everyone at the state fair paid for things by waving their phone in front of those little boxes they hand out of the window. I don't have any apps for payment on my phone. 

Read a book on an electronic device. I read things on my laptop, but only short things. I have no interest in reading a full-length book on a screen. As you can tell by the numerous bookcases in my home.

One of many.

Bought a frozen pizza. I guess I have nothing against frozen pizzas in particular, except buying the number I would need for my family would take up a lot of space in the coolers I have to transport everything home in. Also, I never really think about buying frozen food at the grocery store. Except frozen strawberries and peas.

Frozen pizza would mean less space for cream, milk, and ice cream.

How about you? What have you never done that most people take for granted?

Kristin Homemaker

School started for everyone yesterday. The whole family got all loaded up on the school bus to begin their new year, A. driving and everyone else slumped in the seats, resigned to their fates. (My children do not like school.)

Except for me. I did not get on the school bus. I will not be getting on the school bus, because I quit my job there. 

Last week I had to fill out some forms that asked for my occupation. I wrote "homemaker."*

Of course, the maker of our home is what I have always been, it's just that I did that in addition to working at the school two days a week as an educational assistant (teacher's aide). 

But now, all I am doing is at home. So what am I doing now? Let me show you what I've done so far this morning!

Still doing tub laundry. Our washing machine is still in for repairs, waiting on a "control board," which sounds intense. Thank goodness it's still under warranty. The repair guy said maybe another week. I'm taking that as another two weeks.

Watering the garden and picking tomatoes, yay!

Softening butter in preparation for making oatmeal cookies for the younger children's snacks.

Later I have to go to the village for a bank visit. Maybe I'll finally get around to vacuuming my filthy floors.

But if I don't get around to it today, I have tomorrow. And the day after. 

I don't anticipate having a problem filling my time, and it's such a relief to have the time. Some might see this as a demotion, but I see it as a great increase in my quality of life, as well as my family's quality of life.

* I prefer this term to housewife. Housewife can just be a wife who sits around the house. Homemaker describes much better what I actually do. I really have made and continue to make our home, which requires skill and a lot of work.