I got into a fascinating conversation with my friend Ann, and we wound up discussing the topic, What if Christians really were?
I love that idea. How many of us see around us, or fulfill ourselves, the idea of really being Christian? The cat is now out of the bag on my blog. I am a Christian mom, and here's a little ditty I wrote about the subject. Well, about being Christian, anyway.
What if Christians really were?
What if they really cared?
Would they see the suffering in the world,
and give thanks that they were spared?
Would they try to make a real change?
What if they really. . .shared?
What if Christians really were?
Would they help a friend in need?
Or would they by too busy,
too preoccupied with greed?
Do they ignore a hungry heart
they're just not prepared to feed?
What if Christians really were?
Would they be content,
to let the neighbors' house foreclose
when his reserves were spent?
Would they help him pack and move?
Would they pay his rent?
What if Christians really were?
Would they stand up to right a wrong?
Or do they pretend they just don't see;
do they blend in with the throng?
Why do they hover, silently?
Are they so afraid to be strong?
What if Christians really were?
What if they weren't afraid of being odd?
What if they really read and used
the Living Word of God?
And showed the kind of sacrifice
that Jesus made for them?
What if they really prayed and paid
until Jesus comes again?
Are you really a Christian?
Does anybody know?
As you go through life
from day to day,
Does it really show?
Are you a real Christian?
What if Christians really were?
(copyright 2009, V.H.)
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Chess homeschool style
I have been teaching chess classes this year at homeschool co-op. I think this is funny in itself. Nothing I ever did in college prepared me for this task. Everyone who knows me will tell you that getting me to sit still for the half hour it takes to complete a quick chess game is like asking a toddler to do algebra problems.
I suppose you are wondering how this happened. I toured a private school in Idaho eight years ago with my soon-to-be-entering-first-grade son. He wanted to stay in the math room with the math teacher and his chess club. One hour later, at the tender age of five, my son not only played chess, but was beating me. Not that I have a high opinion of my chess skills, but who wants to lose to a kid less than four feet tall? He started taking chess lessons, and I eavesdropped. Fast forward eight years, and the saga continues. . .
My first class actually went pretty well. Of course, I have never personally set up chess boards for 20 kids, but they had mercy on me and set them up themselves. Here is an excerpt from my first class.
Me: "How many of you already know some of the moves for the chess board?"
Kids: Dead silence. The ones who already know the moves aren't paying attention to me, they are currently engaged in bloodless carnage over the chess boards. The ones who don't know the moves look at me like deer in the headlights.
Me: "Let's go over how to set up the board. . ."---five minutes later, after explaining the pieces and how they move, all the kids are playing. The kids who know how to play are solicitously explaining the game as they totally trash their less informed partners.
This is where I step in and start explaining things like sportsmanship, checkmate, helping someone learn the game without trouncing them and leaving them smoldering in helpless defeat and humilitation . . .and in this age group, the 8 and up kids, so far the girls know as much, if not more, than the boys. It's a victory of sorts, for all of us moms who grew up thinking chess was a "man's game" and boring and who wants to play chess anyway? I even have one girl, 10, who is now talking about going to college on a chess scholarship. Anybody know a real chess teacher?
The big kids are another story. So far I have them fooled. The oldest kid I have dared to play, 11, thinks I am amazing and was simply testing his skills and knowledge during our game. He is actually the youngest one in my class. This is a strategy that will keep them thinking I am smart for at least half a year. I hope.
I suppose you are wondering how this happened. I toured a private school in Idaho eight years ago with my soon-to-be-entering-first-grade son. He wanted to stay in the math room with the math teacher and his chess club. One hour later, at the tender age of five, my son not only played chess, but was beating me. Not that I have a high opinion of my chess skills, but who wants to lose to a kid less than four feet tall? He started taking chess lessons, and I eavesdropped. Fast forward eight years, and the saga continues. . .
My first class actually went pretty well. Of course, I have never personally set up chess boards for 20 kids, but they had mercy on me and set them up themselves. Here is an excerpt from my first class.
Me: "How many of you already know some of the moves for the chess board?"
Kids: Dead silence. The ones who already know the moves aren't paying attention to me, they are currently engaged in bloodless carnage over the chess boards. The ones who don't know the moves look at me like deer in the headlights.
Me: "Let's go over how to set up the board. . ."---five minutes later, after explaining the pieces and how they move, all the kids are playing. The kids who know how to play are solicitously explaining the game as they totally trash their less informed partners.
This is where I step in and start explaining things like sportsmanship, checkmate, helping someone learn the game without trouncing them and leaving them smoldering in helpless defeat and humilitation . . .and in this age group, the 8 and up kids, so far the girls know as much, if not more, than the boys. It's a victory of sorts, for all of us moms who grew up thinking chess was a "man's game" and boring and who wants to play chess anyway? I even have one girl, 10, who is now talking about going to college on a chess scholarship. Anybody know a real chess teacher?
The big kids are another story. So far I have them fooled. The oldest kid I have dared to play, 11, thinks I am amazing and was simply testing his skills and knowledge during our game. He is actually the youngest one in my class. This is a strategy that will keep them thinking I am smart for at least half a year. I hope.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Housing market rumors from Texas
Well, after reading my last blog, all I can say in July is,"Boy am I glad our house sold in February!" We have friends trying to sell houses now in Plano and with all the repossessions in the area, it's not as easy as it was six months ago. And how to pick when to buy in a declining market is a real test of the harmonious mix of intellegence and intuition. We're going to wait a while. Besides, taxes in New York are inhumanly high. Taxes alone on a house in New York that is comparable to what we had in Texas are alarmingly close to our old mortgage payment. Who knew?
Well, it's July now, and we are finally feeling as though we are settling in a bit in New York. Who knew it would take so long? All along the way there are adjustments to be made. I am grateful that other members of our homeschooling coop thought that a summer playgroup was just the ticket for staying in touch. We have been making friends and getting to know folks outside of the homeschooling classes, so eventually I think even New York may start to feel like home. Maybe.
The latest addition to our little family is a tiny little "Blackberry" hamster named Harriet. Harriet Herdt Hamster, isn't that cute? She is all black, with itsy bitsy little white feet, a white streak under her chin, and a miniscule white tail. I'm talking insanely cute, here! I haven't figured out how to post pictures yet, but she'll be the first one. Now if she can just survive all the "cuddling", sunflower seeds, and cheerios, we'll be all set. She is so cute, I can see her little epitaph now: "Here lies little Harriet, our dearly departed pet,
We couldn't keep our hands off, and just loved her to death!"
Not really, the kids are being great, so she is having a fabulous little hamster life. They've been building her playgrounds and mazes and letting her run around in her hamster ball. She's been held lots, and never dropped once. They've even been changing her cage without me saying anything. What's funny is that, since we've gotten her, K.T. hasn't had an asthma attack even once. Maybe we should upgrade her status to "therapy hamster," or something equally lofty. "Queen of Cute", perhaps?
Well, I am hoping to blog more days than not this summer, we'll see how it goes. Five months between blogs seems a little long even for a busy mom. . .
Well, it's July now, and we are finally feeling as though we are settling in a bit in New York. Who knew it would take so long? All along the way there are adjustments to be made. I am grateful that other members of our homeschooling coop thought that a summer playgroup was just the ticket for staying in touch. We have been making friends and getting to know folks outside of the homeschooling classes, so eventually I think even New York may start to feel like home. Maybe.
The latest addition to our little family is a tiny little "Blackberry" hamster named Harriet. Harriet Herdt Hamster, isn't that cute? She is all black, with itsy bitsy little white feet, a white streak under her chin, and a miniscule white tail. I'm talking insanely cute, here! I haven't figured out how to post pictures yet, but she'll be the first one. Now if she can just survive all the "cuddling", sunflower seeds, and cheerios, we'll be all set. She is so cute, I can see her little epitaph now: "Here lies little Harriet, our dearly departed pet,
We couldn't keep our hands off, and just loved her to death!"
Not really, the kids are being great, so she is having a fabulous little hamster life. They've been building her playgrounds and mazes and letting her run around in her hamster ball. She's been held lots, and never dropped once. They've even been changing her cage without me saying anything. What's funny is that, since we've gotten her, K.T. hasn't had an asthma attack even once. Maybe we should upgrade her status to "therapy hamster," or something equally lofty. "Queen of Cute", perhaps?
Well, I am hoping to blog more days than not this summer, we'll see how it goes. Five months between blogs seems a little long even for a busy mom. . .
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Selling houses
I have decided that I HATE selling houses. I could never be one of those entreprenuerial type folks who flip houses because after putting blood, sweat and tears and LOTS of money into upgrades and repairs, selling a house is no longer a business deal, it's personal.
That being said, we have gotten the first offer on our house in Texas. A just barely-barely-short-of-insulting-lowball-type offer. To be fair, a lot of people think that all the gloom and doom over the economy in general and the housing market in specific as shown on T.V. is the gospel truth. It's funny how people really think that reporters are in the business of telling the truth. Note the word business. Reporting is a business, not the same as tender, unselfish service to humanity. They "report" what gets people to watch. Happy news is not on the program; it just doesn't sell like violence, terror, and falling markets.
That is the long way of saying many buyers feel like they have a seller over a barrel. And maybe they do, to some extent, but the real estate market in Texas doesn't seem to be experiencing the same "adjustment" pains as alot of other markets. Probably because houses don't sell for as much there to begin with. It is twice as much for everything, I think, in New York. Anyway, I am sure there are many people who feel, that after making their best effort at turning a 20 year old house into a show home, all they need is an offer that makes it look like a H.U.D. foreclosure! And it really wasn't that bad, but still, it really is worth our asking price. . .especially after many thousands of dollars of upgrades and few thousand more for new paint and flooring, and landscaping, and---well, as every seller knows, the list is endless. Our realtor did say that the effort was worth it. Only houses in move-in ready condition are getting any attention at all, even in Texas. Which brings me back to my original statement: I hate selling houses!
That being said, we have gotten the first offer on our house in Texas. A just barely-barely-short-of-insulting-lowball-type offer. To be fair, a lot of people think that all the gloom and doom over the economy in general and the housing market in specific as shown on T.V. is the gospel truth. It's funny how people really think that reporters are in the business of telling the truth. Note the word business. Reporting is a business, not the same as tender, unselfish service to humanity. They "report" what gets people to watch. Happy news is not on the program; it just doesn't sell like violence, terror, and falling markets.
That is the long way of saying many buyers feel like they have a seller over a barrel. And maybe they do, to some extent, but the real estate market in Texas doesn't seem to be experiencing the same "adjustment" pains as alot of other markets. Probably because houses don't sell for as much there to begin with. It is twice as much for everything, I think, in New York. Anyway, I am sure there are many people who feel, that after making their best effort at turning a 20 year old house into a show home, all they need is an offer that makes it look like a H.U.D. foreclosure! And it really wasn't that bad, but still, it really is worth our asking price. . .especially after many thousands of dollars of upgrades and few thousand more for new paint and flooring, and landscaping, and---well, as every seller knows, the list is endless. Our realtor did say that the effort was worth it. Only houses in move-in ready condition are getting any attention at all, even in Texas. Which brings me back to my original statement: I hate selling houses!
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Blogging at midnight
I shouldn't be writing on my blog at midnight. I have already hit the publish button once, and I didn't even write anything yet. It's just that this is the first peace and quiet that I have had in five days and I'm afraid it will be even longer if I don't write right now. That has an interesting ring to it.
My middle child turned 10 on Sunday. Boy do I feel old. My father assures me that my recent birthday didn't make me "old": I hit that mark quite some time ago. Thanks, Dad. Anyway, my Sunday consisted of getting up and cooking a birthday breakfast for a child who is allergic to milk, eggs, and anything that might be construed as healthy. The last category is her own personal twist on allergies. That being said, breakfast consisted of roast beef hash and eggs, very light on the eggs in my daughter's serving. She had three helpings. Then we made some doughnuts for a light snack. Three dozen doughnuts. She was shooting for four dozen (there I go again with the homophones---it's not a bad word!---can you tell we've started up school again after our winter break?) when I caught her and shut that down. Yes, my tiny family of five polished off three dozen doughnuts in less than an hour. That's why we only make them on birthdays!
Then off to the mall with my daughter and two young friends to whoop it up at Build-a-Bear and ice cream joints. Have you been to Build-a-Bear lately? It used to be that when you made something yourself it was actually cheaper than premade items, but Build-a-Bear was invented by a Tom Sawyer personality who has figured out a way to extract extra cash by convincing folks that making it yourself is superior and therefore worth more money. I can't get out of there for less than $30-35 a kid, because they all want:
1. A bear or stuffy, not less than $18.00, because no one wants the cheap bears by the entrance.
2. Att least one outfit, not less than $10.00.
3. Bear underpants, because no one wants a "bare bear"bum. $3.00 minimum.
4. Fancy shoes to match the outfit. $7.00.
5. An accessory item or matching miniature stuffed item. $6.00.
I started the birthday tradition of taking a couple of friends to Build-a-Bear before all the fancy stuff kicked in. Like a cheap plastic wardrobe, made in China, that the funny Americans spend $36.00 on, "some assembly required." We all know what that means! Or even funnier to a home school mom, the politically correct astronomy t-shirt with only eight planets on it. At least I don't cripple myself at Build-a-Bear, as I am prone to do at skate parties, etc. I wonder what the other moms would think if the invitation warned them in advance, "Caution: attend Build-a-Bear party at your own risk. Your child may be returned to you addicted to fuzzy, materialistic substances with no intrinsic value whatsoever, and be inclined to overindulge in accessorizing without notice. Any child permitted to attend party does so at own risk and will cover any expenses over $20.00 from their personal funds. Any child with expensive taste must carry their own 'overage' money. P.S. : Hosts will not be responsible for humming-bird-like behavior of children who have overdosed on sugars and food dyes. Thank you."
I guess that sounds too unfriendly. That is why we only take two extra children. The kids have a good time, and I am not going to have to pay for a party out of my children's college funds. And the more conscientious kids don't have to spend the whole time wondering if they have hit the spending limit, they can just run around and enjoy the party.
My middle child turned 10 on Sunday. Boy do I feel old. My father assures me that my recent birthday didn't make me "old": I hit that mark quite some time ago. Thanks, Dad. Anyway, my Sunday consisted of getting up and cooking a birthday breakfast for a child who is allergic to milk, eggs, and anything that might be construed as healthy. The last category is her own personal twist on allergies. That being said, breakfast consisted of roast beef hash and eggs, very light on the eggs in my daughter's serving. She had three helpings. Then we made some doughnuts for a light snack. Three dozen doughnuts. She was shooting for four dozen (there I go again with the homophones---it's not a bad word!---can you tell we've started up school again after our winter break?) when I caught her and shut that down. Yes, my tiny family of five polished off three dozen doughnuts in less than an hour. That's why we only make them on birthdays!
Then off to the mall with my daughter and two young friends to whoop it up at Build-a-Bear and ice cream joints. Have you been to Build-a-Bear lately? It used to be that when you made something yourself it was actually cheaper than premade items, but Build-a-Bear was invented by a Tom Sawyer personality who has figured out a way to extract extra cash by convincing folks that making it yourself is superior and therefore worth more money. I can't get out of there for less than $30-35 a kid, because they all want:
1. A bear or stuffy, not less than $18.00, because no one wants the cheap bears by the entrance.
2. Att least one outfit, not less than $10.00.
3. Bear underpants, because no one wants a "bare bear"bum. $3.00 minimum.
4. Fancy shoes to match the outfit. $7.00.
5. An accessory item or matching miniature stuffed item. $6.00.
I started the birthday tradition of taking a couple of friends to Build-a-Bear before all the fancy stuff kicked in. Like a cheap plastic wardrobe, made in China, that the funny Americans spend $36.00 on, "some assembly required." We all know what that means! Or even funnier to a home school mom, the politically correct astronomy t-shirt with only eight planets on it. At least I don't cripple myself at Build-a-Bear, as I am prone to do at skate parties, etc. I wonder what the other moms would think if the invitation warned them in advance, "Caution: attend Build-a-Bear party at your own risk. Your child may be returned to you addicted to fuzzy, materialistic substances with no intrinsic value whatsoever, and be inclined to overindulge in accessorizing without notice. Any child permitted to attend party does so at own risk and will cover any expenses over $20.00 from their personal funds. Any child with expensive taste must carry their own 'overage' money. P.S. : Hosts will not be responsible for humming-bird-like behavior of children who have overdosed on sugars and food dyes. Thank you."
I guess that sounds too unfriendly. That is why we only take two extra children. The kids have a good time, and I am not going to have to pay for a party out of my children's college funds. And the more conscientious kids don't have to spend the whole time wondering if they have hit the spending limit, they can just run around and enjoy the party.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
If your're planning to move, just say NO!
I hate moving. That being said, perhaps some history is in order. As an Air Force brat, I moved almost every year or so of my life until my dad retired when I was in the 7th grade. What a pain! We even moved to Okinawa, Japan for 2 1/2 years, staying in temporary housing, off-base housing, and then moving into on-base housing before striking out for home again. If I thought those moves were bad, especially the Japan one where all of our possessions "safely" tucked into storage burned to the ground stateside, boy was I wrong! This move to New York has been one for my record book.
I will admit that, between all of the disasters I had while my Darling Husband was away in Boston for a month before the move, the dislocated hip, the D.H. being in Boston, home-schooling two kids, sorting our fabulous stash of personal possessions, and the busy-ness of being a single parent, I fell a bit short in the vacuuming and dusting department. And the kids did manage to dump two bags of shredded mail in the house before the truck driver got there. And the youngest decided to shred styrofoam with a butter knife all over the house, which is impossible to unstick from anything short of using a napalm or nuclear bomb. But, in fact, things were essentially ready to go; the driver was just not happy to be doing our move, I guess. Which must be why the driver, who has probably never even been home long enough to change a diaper on his own offspring if he has them, questioned what I had been doing for the last few weeks; I took some exception to that. I was really busy. I would have offered him a list, but there weren't enough boxes left after all the packing to hold the whole thing anyway.
The driver, after questioning my housewifery, then proceeded to stage my D.H.'s formidable technical library, about 40 boxes of books, on our front lawn, as the rain clouds gathered and rolled. . .you guessed it. The heavens opened, and for five minutes the most spectacular fall shower drenched the book boxes. Have I ever mentioned how fanatical my husband is about his technical library? If I ask him to tidy his study, he takes this to mean that a book is out of place and will spend an entire day taking the books off the shelf and reorganizing them, replacing them on the shelves in alphabetical order by subject. He doesn't do any cleaning as the rest of us understand it, he just dotes on the books. Imagine his response the the truck driver's blatant disregard to his treasures. About the time the truck driver affixed a tarp across the books, the rain stopped.
Then the fun really began. The lumpers taped some mattress boxes to our stairs and proceeded to dump all of our personal possessions from the second floor down to the first via this precarious and impromtu chute. The first spectacular crash resounded from my prized sewing machine; not content to merely launch it, the movers dumped it "ass over teakettle" down their ramp. I am not a swearing mom on the whole, but I walked right up to the so-called catcher at the bottom of the stairs and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing with my sewing machine. As bad as these two incidents were, it only got worse from there.
By the time they were done loading, at 1:00 a.m. on Thanksgiving day, the driver and his crew had also managed to:
1.) Crash our t.v. set into our hallway wall.
2.) Crash the swingset into our wooden fence so hard that they detached it from our house.
3.) Break one of our bookcases across the loading ramp because they staged all the tall furniture on the front lawn just as the wind whipped up. Truck driver then proceeded to tell the boss that it was such a piece of junk that it just "fell apart" in the front yard.
4.) Break the mailbox in front of our house.
5.) Destroy every lamp we owned as they loaded them.
6.) Fracture half of our plastice storage tubs launching them down the "ramp."
7.) Carpet our front lawn with cigarette butts and trash from their snacks and drinks.
8.) Lose the rolling shelf out of our entertainment center.
9.) Totally freak out three kids with their bad attitudes and rough treatment of our stuff.
The list of what they broke during the move is truly unbelievable. Most of the damage we have found so far appears to relate specifically to how the cargo was loaded. Most of the antiques suffered some degree of damage, all lamps, mattresses and furniture were filthy because they didn't bother to box or wrap them, every weld on my antique sled was fractured, our autistic son's loft bed was demolished, bookcases broken; the list is amazing. We would have been better off to have left it all and just bought new, the damage was so extensive and distressing, especially to the kids who had watched the unpleasant driver and crew destroy their things during the loading. The driver even "lost" our list of high value items the packers left for him---twice! We have to keep supplying from our official copies.
All I can say is, when it comes to moving, even corporate moves, document everything! Take videos before, during, and after. And if you have a problem with a truck driver from the minute he steps into your house, send him "packing!" The amount of damage he can do to your stuff is truly formidable, and just not worth it. We should have simply had the company send another driver, even if it delayed our move, and save ourselves a lot of pain.
Even if they really pay out on everything, we still get to do all the leg work to replace our stuff. As I said yesterday, what made me think that moving to upstate New York would be a good idea? It wasn't fun at all! It's awfully pretty, though.
I will admit that, between all of the disasters I had while my Darling Husband was away in Boston for a month before the move, the dislocated hip, the D.H. being in Boston, home-schooling two kids, sorting our fabulous stash of personal possessions, and the busy-ness of being a single parent, I fell a bit short in the vacuuming and dusting department. And the kids did manage to dump two bags of shredded mail in the house before the truck driver got there. And the youngest decided to shred styrofoam with a butter knife all over the house, which is impossible to unstick from anything short of using a napalm or nuclear bomb. But, in fact, things were essentially ready to go; the driver was just not happy to be doing our move, I guess. Which must be why the driver, who has probably never even been home long enough to change a diaper on his own offspring if he has them, questioned what I had been doing for the last few weeks; I took some exception to that. I was really busy. I would have offered him a list, but there weren't enough boxes left after all the packing to hold the whole thing anyway.
The driver, after questioning my housewifery, then proceeded to stage my D.H.'s formidable technical library, about 40 boxes of books, on our front lawn, as the rain clouds gathered and rolled. . .you guessed it. The heavens opened, and for five minutes the most spectacular fall shower drenched the book boxes. Have I ever mentioned how fanatical my husband is about his technical library? If I ask him to tidy his study, he takes this to mean that a book is out of place and will spend an entire day taking the books off the shelf and reorganizing them, replacing them on the shelves in alphabetical order by subject. He doesn't do any cleaning as the rest of us understand it, he just dotes on the books. Imagine his response the the truck driver's blatant disregard to his treasures. About the time the truck driver affixed a tarp across the books, the rain stopped.
Then the fun really began. The lumpers taped some mattress boxes to our stairs and proceeded to dump all of our personal possessions from the second floor down to the first via this precarious and impromtu chute. The first spectacular crash resounded from my prized sewing machine; not content to merely launch it, the movers dumped it "ass over teakettle" down their ramp. I am not a swearing mom on the whole, but I walked right up to the so-called catcher at the bottom of the stairs and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing with my sewing machine. As bad as these two incidents were, it only got worse from there.
By the time they were done loading, at 1:00 a.m. on Thanksgiving day, the driver and his crew had also managed to:
1.) Crash our t.v. set into our hallway wall.
2.) Crash the swingset into our wooden fence so hard that they detached it from our house.
3.) Break one of our bookcases across the loading ramp because they staged all the tall furniture on the front lawn just as the wind whipped up. Truck driver then proceeded to tell the boss that it was such a piece of junk that it just "fell apart" in the front yard.
4.) Break the mailbox in front of our house.
5.) Destroy every lamp we owned as they loaded them.
6.) Fracture half of our plastice storage tubs launching them down the "ramp."
7.) Carpet our front lawn with cigarette butts and trash from their snacks and drinks.
8.) Lose the rolling shelf out of our entertainment center.
9.) Totally freak out three kids with their bad attitudes and rough treatment of our stuff.
The list of what they broke during the move is truly unbelievable. Most of the damage we have found so far appears to relate specifically to how the cargo was loaded. Most of the antiques suffered some degree of damage, all lamps, mattresses and furniture were filthy because they didn't bother to box or wrap them, every weld on my antique sled was fractured, our autistic son's loft bed was demolished, bookcases broken; the list is amazing. We would have been better off to have left it all and just bought new, the damage was so extensive and distressing, especially to the kids who had watched the unpleasant driver and crew destroy their things during the loading. The driver even "lost" our list of high value items the packers left for him---twice! We have to keep supplying from our official copies.
All I can say is, when it comes to moving, even corporate moves, document everything! Take videos before, during, and after. And if you have a problem with a truck driver from the minute he steps into your house, send him "packing!" The amount of damage he can do to your stuff is truly formidable, and just not worth it. We should have simply had the company send another driver, even if it delayed our move, and save ourselves a lot of pain.
Even if they really pay out on everything, we still get to do all the leg work to replace our stuff. As I said yesterday, what made me think that moving to upstate New York would be a good idea? It wasn't fun at all! It's awfully pretty, though.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Hope this year is calmer than last year!
It has been interesting moving to New York. What possessed me to think that moving across country again was an outstanding idea? "It'll be fun" falls somewhat short of the mark. We have had so many things happen since my last blog I'm not sure I have time to fit it in here, so here are the high points.
There are a lot of swimming pools in Plano, where it is hot and people love to see their money literally evaporate. This is why the water company charges so much--- to help people evaporate their money via their swimming pools. Rats like water, too. This is very inconvenient for people who like swimming pools but not rats. . . How, you may ask, do I know how much rats like water? My next door neighbor who, coincinentally, owns a swimming pool, was explaining this to me during a hair-raising story about the huge juvenile rat climbing her back screen door! Apparently Mr. Rat or one of his relatives decided it gets a bit cold in the winter and began searching for a nice place to wait out the cold. Like maybe my attic. Only the stinker tried to come in through the chimney and fell into the metal base of our gas fireplace.
The kids came unglued hearing the uncommonly loud, frantic scrabblings of the critter as he tried, unsuccessfully, for simply hours, to escape from his unexpected prison. Did I mention this, of course, happened on a Saturday afternoon? Once we realized the obnoxious guest wouldn't make it out on his own, I called the husband, safely ensconced in Boston, for advice. It went like this.
Me: "There is a bird in our chimney, the R-A-T kind." (This was for the benefit of our autistic son, who can cope with a bird in our chimney but would come unglued about the R-A-T. Thank goodness he wasn't listening, because even though he is in kindergarten, his spelling is e-x-c-e-l-l-e-n-t-.)
Husband: "Have you tried lighting the fireplace?"
Me: "How would you enjoy the sounds and smells of slow roasted rodent?"
Husband: "Don't light the fireplace."
Me: "You are, as always, absolutely right. I won't even think of lighting the fireplace."
Husband: "What happens if you just leave it there?"
Me: "Did you actually want to sell the house when we move? Or shall we rent it out to the Ripley's Believe it or Don't Museum as the house haunted by the most overpowering odor on record to date?"
Husband: "We have to get the sucker out of there."
Me: "Again, you are so right, my brilliant husband. I am open to suggestions as to how to get the sucker out of there before he drives our youngest into an insane asylum with sensory overload."
Husband: "We should call someone."
Me: "I did call someone. That someone is YOU."
This conversation is not noted for it's depth or problem solving venue. I eventually called every exterminator I could find until I located one who, providentially, would come at the drop of a hat because he, too, has a six-year-old son that, even without special needs, would go nuts with a rat in the chimney. Bless his heart!
The exterminators showed up at 8:30 on a Saturday night. Boy were we glad to see them! After dinking around with the chimney, poking through my attic, and thoroughly freaking out our most unwelcome guest, they confirmed that we had a really big BIRD in our chimney. Only he was in between the wall and the flue and we would have to take the fireplace apart inside to get him out.
Two hours later we reached the conclusion that the fireplace cannot be reliably dismantled from the inside. Time to call a bricklayer to take my chimney apart at midnight on a moonless night from outside the house to try to catch a really riled BIRD.
I, brilliant and desperate mother that I was, mentioned that we had just watched Ratatouille about 70 times (thanks again to my youngest) and that it was a shame we couldn't just drop a rope between the wall and the chimney flue and let the sucker climb out. The exterminators said they didn't have a rope. One of my personal passions is to always be prepared for everything, so I helpfully ran out to my car and returned with 30 feet of rope. We then went up to my attic, located a likely spot and appropriate weight, and lowered a rope between the wall and chimney (another 1/2 hour). They then set some traps, just in case my crazy lady idea worked.
As you can imagine, I didn't get to sleep very early. At 1:30 in the morning I swear I heard scrabbling and scrapings right over my head, and a trap snap. Unfortunately, the scrabblings continued. At 2:15, the second trap went off and the attic became surprisingly quiet. At which point, still unable to sleep, I ventured bravely forth, up the rickety ladder, back into the attic with a flashlight and baseball bat.
The biggest rat I ever saw was dead in one of the traps. Eighteen inches from nose to tail. I went back downstairs and fell asleep right away. When I called the exterminators the next morning, they were gratified and surprised that the whole whacked-out stunt had worked. Not as grateful as I was! The nice exterminators gave me all the credit for the idea, but they sure worked their bottoms off to execute the plan. . .and the villain.
Now I live in a neighborhood with almost no swimming pools. A cute herd of deer ran in front of our car last night. And the coyotes were barking at 1:00 a.m. I just saw a red-tailed hawk with a very large rodentish animal yesterday. I don't think these predators will let a rat near the house. One can only hope.
This move has made me realize a couple of important things. Here is the short list.
1. There is never enough time to get rid of all your junk. My advice is to get rid of some every day, don't wait until you have to. Hindsight is 20/20. On the bright side, I actually have a basement in New York. A really full basement.
2. Goals are great. Don't post them on the wall, though, because it is really depressing to see how short of the mark you really are every day. Especially if you are an incurable optimist whose vision is 20/20 only in hindsight.
3. A good truck driver will show you which of your items is really breakable. A bad one will prove it to you!
4. Don't be too attached to your stuff. Yes, you can take it with you. But if you get the driver we got, it will probably be in lots of tiny pieces. Or big pieces.
Well, duty calls. In low, medium, and high voices.
There are a lot of swimming pools in Plano, where it is hot and people love to see their money literally evaporate. This is why the water company charges so much--- to help people evaporate their money via their swimming pools. Rats like water, too. This is very inconvenient for people who like swimming pools but not rats. . . How, you may ask, do I know how much rats like water? My next door neighbor who, coincinentally, owns a swimming pool, was explaining this to me during a hair-raising story about the huge juvenile rat climbing her back screen door! Apparently Mr. Rat or one of his relatives decided it gets a bit cold in the winter and began searching for a nice place to wait out the cold. Like maybe my attic. Only the stinker tried to come in through the chimney and fell into the metal base of our gas fireplace.
The kids came unglued hearing the uncommonly loud, frantic scrabblings of the critter as he tried, unsuccessfully, for simply hours, to escape from his unexpected prison. Did I mention this, of course, happened on a Saturday afternoon? Once we realized the obnoxious guest wouldn't make it out on his own, I called the husband, safely ensconced in Boston, for advice. It went like this.
Me: "There is a bird in our chimney, the R-A-T kind." (This was for the benefit of our autistic son, who can cope with a bird in our chimney but would come unglued about the R-A-T. Thank goodness he wasn't listening, because even though he is in kindergarten, his spelling is e-x-c-e-l-l-e-n-t-.)
Husband: "Have you tried lighting the fireplace?"
Me: "How would you enjoy the sounds and smells of slow roasted rodent?"
Husband: "Don't light the fireplace."
Me: "You are, as always, absolutely right. I won't even think of lighting the fireplace."
Husband: "What happens if you just leave it there?"
Me: "Did you actually want to sell the house when we move? Or shall we rent it out to the Ripley's Believe it or Don't Museum as the house haunted by the most overpowering odor on record to date?"
Husband: "We have to get the sucker out of there."
Me: "Again, you are so right, my brilliant husband. I am open to suggestions as to how to get the sucker out of there before he drives our youngest into an insane asylum with sensory overload."
Husband: "We should call someone."
Me: "I did call someone. That someone is YOU."
This conversation is not noted for it's depth or problem solving venue. I eventually called every exterminator I could find until I located one who, providentially, would come at the drop of a hat because he, too, has a six-year-old son that, even without special needs, would go nuts with a rat in the chimney. Bless his heart!
The exterminators showed up at 8:30 on a Saturday night. Boy were we glad to see them! After dinking around with the chimney, poking through my attic, and thoroughly freaking out our most unwelcome guest, they confirmed that we had a really big BIRD in our chimney. Only he was in between the wall and the flue and we would have to take the fireplace apart inside to get him out.
Two hours later we reached the conclusion that the fireplace cannot be reliably dismantled from the inside. Time to call a bricklayer to take my chimney apart at midnight on a moonless night from outside the house to try to catch a really riled BIRD.
I, brilliant and desperate mother that I was, mentioned that we had just watched Ratatouille about 70 times (thanks again to my youngest) and that it was a shame we couldn't just drop a rope between the wall and the chimney flue and let the sucker climb out. The exterminators said they didn't have a rope. One of my personal passions is to always be prepared for everything, so I helpfully ran out to my car and returned with 30 feet of rope. We then went up to my attic, located a likely spot and appropriate weight, and lowered a rope between the wall and chimney (another 1/2 hour). They then set some traps, just in case my crazy lady idea worked.
As you can imagine, I didn't get to sleep very early. At 1:30 in the morning I swear I heard scrabbling and scrapings right over my head, and a trap snap. Unfortunately, the scrabblings continued. At 2:15, the second trap went off and the attic became surprisingly quiet. At which point, still unable to sleep, I ventured bravely forth, up the rickety ladder, back into the attic with a flashlight and baseball bat.
The biggest rat I ever saw was dead in one of the traps. Eighteen inches from nose to tail. I went back downstairs and fell asleep right away. When I called the exterminators the next morning, they were gratified and surprised that the whole whacked-out stunt had worked. Not as grateful as I was! The nice exterminators gave me all the credit for the idea, but they sure worked their bottoms off to execute the plan. . .and the villain.
Now I live in a neighborhood with almost no swimming pools. A cute herd of deer ran in front of our car last night. And the coyotes were barking at 1:00 a.m. I just saw a red-tailed hawk with a very large rodentish animal yesterday. I don't think these predators will let a rat near the house. One can only hope.
This move has made me realize a couple of important things. Here is the short list.
1. There is never enough time to get rid of all your junk. My advice is to get rid of some every day, don't wait until you have to. Hindsight is 20/20. On the bright side, I actually have a basement in New York. A really full basement.
2. Goals are great. Don't post them on the wall, though, because it is really depressing to see how short of the mark you really are every day. Especially if you are an incurable optimist whose vision is 20/20 only in hindsight.
3. A good truck driver will show you which of your items is really breakable. A bad one will prove it to you!
4. Don't be too attached to your stuff. Yes, you can take it with you. But if you get the driver we got, it will probably be in lots of tiny pieces. Or big pieces.
Well, duty calls. In low, medium, and high voices.
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