On and On and On It Goes

It seems to have taken forever to get moved into our apartment where we will reside until the house is remodeled.  As expected, it has been a bit of an adjustment going from a full house to a tiny one-bedroom apartment...and most of all, sharing a bathroom.  We have never shared a bathroom, ever.  We have been sharing a bathroom for two days, and already I am irritated about the toilet seat always being up when I go in there!  

We also have a coat tree Don has refused to part with, which is in the hallway by the only bathroom, and it is burdened with all his coats, and on top, his Mad Bomber hat.  About a dozen times now, I have nearly screamed coming out of the bathroom, thinking someone is standing in the hallway preparing to finish me off!  

All in all, though, we seem to be adjusting. The humans are adjusting much better than The Royal Dachshund, the senior citizen, Annie.  She seems a wee bit disturbed that she is now being fed in a tiny upstairs apartment.  Really, that is all she is concerned about, her food dish.  I think she thought maybe she was going to lose it in the move.

Now for some photos from yesterday's final day of moving.  

The first picture is of a contractor's garbage bag full of socks.  Don has never thrown away a pair of socks, and now he is having to throw away about twenty-five pounds of old socks!

And then the other pictures here are just of the nineteen-fifty-five version of our house, shag carpet and all!  I will shed no tears as the walls come down and the carpet comes up!  

I don't know why the pictures always go to the top of the post, but well, you get the picture!  HAHA!  I know that was not hilarious, but I think I may be going a little crazy, and I know I'm tired!  

Keep checking in to see how we are doing!

Purge Day One

Yesterday the contractor called.  He's about ready to come down here and finish listening to all our wishes and dreams for our new downstairs, which means we have to totally purge.  Today we started with the pantry.  I cannot believe the amount of food we have!  The canned veggies alone could feed an entire army!  After we get our new kitchen, I have decided I will learn how to cook.  

Sadly I did not take a before picture of the pantry, but did take an after picture.  You can use your imagination.  Every ounce of shelf space was full.

Now here is where Don and I differ as far as the accusations about which of us hoards the most.  I hoard stuff like canned goods and plastic bags, you know, for the Zombie apocalypse.  Don hoards coats given to him by his company, which he is two years retired from, for the past forty years.  There is an argument to be made for doing that, but his argument is just that he thinks he might someday lose the weight to be able to get back into them.  Dark blue fleece?  Please, baby, trash!  "Why are you keeping this old jacket?"  "Your mom gave it to me."  "She's dead, dude.  I've never even seen you wear it."  (Though I did tear up a bit that he had had that sort of connection with my mom).  

And the Charlie's potato chip can that has been empty for twenty years?  What purpose? Well, "I might want to put something into it someday."  "Dude, please, toss it."  

That huge plastic trash can.  "I'm afraid to pick it up because the plastic is so brittle it will just fall apart all over the floor!"  "How old IS that thing??"  "I don't know, maybe thirty years?"  So we picked it up and babied it into a contractor's bag where it immediately fell into four pieces.  Some things just cannot be saved!

Honestly, though, it feels good to purge sometimes.  I just dread starting the closet in the unused bedroom where I have stored massive amounts of things I can't bear to part with after giving Don such grief over the forty-year-old thermos bottles, coats, and such.  I am not an organized person.  I am an ADHD woman who has a lot of trouble throwing away, putting away, organizing, or even finding everyday items like by scrubs for work and my jackets and shoes.

Here I am adding a few photos of the way the living room, bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen look before the rebuild.  My boss, Bev, actually reminded me to be sure to take plenty of before and after photos so we can look back on them and see how far we've come as adults! 

Goodbye nineteen-sixties shag carpet!  Hello two-thousand-sixteen living!  

Remodel Here We Come

Don and I have worked our whole lives and have never once remodeled the house.  Now, theres not a thing wrong with this house other than the fact that the carpet is shag from the early sixties and its been literally years since anything was repainted or updated in any way...unless you count the time my mother gave me her really ugly duck curtains for my kitchen when she remodeled years ago, and I disliked them so much I gave them to Don for his kitchen back when we owned two separate houses.  When he showed interest in the ugly duck curtains, I also graced him with her goose figurines and a wooden wreath with another goose on it.  He loved them and immediately put all that in his kitchen.  The curtains are way too short for the windows and really look as old as my mother was when she passed them on.

Two years ago we decided to combine our houses, and I moved in over here with Don and let my son and his family move into my house.  For one and one-half years I was so relieved to be living with Don that I either blocked out or ignored the duck/goose theme going on in the kitchen, but about a thousand episodes of House Hunters later, we have both begun to reevaluate the need to change everything up and so, starting in January 2016 we have contractors and plumbers and electricians and flooring experts coming in along with the most important person, the kitchen designer, to shake things up a bit.  Luckily the contractor, who has already been here to look things over and plan the estimate, did not just sit down in the middle of the house and start laughing or crying but assured us that he can definitely fix this!

For several weeks at the end of the Holidays, I will be blogging here everyday or so to keep you updated on the progress and to have a diary for myself of what we started with and where we ended.

So here we go!  We will either love each other more or totally despise one another by the time this is over.  We have already had a major disagreement over the fact that Don wants to put our beat up, uncomfortable, ugly furniture back into our gorgeous new living room at the end of this.  Men!  Hopefully I will get my way with that argument because I will move out if we do not get comfortable new furniture!

Cozy

I used to be a "summer."  I thought I was, anyway.  Come to find out I am a true blue "winter."  It is difficult to think of the word "cozy," which is one of my favorite words in the English language, in the heat and humidity of an Indiana summer; but let's take just a couple of minutes and explore the same word during a rainy, cold Sunday afternoon.  Feel the difference?

Heat and humidity cozy:  Sweat.

Cold, rainy, winter Sunday cozy:  Flannel PJs all day long, hot cocoa, a good book, your old faithful Dachshund, your old faithful boyfriend/hubby, and an entire day of football on TV. 

Feel the difference?  Of course you do!  There is nothing not cozy about a winter's day in Indiana.  Unless you have to go outside for some reason.  

Here is a challenge...snuggle up in your PJs, make a cup of hot herbal tea, bake a pecan pie to eat while still warm.  Then tell me you don't feel that coziness factor!  If you don't, well, I can guess you don't live in south-central Indiana on this particular Sunday afternoon!  Or maybe you do not own a pair of flannel PJs (Big Lots has them on sale for $15.00 per pair)!  

Raising a cup of hot lemon/mandarin orange tea and wishing you were here with me!  xxoo

THE TREE OF LIFE

When I first visited the desert, I just didn't see any life there.  It was a hot day, there was a lot of sand, even the buzzards seemed a little put out by the heat and the fact that nothing new had died out there, most likely, since the last time they looked, because nothing would have ventured out there in the first place. 

But it wasn't long before I learned that the desert is just magnificently alive!  It might be sleeping through the midday sun onslaught, but there is life out there. 

Besides the animals that call the Sonora Desert home, there are a multitude of flowers.  If anything, the colors are more vibrant than anywhere else.  Yellow is truly yellow, green is truly green, red is amazingly alive-looking, like the blood that flows through our veins; and the mountains ringing the desert?  Just look at those!  Created by a true artist!  We can't make this up.  The beauty is breathtaking! 

I have trekked around in the desert of Arizona several times now, and every time is different.  Every time it seems as though my eyes have opened a little wider, my heart grown a little more full, and instead of aging forward, the child comes out in me and gives me 3-D viewing I seemed to be losing in the day-to-day battle to survive the stress of life. 

There it is, though.  There is what the child's mind sees, all 3-D and beautiful, and mysterious.  It's coming back to me now. 

SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN THE SONORA DESERT WETLANDS

There is life in the desert.  We don't realize it when our day is used up busily trying to drive through it in order to get to the next job, or when we are pulling a U-Haul trailer while making a life-changing move; but when we slow down and get out of the car and look around, when we have friends willing to drive us out into the desert on a peaceful weekend, to places they know well, the beauty becomes quite noticeable.  

Yesterday, my cousin Tracy and my friend Nancy, wanted to show me the "wetlands."  There is an oxymoron if ever I heard one, and my expectations were not very high.  Then, Nancy parked and pointed to a dead tree.  I glanced at the tree thinking, "Yep, this is about what I expected from the Sonora Desert Wetlands."  My eyes traveled up, up, up, and there, in the very top of the tree were huge nests.  Sitting in and around those nests, sentinels of the brood, were huge blue herons protecting their young.  

Now, as God is my witness, I never thought herons nested in trees.  I especially never thought they nested in dead trees in the desert, because in my part of the country, I see them sitting around playing chess by rivers and flood waters and such.  

The herons were just the tip of the iceberg.  They were beautiful, majestic!  They let us take many photos, but if we wandered too close to their nesting tree, one of them would take flight, circle around, then go back to the same stance, eagle eyes (forgive the pun) trained on us.  

As we walked further into the area, which we could do because someone is organized enough to have ordered a permit (it would have done no good for any of us to end up in the chain gang because we are really not very big women) the marshes with huge green reeds hid ducks and red-winged blackbirds, and further back, behind a fence our permit did not allow us to cross, a huge body of water where we could see all kinds of birds in their natural habitats.  There were snowy egrets, ducks, herons, pelicans, and probably just about every species of common bird we know from our yards.  It was breathtaking. 

Every time I come to Phoenix, I think I probably have seen it all, but that's just not possible.  I am already anticipating what the girls might have found to show me next time!  

IN THE SUMMERTIME

I guess it is almost summertime, though with the howling cold wind and torrential rains, it would be hard to prove that by the attitudes of most Central Indianans.  But you see, the thing is, wildlife, especially the birds, believe it is summer, and they have all returned to their old Indiana home.  

The finches, especially, seem a little put off by the weather.  The thistle socks have been filled half-a-dozen times for them in the past month, but the hardier birds, the robins and cardinals and doves, oh my, (you probably do not understand how funny that statement was if you are younger than 45 or so, but trust me, it was sort of funny), I have been forcing to hunt and fend for themselves.  It has rained so much that the worms are clustered almost on top of the ground to keep from drowning, so they are there for the munching, and even though the robins might be a little hateful about the fact that they have to work a little for their food while the others are hand fed, it isn't like I ignore them.  I have a worm bed out there for crying out loud!  Yes, you read correctly:  I actually nurture worms so the robins can have readily available food.  They think they are hunting, so they are maintaining that mentality for leaner times, and if you think for a second they are going hungry, think again.  The robins who live in my back yard are so fat that lifting off to avoid the wrath of Annie The Incredible Dachshund is a chore for them.  Annie has skinnied down.  The robins have fattened up. That makes for a hilarious situation when the chase is on.  

I am, however, feeling a little animosity almost exuding from the wingtips of the bigger, hardier ground birds, toward me and the gorgeous purple finches, American yellow finches, and the warblers who clutch to the socks and feast several times a day on expensive thistle.  I can, actually, prove that animosity. 

This morning, I went outside to clean out the bird bath because the doves, for some reason, think they need to use it as a bidet, when I heard a conversation between a fat, overfed, but ungrateful robin, and a fat, stumbling, drunken dove:

Robin:  Look, here she comes!  The bitch! (I know that is what was said because I have a loyal mockingbird who was sitting on my shoulder, translating for me, in that persnickity way only a mockingbird can - you know what I mean, I'm sure).

Dove:  Talk about a racist!  She doesn't even TRY to hide it!  Oh, and what's this??  She's putting out black oil sunflower seed!  

Robin:  She should be reported to the BSED! (Bird Species Equality Department).  That woman is trying to hand feed the WARBLERS now!  Hey, witchy woman, how about US, huh?  How about us starving robins who...

Dove:  (Laughing hysterically) Starving robins?  Look at you!  You can't even run fast enough to take off and fly because you're so fat!  

Robin:  Yes, I can, you stupid dove! (Robin tries and finds he is panting before ever reaching take-off speed).  Oh, my God!  What has she done to me???  It must be in the worms!  She is feeding the worms steroids!  I am going to go to a meeting tonight and turn her ass IN!

Well, upon hearing that they might all lose their free ride because of this one snotty, holier than thou robin, the other species called in reinforcements and surrounded the robin.  The Dove Mob squinted at him menacingly.  They looked deadly and wicked scary, to the robin, who found himself alone inside the circle consisting of even fatter and angrier-looking robins.  The Dove Mob boss moved forward.  Now, you have to understand that doves are pretty smart, and so this one whistled, and suddenly, the mockingbirds were out en force, dive bombing that poor robin, the cat who had wandered into the yard looking for an easy meal, and occasionally, Annie, the innocent, not really too sharp Dachshund, ruler of the queendom.  Three mockingbirds can sound like an army of every species in the world, and so, the circle began to break up, and the fat, holier than thou robin who had started this whole bruhaha, hung his head in shame and wandered back to the worm patch, which I had, during all this confusion, filled with fresh coffee grounds and stirred, bringing fat, gorgeous breakfast to the top of the ground.  

The last time I looked out the back door, the robin was holding up a little sign that said, "I'm sorry, Mommy," on it.  I said, "No worries, you!  Forget it.  Now, go do something nice for your family, like clean your nest without being asked, and I will see what I can do about maybe finding you a treat for tomorrow."

So, peace is restored among us, and the moral of the story is this:  Don't be pissy to the hand that feeds you, or before you complain that you are being left out of the feeding, look in the mirror, or you could look totally foolish and make many enemies.  

iPhone apps

Everyone who knows me, knows I struggle to sleep.  I use Ambien and fall asleep, then am awake over and over through the night.  I have done the ambient music route, the less caffeine route, nothing really seemed to be of much benefit.  Then, I ran across an iPhone app called Sleep Cycle Alarm.  

This little beauty is beginning to get me on track.  You set the alarm, choose a sound you would like to wake up to, and before going to sleep, tap it to start, slide your phone, glass side down, under your fitted sheet in the corner of your bed, and then sleep.  It records your sleep cycles.  And, get this, instead of waking you up when you are in a deep sleep, it watches for a light sleep and then starts playing very softly, and by the time it is at full mode, I have woke up anyway, gently.  

I have learned about myself.  I need to be in bed and ready to sleep by 10 p.m.  That is in direct contrast to my normal bedtime, which is anywhere, usually, between 11:30 and 2:00 a.m.  Watching my graph on the Sleep Cycle Alarm has shown me that I need to have the book closed and the lights out by 10:00.  Not only that, but sleeping past 7:00 a.m. is not good for me.  Last night I was in the dark, so to speak, by 10:00, and at 7:00 this morning was up and ready to face the day. 

Springtime may have something to do with my better energy, too.  The birds are singing, I have been walking a lot, and have just generally been staying more active.  However, I am a big advocate of this alarm.  I have read that people are saying they can lay it on a desk at night, and it still generates a graph, but the thing is super sensitive and will pick up other movements besides your tossing around in bed.  I spent eight hours last night in sleep or deep sleep, and it did show me that at 1:00 a.m. I was awake.  I know that is correct as I got up to visit John at 1:00 a.m. and made it a point of looking at the time.  

I have used this alarm now for a week.  The first 2 nights I rarely went into even light sleep.  One morning it basically laughed at me:  "Because of the short duration of your sleep, this nap will not be averaged into your final weekly numbers."  What do you MEAN, "nap?"  That was a night's sleep for me!  I do feel I am learning my patterns now and intend to keep following this yellow brick road to getting off Ambien and sleeping deeply most nights.

Another aid?  Whole Foods Market.  Yes, I spent a ton on organic foods which some will tell you is just a waste of money, but within a week, eating nutritious, non-additive foods, my energy level increased, my metabolism sped up, and I have begun to drop a few pounds almost effortlessly.  Feeding my hyperactive grandson this way seems to be making him less grouchy, as well.

Another good app is the Whole Foods app.  With this one, which is free (can you say FREE?), I find recipes that sound easy and tasty, touch the "add to list" button so that all the ingredients are put on a shopping list, touch a button to add the recipe to my "favorites," and drive off to the Whole Foods Market in Louisville.  

So, this post is just a little catchup post.  I have a lot of photos and would like to share some travel experiences, and I will do that soon.  But if you are an insomniac, I am interested to find out if you have tried this app and what you think.  

Happy Dreams to you!  I will see you all around the bend.  xxoo

Waiting on Kathy

Hello, I'm Kathy.  

I recently spent a few weeks in Arizona, borrowing some space in my cousins' Bill and Tracy's beautiful home, and even Sadie, the Cocker Spaniel, made room for me in her life and daily routine. 

All three of the humanoids were stuck in the nightmare of having to keep up with our jobs, even though we really wanted to just be playing, but the last weekend, Tracy made arrangements for us to take a road trip to Tucson where were would hike in the Saguaro National Park, take in the Free Flight Raptor Show with the Harris Hawks as the stars, and snap hundreds of photos.  That night, we were going to have the pleasure of staying with Tracy's brother, Tom, and sister-in-law, Donna, and doing that brought back so many childhood memories for me.  It seemed fitting that we were all together again, laughing, shopping, eating, drinking.  

The following day, Sunday, Tom and Donna took us out into the middle of the desert, telling us there was a beautiful mission built out there.  I was doubting that, the further we drove, but suddenly, up popped this unbelievably gorgeous white building! Being Sunday, the parking lot was full with worshipers, but as soon as the last Mass was over, we were allowed in to tour the ornate building.  

 

 

San Xavier Mission, Tucson, Arizona

Breathtaking view when walking into the church

Yes, there was a gift shop.  When you put me into a place like this with a gift shop steps away, then a theme quickly arises, and this was it:  Waiting on Kathy.

Looking for Kathy:  Tom and Tracy

Waiting on Kathy:  Tom, Tracy, and Donna

Waiting on Kathy...again:  Tracy and Donna

Waiting for Kathy after sending Tracy to bribe her with Indian flat bread

 We had an awesome time.  There was so much to take in, so much beauty to try to capture with the lens, that I was awestruck, so I do not think anyone minded too much that I was disappearing.

This post is dedicated to my patient family, Tom and Donna Cox, and Tracy Pierson.  xxoo to all of you! 

THE DESERT LIVES

I have 2 homes.  I live in Indiana until I cannot tolerate winter for one more minute, then I hop on a jet and show up at my cousin's door to wait winter out in Phoenix, where it is perfect.  But in all the years I have been coming out here, I never really took the time to get out and explore the desert.  This time, though, Tracy had graciously planned, and friends Nancy and Annie graciously accepted to be tour guides for an all-day, round trip desert ratting experience into the desert world where, at first glance, it looks like nothing could live.  Upon second glance, though, not only do you realize the desert lives, you realize it lives beautifully and graciously and awe-inspiringly.  

I took many photos, but the one I am posting today just keeps drawing me to it.  The burrowing owl.  Do owls live in the desert?  No, would have been my answer yesterday morning, but yesterday afternoon, as we walked through a beautiful desert cemetery, out of a hole popped...an owl.  A real owl.  He posed.  He let me get closer, then finally he said, "Okay, close enough, lady, take the picture, here I'll pose, ho-hum, then hike the other direction before you make me upset and I come and land on your head and pull out your hair with my beak."  

After that, I decided I was close enough.  I zoomed in and got this shot of The Guard of the Burrows at the Cemetery.  I love him.

 Thanks to Tracy for arranging this fantastic day and especially to cousin Nancy and her best friend and forever resident of the desert, Annie, for being the driver and the knowledgeable and fun tour guide.  I love you all. 

MY Week in Photos...Inspired by my cousin.

First, it snowed.

Then I had my 54th birthday lunch at Black Buggy.

And dessert I did not need, but man was it good!

Then we had a full moon.

Then it snowed.

And it snowed the next day, too.

Then it got really icy.

Then it snowed.

Then I started dreaming of Spring!

The Feathered Community - A Short Story in Photos

"Okay, I think we might be lost...don't panic! WHERE ARE WE?"

"Look, Bozo!  I saw that seed first so technically it's mine!  Hurry and get your feathery little, ahem cute, red tail off of my food!  Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah!"

"Why would I be embarrassed?  Embarrassed?  Me? Those stupid Finches were just wasting this food.  I am NOT too big for this feeder, just leave me alone!" 

"Uh, Mrs. Cardinal, see me?  This is how we do it.  We find a large Cardinal bell that we can comfortably hang on without tipping it upside down...like this.  See me?  Are you looking?  Over here!"

"Still not embarrassed, but a little claustrophobic."

"Oh, my, I hate it when they fight.  It just ruins the cadence of the whole day!  Oh, my, oh, my!"  "Look, sweetheart, don't let it ruin your day and...hey!  Don't bury yourself again!  THAT was embarrassing!  I looked all day for you!" 

CHRISTMAS COMES AND CHRISTMAS GOES

I am at a loss to explain how quickly life moves along when something fun, like the Holidays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years, with family and friends filling the house, snow softly falling outside, a fire in the fireplace, and a great deal of commotion from all the mini-Me's in my life.  

I did come to a couple of conclusions about that jolly time of year, though.  See if you might agree with a couple of these:

1.  School is out way too long.  It was out even longer than necessary in our home because we mistakenly thought the winter break started one day earlier than it actually did.  In retrospect, that one day was about what it took to finish me off, but the five-year-old took it in stride and took the opportunity to see how long he could be bored and disgruntled, and I will tell you, he can carry it off for quite a few days in a row. 

He did make this nice card on the computer from one of my photos, a happy New Year card, and took on many other artistic endeavors during his vacation.

2.  Laundry has a way of procreating during winter break.  I do not do all the laundry.  My daughter and the above-mentioned grandson live here, too, and Jamie definitely does her share, but when she is too busy, I am back to clothes sniffing.  I really thought I was past that time in my life. I sniffed clothes that enabled my gag reflex for eighteen years, give or take, to determine their re-wear worthiness.  Now, I am doing it again.  Luckily, my grandson is sort of a clean freak, and he rarely has clothing lying around that is too grossly aromatic, but I have to admit, I will be pretty happy not to have to do that anymore.  

3.  You can only do Wii bowling for about ten hours total before you throw all gutter balls.  Enough said.

4.  I seem to have more headaches the longer everyone is on winter break.  I mean, forgive me, everyone, but ten or twelve days are just a little over the top to have to bunk with you all twenty-four hours a day.  Enough said.  

5.  Buying groceries is now ranked up there with one of the most depressing things I have to do, and there is not enough Xanax in the world to make it okay.  

Now, I am going to post a rather unclear photo of most of some of my family and some friends together on Christmas Day at my house where, despite all the gripes above, I cherish very much.  We just are all so lucky to be dropped into one another's lives, not randomly, either, I don't believe, and days like Christmas just slam home the beauty of that plan.  

Hope you all have a very happy New Year in 2011, and hope you all had a fantastic Christmas season.  

THE REST OF THE STORY - MIRACLE ON SEVENTH STREET

ADDENDUM:  When David's mama returned home from a long day at work at the Inn (the one with no rooms)...ha, I sent her in to take the laundry from the washer and to please start it drying.  I sort of huddled up back here in my office and scrunched down in my chair and waited for the bellowing scream I was sure would follow, because when sorting the dry laundry later, I realized a couple of Jamie's shirts must have gotten into David's load.  

Little David, little angel.  The light of my life.  My helper, my buddy, and probably the person I was soon going to have to protect, was upstairs dutifully cleaning his room.  I knew that because as he cleans his room, he sings nonsensical songs and repeats quotes from his favorite cartoon characters and jumps a lot.  Things like, "There's no need to fear, underwear is here!"  As he lobs it into the laundry basket.  Or, "To infiminy and beyond!" As he jumps from his bed and hook-shoots a shoe into the closet.  

So, back to the rest of the story.  I hunkered down and heard the dryer start, and there was no shrieking or anything, and before she headed back upstairs, I asked her to read this blog.  

Was I ever happy to see her laughing that hard about it!  Relieved, really, beyond words.  But, I also did not miss the little tip-toe shuffle back into the laundry room to check, just to check.  Still no shrieking!  David...whew.  That's all I can say, buddy, just "whew."  

I am now in the process of hiding all the cleansers and bleachy type products.  

Merry Christmas to everyone and to all a goodnight!  

CHRISTMAS STORY

It is not quite Christmas Day, but the Advent calendar tells us it is seven days away, one week, so before I get swept up in the mad pre-Christmas week madness, I wanted to share a Christmas Story.

We all know the story.  We know that Jesus was born on Christmas, and we are celebrating his birthday by giving the people we love gifts to celebrate.  We know that Mary and Joseph huddled in a manger for that virgin birth, and that the wisemen came from far and wide to offer up their presents to Jesus.  

But there is a newer story, one scribed on December 18, 2010, in Jasper, Indiana, and it is with awe and reverence that I share it with all of you.

"David?" I said, to my five-year-old grandson, the love of my life, who I was watching while his mother worked at the Inn (where there were no rooms).  It actually was the Holiday Inn Express, but you get the idea.

"What, Gramma?" He asked, his little cheeks pink, his excitement about Christmas barely contained.

"If you will do some chores for me, like go upstairs and clean your room, then clean the bathroom, and take the cardboard out to the recycling bin, I will give you your allowance early today."

Up the stairs he sprinted.  He can still sprint, you see.  He is five.  I do not sprint anywhere, much less up the stairs.  

Off he went.  I wanted him duly occupied while I showered because anyone who knows this gorgeous, precocious child, knows that I did not want him left to his own devices downstairs for even the seven short minutes I would be indisposed in the shower.  

But as happens sometimes, in situations like this, he had something very important to say, and he knocked quietly on the bathroom door just as I stepped out of the shower and said, in a whisper, "Gramma?"  

"Yes, David, what is it?  I'm just about out."

"Um, well, Gramma?  Which knob do you push to close the washing machine door?  I'M DOING MY OWN LAUNDRY!"  He was so excited to be doing something more for me than I asked, but his little revelation prompted a quick towel dry and a panicked voice from my side, "No, no, no, NO...David NO!"

The little boy who is the love of my life said, "It's okay, Gramma, I already put the blue stuff in."  

It took me all of thirty seconds to exit the bathroom, throw on a pair of jeans in my bedroom, and the dirty sweatshirt I had taken off and dash off to the laundry room. 

Panicked I said, "Okay, which blue stuff did you put in?"  He showed me the fabric softener.  We have a front-loading washer, one of the high-efficiency ones, so the liquids all go into compartments in a little drawer on the front, and by some miracle, he had gotten the Downy in the right one.  Of course, I do not have any idea how much Downy, but it was already flowing into the tub, so I have to take it on faith, (and is that not part of what Christmas is all about anyway?) that he put in close to the correct amount.

"David, this is so admirable of you, to want to do your own laundry, and it sure is a big help to me, but you need to first let me show you how to do it right, okay?"  

Next, I showed him how to measure the detergent, how many clothes he could wash at once, and how to set the correct time.  He was fascinated, and I am sure he will be until he is about six years old when doing his own laundry is way too difficult a task for him.  

When I found out he really could clean the bathroom and did a much better job than I do, it did not take me anytime to hand that job over to him and bribe him with a dollar bill to get it done.  I take full advantage of that service!

So, I did not have the courage to ask if he added bleach, and I carefully unloaded my own jeans and shirts he had put in with his.  After all, the element of surprise is also a part of Christmas, and this one might be the biggest one of my entire year!  

There are some words you cherish from your grandchildren at Christmastime:  "I love you, Gramma!"  "Would you teach me to bake cookies, Gramma?"  "I LOVE my gift, Gramma, thank you!" And "Merry Christmas, Gramma!"  

There are some words you should dread, if you have not gotten the opportunity to learn them on your own as of yet, just put these in your file for later use:  "I started my own laundry, Gramma!  I even already added the blue stuff, come look!"  

If those clothes come out the correct colors and not white and light pink, I will retitle this, "The Miracle on Seventh Street."

Merry Christmas to you all.  Have a safe and happy holiday!  

Photo by Kathy McWhirt:  Do Not Copy. 

THE DACHSHUND DIARIES

A couple of nights ago, my grandson was sitting on the sofa, eating a cheese stick, and watching some cartoons.  Annie, the Dachshund you can just TELL is near death from starvation, was standing guard, not to rescue David should something happen, but to make sure if so much as a crumb of cheese dropped, she was there to dive on it and consume it.  The photos I took are not very good because Jamie and I were laughing our butts off, but you will get the idea.  These photos were shot over a period of about ten minutes.  One thing about Dachshunds, they are unwavering and persistent!

Kid has food.  Dachshund wants food kid has.

Kid has FOOD.  Dachshund WANTS food kid has.

Kid has food.  DACHSHUND WANTS FOOD KID HAS!

KID HAS FOOD, DACHSHUND WANTS FOOD KID HAS!!

Okay, I can move down here to get the food the kid has.

SIGH!  Kid has food.  Dachshund wants food kid has.