Mental Health, in Gifs

Yesterday was a weird day.

I think it was what I've heard some people refer to as a mental health day.  Or the reason people need mental health days?  I'm not sure.  All I know is that it was one of those days where you don't really feel so hot, but you don't think you're actually sick, and it's hard to pinpoint where the feeling of yuck is coming from, but you suspect it might be that old frenemy your brain.  Symptoms include a mild, nagging headache, lack of motivation to do anything at all, even the things you love, and loss of ability to communicate with the human race.

I try to keep my interactions with others at a minimum on days like these- which are blessedly infrequent- as my brain seems to require more time to process all the complicated things well-meaning acquaintances say to me, like "How's it going?" and "Hey, I like your boots!"  My delayed response plus suddenly being unsure as to what words are appropriate to any given greeting sent my way ("The sun is bright today.  Wait, no... fine.  I'm fine,"  "...........................Thanks.  They are brown.") make it so that I tend to get concerned glances, or, worse, seem to be interpreted as distant.  It's terrific.

I thought it was possible I was pulling off the whole "I am a normally-functioning human being today" facade until Derek wondered aloud if something was wrong.  Twice.  Thankfully he has watched me go through a day or fifty of these, and doesn't really take them personally, just helps me engage in what Anne Lamott calls "radical self-care" and pulls up a running documentary for us to watch together in the evening.  (The Barkley Marathons.  And it was good, you guys.  Definitely watch if you like watching people push themselves or running or screwy but neat Appalachians who put on a race that makes you go, "WHAT?" every time they reveal another detail about the race.)

Other acts of radical self-care:

Forcing Adelaide to go grocery shopping with me while the boys golfed with Dad.  Grocery shopping isn't my favorite thing, but Adelaide is one of my favorite things, especially when she sees a college girl in some of those teeny tiny short-shorts that make you think they should just be done with it and make themselves some denim underwear (mmm, so comfy) and Daughter's nonexistent poker face is just like

followed shortly by

which made me laugh, which made her laugh, until we were quite the spectacle in the produce section of Aldi.

I also wore my favorite pair of boots, always sure to cheer me up, which my mom got me for my birthday (thanks, mom!) and for which I receive compliments almost every time I wear them.  And yes, I know these are commonly referred to as "booties," but I can't say that without our boys snickering, so I don't.  Also?  Fifth position.

Ballet:  The gift that keeps on giving.  Please excuse my less-than-perfect turnout.  It's been a while.

Other acts of self-care:  Reading this book, eating some of the peanut butter cookies I made over the weekend, minimizing my time on social media, and not obsessing over the fact that I didn't go for a run, even though the weather was nice.


Of course, this whole thing could all be due to the startling revelation that greeted me yesterday morning:  I was out of coffee.  There was not a bean, a speck, a single ground of the stuff to be found in our house.  It is that powerful.  (It is powerful, indeed!  Hallelujah!)

(And sorry about that previous sentence; I mean, it is Holy Week, although even joking about worshiping coffee has probably branded me as an always-and-forever heretic.  Alas, it wouldn't be the first time.  HEY KELLI- remember that time we were taken into a scary van and asked if we'd been SAVED? Those were the days, hmm?)

Today, however, is better!  I went for a difficult, hilly, great run, I've remembered how to speak to people without alarming them, and Derek commented, "It's nice to have my wife back," which is always a good/sad sign; good in that Yes!  I'm back!  Sad in that I really am bad at putting on a happy face.

Crocuses and Edison Lights

The kids and I made our triumphant return to Iowa yesterday; "triumphant" because as a recovering procrastinator, one of two things tends to happen after I travel:  Either I unpack immediately, putting things away and starting the laundry and keeping the kids on task, harnessing all that energy sizzling out of them after seven straight hours in the car, OR I do nothing and spend the next week ignoring the pile of bags sitting in the corner, acknowledging its presence only by gesturing vaguely at it when the children ask where certain necessary items are.

This time I suppressed my natural inclinations, pretended to be a high-functioning grown-up, and did all the necessary post-road trip chores, which means today I was free to enjoy the March snowfall,

Uuuuuugh.

and rejoice over my crocuses, which, yes, have bloomed!

Remember, I planted those bulbs two autumns ago, then lamented over the zero blooms that emerged last spring.  Foliage, yes, but flowers?  None.  The day before we left a single crocus bloom had opened up, which made me feel elated and victorious and vindicated as a gardener.

Now I'm wondering if all those crocuses and daffodils just needed a milder winter to help them out.  I'll try and remember these spring flowers when we're drowning in Japanese beetles this summer.

Other than snow, today involved Derek proposing we perform a mastectomy on one of the boob lights in our house.  This is what has been watching us eat for the past six years:

Thankfully Menard's had the fixture we've had our eye on for a solid year now (had they no longer stocked it, no doubt it would have been a least another year before we could find another one we both agreed upon) and it was on sale.  Then there was fun stuff like Derek removing the boob and making an additional trip to the hardware store and doing things with wires while I took pictures.

At that point an actual contribution was required on my part:  I held the light fixture up while Derek worked on connecting stuff up in the ceiling... or something.  Astonishing news!  My upper body strength still sucks.  Thanks for nothing, yoga.  

But now- ta daaaaa!

Ooooooo!

Aaaaaaah!

Much better.

Important Pi Day Happenings

It's spring break around here, and when I woke up this morning it was cool and misty and foggy:  Perfect weather for a trip to Reiman Gardens!

The children didn't quite share my opinion- I mean, they were happy enough to go to the public garden, but didn't understand why foggy and chilly made it perfect.  I, in my more advanced years, knew that such conditions would serve the two-fold purpose of 1) keeping away any crowds, and 2) make it possible for us to pretend that we were on the English moors, or wandering through an English winter garden, or any number of things foggy and English.

And I was right, on all counts.  

We saw all of two other visitors.  This is possibly also due to the fact that in March, there's not a lot blooming in the garden- not a single thing, actually, at least outdoors- but there are still things to do and see and hills to ramble over.

We found a spiderweb, which for once I was happy to see, as our winter was mild enough that the freeze only reached a depth of six inches.  This makes me worry that we'll have a buggy spring and summer, so bring on the spiders!  As long as they stay out of our house!  And away from my hands when I'm gardening.  So bring on the shy spiders!

There were some not-so-shy red-winged blackbirds sending up a racket in the lily pond.  I was surprised at how long the kids wanted to pause and observe these.

The kaleidoscopes in the children's area is forever one of my favorite features.  We found they still have wintery plantings in the container, which created some beautiful fractal designs.

Look into my eye.

Adelaide and I also made a quick trip into the women's bathroom, not because females feel a compulsive need to travel in herds to those places, but because you never know what kind of flowers they're going to have in there.

Live daffodils!  Just what Iowans need after a cold winter (although apparently not cold enough, hmmph), and on a dreary spring day.  Keeper of the Reiman Gardens Women's Bathroom (I'm pretty positive that's an official title), thou art wise.  Strangely, the boys reported no flowers in the men's room.  I'm not sure what that means.

On the way home, Adelaide saw a sign for "Apple Pi," and after I explained to her that today was 3/14- or Pi Day- she begged to make a pie.  I told her a bunch of true things, about how I already had a million things to do this afternoon, like laundry and calling about the possibility of a new hot water heater (a tale for another day, hopefully), and packing for tomorrow's trip south (beware, thieves; the muscle's staying behind to guard the new sconces).  She cared about none of these things.  All she cared about was pie.

I ended up making a deal with her:  I would roll out the crust if she did the rest, from finding a recipe to making sure we had all the ingredients to prep work to mixing, all of it.  She chose Strawberry Pie, and then she just, like, made it.  Because yes, baby thunder thighs are oh-so-squeezable, but older kids are where it's at.

I may have dropped the ball on supper (and packing... and most of the laundry) because the outdoors and my flower beds beckoned, but who cares?  We have pie!

Yes, she's wearing different clothes.  When one of your children asks if they can shower, you don't ask questions, you just let it happen.  She was in her jammies at 3 PM, but again, who cares?  We have pie!

Light On, Light Off

It's always funny to me how home improvement projects not only, well, improve the home, but even more so, highlight the differences between the two people living in this home and engaging in the improvement.

Case in point:  Light bulbs.

Now, when I hear "Wifi light bulbs" I think "I bet that has something to do with the internet," because I am a veritable wizard when it comes to technology.  I have no idea what Derek thinks (I've written before on the differences between his brain and my brain; they are varied and vast), but based on his level of excitement when he first called me about these Wifi light bulbs he'd found at the store while benignly searching for dimmable LEDs, it's something like, "Wow!  Brilliant!  Smashing!"  (That is how foreign the interior of his mind is to me:  It could speak in a British accent, for all I know.)

First of all, I was right about the "something to do with internet" thing, because we do control these light bulbs from our phones via the Wifi, but what's so fun about these bulbs, as Derek explained to me, is that you can dim or brighten them from your phone, you can adjust the relative warmth or coolness of the light, and you can create "Scenes," such as the one called "Movie Lighting" Derek set up, where if I select that scene, the lights will adjust to a certain warmth and brightness optimal for movie-watching.  You can also set up a schedule for your lights, and they'll do whatever it is you've told them to do whenever it is you've told them to do it.

Another difference between Derek and me:  That he would even think of labeling the sconces in this way.

East sconce and West sconce?  What, I asked him, is wrong with Left sconce and Right sconce?!  East and West assumes I know which one is more Easterly and which one is more Westerly, and unless the sun is just rising over one and just setting over the other, this is something I never know!  

I once read an article about how geese are able to navigate their yearly migrations so successfully each year, and it has something to do with magnets.  Like, in their brains.  These magnets somehow work with the magnetic fields of earth, which is fascinating and also terribly vague, I know.  Help a girl out, sciencey people?

Anywho, Derek must have these same magnets in spades in his own head, because he can travel somewhere once, and he will ever after know that route, and how to get to this place and that place and oh you just have to head north to get to this other place, all of which is useless to me, because there are no magnets in my head, or whatever it is that he has to thank for his reliable internal compass.  I need directions that sound like, "Next, you're gonna look for a crazy-big statue of a guy with a sword.  Turn LEFT at the sword-guy.  Go two more blocks, and turn RIGHT at the wrought-iron fence topped with fleurs-de-lis."  Now those?  Those are useful directions.

And yes, I know Right sconce and Left sconce could be confusing, as they change depending on whether you're looking at them or sitting on the couch under them.  (Derek says.)  Still.

Another neato thing about these lights are these settings:

Have we used any of these settings?  No.  But, see, we could if we wanted to!

Now, it's possible you're more like me, and you're reading this thinking, "Hmm, that sounds kind of neat.  Interesting.  Good to know."  However, if you're like Derek and all this Wifi light bulb business makes you go, "Holy cow- this is the most amazing thing since Midsomer Murders Season 17 finally showed up on Netflix- this makes my skirt blow up so much I feel like Marilyn Monroe over a subway vent except hopefully without the associated drug use/mental illness/poor life choices!"  If that is you, then here's what the box looks like for this little system that we are, indeed, satisfied with, at least one week into use:

I should also note that Derek got these at Lowe's, and they were 50% off, although I have no idea whether or not they're still on sale.  Oh, and another big plus is that because these are LEDs, they're energy-savers, and you know how I feel about all that.  (Hint:  Very strongly in favor of.)

And now I'll leave you with this photo of Caedmon with his Papa.  Derek's parents walked in on Saturday to help us with these sconces with their fancy light bulbs, and as soon as Caedmon saw that Dennis was dressed to work with tools (one of our youngest son's very favorite things), he scurried up the stairs and quickly returned proudly sporting similar accoutrements.

Here a Sconce, There a Sconce

A couple years ago, Derek and I agreed that the lighting in our living room sucked.  Last weekend, we finally did something about it.  This is generally how long it takes for our home decorating ideas to go from concept to fruition.

Our house came with a number of questionable light fixtures that I'm guessing were chosen for price rather than style.  They're not ugly, per se, but they don't knock my socks off, although the ones in the living room and kitchen would knock Derek's head off if he didn't either go around them or duck every time he has to pass directly underneath.  Old houses weren't built for the very tall among us, and I'm guessing the suspicious previous owners can't have been much over six feet, judging from their fixture choices.  To be fair, if you're on the shorter side, you tend not to consider such things as, "Can I easily walk under this ceiling fan?" and "Will I have to fold my body into itself just to get into this car?" and I know that taller people do much the same thing, as I've lost count of the number of times Derek and I have had the "I don't know if it's up there, as I can't see the top of the fridge, remember?  I can't even begin to see it until I'm on the top step of our step stool!" conversation.

Want to see some of these "That just doesn't make sense!" fixtures for yourself?  Of course you do!

This is our living room fixture.  First of all, at eight feet high, we don't enjoy ceilings tall enough to warrant fixtures that from top to bottom hang two feet down, so why on earth wouldn't you get one of those handy dandy ceiling-hugging fans?  I know those remodelers were aware of their existence, as they put the exact same fixture in the kitchen, where the ceiling is equal in height, except this one doesn't hang down as far.

I'm also not crazy about the flower-shaped light shades, but I'm willing to admit that that is a matter of taste.  Even in the kitchen, however, this fixture is a poor choice, as the pull chain is a mere six feet off the ground.  Why would you put such a low-hanging fixture in a space like this?  We won't even go into the fact that these produce the most glaring, harsh light available on the market.  It's less "Welcome to our comfortable, warmly-lit home" and more "Welcome to Guantanamo Bay, hope you're not particularly attached to those teeth."  It just doesn't make sense.

And then there are the abundance of boob lights.

I call them boob lights because they look like, well, boobs.  Again, a matter of taste as to whether or not you want these things looming over your head.

Anyway.

A couple years ago, Husband and I agreed:  This lighting is terrible, and we spend a ton of time in this terrible lighting.  What to do?  Derek had the idea that sconces would solve all of our problems, I concurred, and then we turned to the internet, only to find that we have widely differing ideas on what constitutes a visually appealing sconce.  It was like picking out baby names all over again, for not since then had I heard the word "veto" repeated so often and so quickly.  He didn't like what I liked.  I didn't like what he liked.  Stalemate.

Then, somehow, right around a year ago, we found a sconce at Menards that neither one of us hated!  And they were on clearance! And yes, there were two boxes left!

Then those boxes sat on top of our deep freezer for a year.  This is normal home improvement behavior, right?

Finally, Derek arranged for his dad to come over last Saturday so they could do mysterious lighting things.  Loud sounds were made.  Multiple trips to the hardware store were undertaken.  Other things happened, like Dennis cutting into the wall to discover that the first layer was thick sheet rock,

Before, couch pulled out, sheet rock not yet cut through to reveal its secrets.

under that was thick plaster,

Why, hello, plaster

under that was wood lath,

Why, hello, wood lath

under that was wool used as insulation(!),

and then he said something about how it looked like the outside of the house used to be stucco?  Or, you know.  Something.  Aren't old houses fun/exasperating?

It ended up taking most of Saturday and then involved a return trip by Dennis on Monday to finish hooking everything up (again, normal home improvement behavior, right?), but finally, we had our sconces.  So exciting.  Such an improvement.

Please note the pillows that Atticus likes to have placed just so.

Better!

Why, hello, post-workout Husband.

Much better!

Tomorrow I'll tell you about Derek's favorite part:  The new lightbulbs.  He has lost his mind over those things.  I am not even a little bit kidding.  (WHAT A CLIFFHANGER, RIGHT?)

The Fire of a Thousand Suns

It's that time of year again.  The time when I rage and vent my spleen and call down (metaphorical) hellfire on those creatures of darkness.

"First he ate some lettuces and some French beans; and then he ate some radishes, and then he did not pass Go and he did not collect $200 but went straight to Purgatory for breaking the eighth commandment with such dark glee."  -The Edited Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter and K.C.

Listen, I know rabbits have to eat.  I do.  And I have a whole yard full of clover for them to munch on to their hearts' content, because try as I might, I just cannot make myself care about grass.  Sure, I like to mow, but I'm just as happy cutting clover as I am cutting Kentucky Bluegrass or whatever the greener stuff is they grow on the other side.  What I do care about are my flower beds.  Guess who's been spending time in my flower beds?

Change his fur to grayish brown and that skull to the remains of my tulips, and you have my flower beds as of about a week ago.  As any knight knows, swords and chain mail are useless against such beasts, so I turn to the only weapon in my arsenal.

Three years ago Cassi told me about this stuff.  I'm still crazy grateful.

I sprayed this around the bitten-down stubs of my tulip foliage last week, hurrying because Derek and I were about to scurry out for a date.  When we got in the car, I wondered, "What is that smell?"  I was unable to locate the source of the stench until I scratched my nose and realized that Oh.  The smell is me.  I'd gotten some Liquid Fence on my gloves and therefore smelled like death.  We had to run back home anyway, so I switched out my gloves, as I didn't think the scent of blood and rotten eggs would mix well with barbecue.  

I also received this hate mail last week, because rabbits won't stop until they've achieved world domination.  I half expected to see cut out letters pasted on there under the photo, but they're much too canny for that.  "Easter bunny."  Sure.  He probably also has some candy in the back of his van.  Just 'hop' on in to pick some out, little girl.

When I haven't been waving my spade and shouting amorphous threats at the furry inhabitants of our yard (oh, and we have new neighbors who I'm pretty sure witnessed some of this.  Remind me to tell you the story of how they probably think I'm a monster because I wouldn't help Adelaide out of the tree she was stuck in.), I've been enjoying the warm weather by cleaning out and weeding the flower beds.  I've got around half of them done, and it's not even the middle of March!  Thanks, sixty-degree days!  I've even got a big chunk of the toughest bed done, and I've only found two nails so far.  

Right side:  Creeping Charlie, grass, iris rhizomes, and nails.  Left side:  Iris rhizomes only!

A few more years, and it's possible I'll have cleaned all the metal out of the dirt in our yard.  No telling how long it'll take me to dig out all the bricks inexplicably buried under the grass, though.  

Battle of the Books: Year One

A few months ago, Adelaide was asked by a teacher to participate in Battle of the Books.  We had no idea what this was, but it was explained to us that it's a quiz bowl-type competition where you read a list of books chosen by the sponsoring library, then show up with your team to answer questions about them.  Now, it's true that it's supposed to only be for fifth and sixth graders, but we all agreed that although she was younger, this was right up Adelaide's alley, and in the end signed off on her competing with the fifth graders.

Adelaide got the list, read the books, and remained exasperatingly calm about the whole thing, even yesterday morning, mere hours before the competition started.  I'd repeatedly asked her if she wanted me to quiz her or help her review or anything, and every time she brushed me off with a nonchalant, "No, thanks."  People, she didn't even make flashcards.  I would have seriously questioned whether or not we were biologically related if it weren't for that whole childbirth thing.

So, yesterday afternoon, Derek and his parents and the boys and I trooped over to the Big Town library to watch upwards of 100 fifth grade readers answer bookish questions.  Adelaide arrived with her three equally adorable fifth-grade-girl teammates.  She seemed excited.

Those girls whipped through the first two rounds like little nerd-girl dervishes, and qualified for the third and final round with the only perfect score.  It was exciting, and nerve-wracking, and so fun for Adelaide.  Youth sports are big around here, but academic competitions?  Not so much.  At four years old you can be in Tiny Person Baseball and Tiny Person Soccer and Tiny Person Tae Kwon Do, but there are no spelling bees or math competitions, not much of anything that strives to combine academic pursuits with a sense of healthy competition or fun for children.  Our little town library works hard to put on a good summer reading program, but the other nine months of the year?  Best of luck to you.

Excuse me.  I am afflicted with very strong opinions on this subject.

Back to yesterday's Battle:  I'm sad to say the final round is where things went south for our little team.  They had the misfortune to draw two different year-related questions, my heart sinking each time they were read, before the girls even had a chance to answer.  Are there people out there who pay attention to years in the books they read?  I could tell you the minutest of details about the items a character packs in their suitcase for a short trip, but what year that took place?  No idea.  It would seem that our four girls are much the same, as while they did take wild stabs at answering, they were way off, and obviously had no idea as to the correct answer.  Bad luck, indeed, but overall, it was still a fun event, and although Adelaide was a little disappointed when it was all over (FOUR HOURS LATER), she was more philosophical about the experience than anything else.  

We treated her to a cheeseburger and chocolate shake afterward, and by the time we'd reached home she was already talking about next year and how she'll be closer to the age of her fellow participants (she said most of the kids she talked to were eleven, which, at this point, still feels so much older than her nine years of age), and musing about ways to talk her teacher into letting her pick the team next year.  For my part, I now know to bring plenty of snacks, and perhaps a little stress ball, something to worry in my pocket so I don't cut off circulation to Derek's hand each time our little girl (bravely, valiantly, brilliantly) stands up to answer a question for her team.  

See?  We all learned something yesterday.