December 14: The Nutcracker, Shortened

Saturday evening we had tickets to see our friends (also the daughters of our friends—we like the whole family) perform in The Nutcracker. Caleb continues to grow at a precipitous rate, and the Christmas onesie I squeezed him into for the performance will be the last time he gets to wear that outfit.

It's for either 3 or 6 month olds. He is two months.

I had coached the boys through the music of The Nutcracker. Of course, after the description of Drosselmeyer and the Nutcracker's battle with the mouse king and the Sugar Plum Fairy, our friends reminded us that there are no males in the studio. No Drosselmeyer. No Nutcracker. No mouse king. Not to mention, no pit and no orchestra.

Given these limitations, the performance delighted us in every way. At the end, I felt like I relived my wedding, as my cheeks had the same fatigue from smiling so hard. The company had done a good job matching music to a changed storyline. Clara and her mother host a party for their friends (with plenty of visual gags). Two life-size dolls arrive, and they perform (the soldier doll performs during the music for the battle). The party ends and Clara and dolls, now come to life, watch performances of different nationalities.

Because there were only three rows of seats, and the littler boys sat on the floor in front, all the boys were rapt. And as we drove away, they said, "My favorite part was when this happened. Oh, no, maybe my favorite part was this. I loved this, too."

Two Christmases ago, we went to the complete Nutcracker, done by the Colorado Ballet, and although I loved that one, too, Joe, at three, had a hard time sitting still. No problems this year. And the audience forgot that Caleb was there, he was so quiet. "What a good baby!" Indeed.

December 13: Cloth Diapers

On Friday, December 13, I started using cloth diapers again. I love using cloth: the impetus to change wet diapers more quickly because the moisture is actually touching the skin, and not being whisked away by absorbent beads; the ease of later potty training; the reduction of waste to the landfill; the increased need to pay attention to baby. But, without a washing machine, cloth diapers have been a nonstarter since moving to the land.

But I kept my cloth diapers all these years, and a friend from church had a box of prefolds that hadn't worked for her, so between the old and the new, I can cloth diaper again. And there was great rejoicing, at least for me.

Friday also was the day I was able to get in touch with the officer from the accident. He was apologetic: "We switched to a new software package in September, and although I filed on Thursday or Friday, and it looked like it had gone through, I had to spend some time with IT today to try to get it to show up. What do you need to know?"

And who of us has not, at times, had computer issues? How can I be angry over gremlins in the computer? Frustrated by the situation, yes. Furious? No.

The surprising thing, too, is that our van actually isn't totalled. I had assumed, since I couldn't open the passenger door, that the van was a goner. But, apparently, that was just the broken fiberglass pushing on the door, and not a bent frame.

Phil reassured me, too, that it is in the interest of our insurance company to make sure that our vehicle is actually safe, or they will just be dealing with another accident, perhaps far worse, down the road (no pun intended). What an unexpected blessing!

December 12: Light and Little Reader

Phil ran errands for hours. After his Bible study early in the morning, he stopped at the hardware store, picked up groceries, picked up our three overhead lights that had finally arrived, picked up a booster for our internet, which has been spotty, and picked up what he hoped would be high end Christmas chocolate.

Sadly, the chocolate was a bust, as we realized when he came home: artificial flavors in all. Such a disappointment!

He put up one of the lights, expecting it would be a simple installation. It wasn't. He was gasping for air by the time he was done. Yet another set back in his healing process. It looks nice, though!

My favorite moment of the day came when we noticed Abraham had plopped himself down next to Caleb and was reading to him.

Growing up, Dad would read the marvelous picture books by James Stevenson, and here Abraham is reading Could Be Worse! to his baby brother. So precious!

December 10 and 11: I Don't Need to Burn My House Down

Many clutter-reducing experts suggest that no one should have things in their house that they don't know to be useful or believe to be good.

I have never met that ideal. In fact, in Boulder, I sometimes used to fantasize that my house burned down. No more clutter! Just a clean start.

So it has been interesting to populate shelves with only books that I recognize and love. Unread books stay up in the construction trailer. Some books, when I unpacked them, I did not greet with joy. Those I donated to the library.

After four years without photo albums, I felt gratified by the rapturous way the boys greeted the record of their past. If that had burned, that would be horribly sad.

My kitchen is already pretty stripped down, and I'm okay with having a few "extras." Maybe I don't need three 9x13 pans right now, but I think that day is approaching.

I like the feeling of having everything I like and need in one place. I no longer think I will fantasize about house fires.

On the other hand, I am shocked by the quantity of stuff I have yet to deal with. I have stuff in two construction trailers, stuff in the RV and stuff in the white barn.

In order to feel like I was making at least some progress, I spent Tuesday and Wednesday emptying the RV. I went through cupboards and found cookbooks and dozens of DVDs, went through the bathroom closets and found towels and dozens of canning jars. I moved out toiletries and dehydrator, sugar for kombucha and lard for pies.

And, I confess, I paid it forward somewhat, and moved several bulb crates' worth of stuff into the white barn, where I will have to deal with it ... someday.

But one space of the four is now emptied. That is progress!

Phil had a little progress as well. He went to try to toss trash into the dumpster. The sides are probably five feet high, so the bags need to be light enough to lift overhead. Only rarely is a bag filled in space but still light enough for me to lift. Not only that, but we have trash bags in our trash pile that have been there since the spring. After almost a year in the sun and rain, they are disintegrating.

In order to throw our garbage away, Phil used the bucket of the tractor to scoop up the trash and dump it. That worked well and quickly, for the household trash, though he reinjured his ribs in the process. Poor guy: he is so ready to be able to work again!

December 9: In Which Much Is Happy

By Saturday, I was doing better emotionally. I gave Caleb his first real bath! And Caleb enjoyed it. I should say, he didn't cry.

Phil spent the morning putting in a dryer vent. And then, about noon, I had washer and dryer capabilities on the farm for the first time since we moved here.

Washer and dryer. Washer and dryer!

First we washed the sopping towels from the trench disaster. That was a load that took about two and a half hours, because it was filthy and gross. But normal loads, even large loads, take only 59 minutes, and they come out almost dry. The dryer takes maybe 45 minutes.

We kept them going until about 2am. I watched more than half the epic Gandhi while I folded a small mountain of clothes.

And I threw away a good many of Phil’s t-shirts. He had some shirts that looked like Swiss cheese, but had kept them because, if we only do laundry every four to six weeks, he needed every scrap of clothing.

No need to do laundry so rarely now, though, so those worn out scraps can go away.

And then, next morning, we woke up and had clean socks in our drawers!

To celebrate, Isaiah and I made two apple pies. I tried a new pie crust recipe that was superb: it rolled out easily, without breakage. My rolling pin had molded in storage and I threw it away some years back; I recently purchased a new, French style tapered version and I love it. So Isaiah ran the apple peeler-corer-slicer and rolled out all four top and bottom crusts, and I mixed together ingredients and assembled. It was a quick process. Last time I made apple pies, it took me an hour for two. With Isaiah’s help, I would guess I worked no more than ten minutes. (Of course, with the boys getting bigger, I have to share more of the pies, too, but that’s okay.)

We found a wool area rug that had been in storage. No mice damage (hooray!), but something was living in it, or peeing on it. I checked online to confirm what I suspected: baking soda sprinkled and later vacuumed will remove nasty odors. So I tried that: I used a half gallon jar of baking soda and spread handfuls on the rug: scattering it at first, then wiping all over to rub it in.

When I vacuumed it the next morning, the rug smelled like wool. What a blessing!

Due to a forecasted sleet storm (that didn’t affect us, living in the rain shadow), church was cancelled, so we curled up at home and had a peaceful day.

I taped up the various history and science magazines that have been well loved; we watched a few movies; we made muffins and shortbread with cacao nibs and generally just relaxed.

And I tried my Mom’s suggestion to use a wet washcloth to try to take up the orange clay on my jacket. That worked well. I could wear that jacket to town again now. Yay! All that frustration over something quite minor.

Today was the first day I tried homeschooling since Caleb was born. It’s felt like a busy few months. I didn’t get to everything I wished, but it was a good day. Isaiah has been bit by the baking bug, so we made a pumpkin cake today. It was supposed to have a chocolate topping, but after two cups of sugar in the cake, and four cups of powdered sugar in the filling, I could not fathom adding more sweetener. My lips pucker just thinking about it!

I found my steamer pan, to go over a pot. So I made Mongolian dumplings for dinner. The boys aren’t really sure what to make of this new, creative cook mother. The younger two really hesitate about trying new things, but Abraham, after screwing up his courage to taste the little dumplings, said, “This isn’t bad. I’d say, about as good as a hamburger, but not as good as a cheeseburger.”

Phil reassured me that any insurance issues will work themselves out. Not on my preferred schedule, but eventually. And so we breathe deeply and move on, eating pie and cake.

December 6: In Which I Am Very Grumpy

For the last year especially, I have done my best to be thankful. I have a good life, for the most part, and I am grateful for my many blessings. Thanks be to God.

But this morning, after a travel nightmare and another nightmare in which both my best friend from high school and my sister died in the space of a week (although I don’t regularly speak with my high school friend, I expect that dream was about loss from age 17 until the present), I woke to grey skies and rain, which is never good for the soul.

And, really, God? I had less than 24 hours with running water, a legitimate reason to rejoice, before my car gets totaled? Frankly, that stinks.

The first thing in the morning frustrations piled up. I wanted to clean up the kitchen, and went to empty some bagged powdered sugar into a clean canning jar. But though I had packed Sharpie, scissors, paper and tape into a work bag to label jars (since cornstarch, arrowroot, baking soda, and powdered sugar all look like white powder in a jar on the shelf), the Sharpie had gone missing. So that task remained undone.

I went to head outside to use the bathroom. (The doors we ordered for arrival before Thanksgiving have not arrived yet, and so there is little impetus to get a new sawdust toilet made for the bathroom: privacy does not exist. And so we all head outside.) But I had left my farm shoes in the car when I finally arrived home yesterday after 4. Now way was I wearing my adorable Simples, with their blue and white suede exterior and light red bottom, through the rapidly accumulating mud outside the door. So how was I to go to the bathroom? I held it and grumbled internally.

Poor Caleb had finally settled down late last night and slept fairly well. But the frenectomy had not instantly helped him. He was still smacking as he ate more than not (though the promise that he could eat without smacking, occasionally, gave me some hope). He was spitty, and needy.

My good son who had prepared food the night before had done what I also have done many times: not cleaned up after himself. And while I do recognize that cleanup is unpleasant, the reality was that I had bits of food all over. And since my counters weren’t sealed yet, I was facing a long task of scraping, and rings of water damage, and a stovetop that does not look like it will ever be shiny again. (Probably not from scratches, but from dirty pan bottoms, and the residue that causes.)

I realized, too, that the friend who was supposed to visit today, who I had figured could help Phil move the wall unit into the house, was not going to be able to do that in the midst of a rain, when the ground turned to muck. (In the end, the friend did not come down, but Phil went up to town.)

I finally grabbed Phil’s muck boots and went to the bathroom. We had received delivery of a dumpster on Thursday (which Phil had to deal with, too, while trying to manage the insurance and such remotely). But the dogs had torn open dirty diapers and scattered them around, and bags of trash remained here and there.

Our friends’ Suburban was locked, so I still couldn’t get my shoes.

Feeling frustrated and stymied at every turn, I picked up a few bags of trash and pitched them into the dumpster. That was something I could actually do, and finish. And while picking up bits of poopy diaper, in the rain, is not usually my idea of a good time, it fit my mood and gave me a little space to cry for a bit. The thankfulness I feel that my son and I were uninjured still is balanced by the sorrow I feel that my much-loved van is now lost to us.

Most of these things resolved in time. I got new Sharpies. Phil came out with the keys, without my asking. I got the strewn about garbage picked up before the heavy rains came, so our farm is a bit less of a trash heap now. Caleb settled in to eat, and he started to do better with his feedings.

But the lowest blow came at midday. I called police headquarters to follow through with what the officer had said. “Don’t bother to exchange insurance information. That’s all in the police report. Just have the insurance call headquarters with the police report number and they’ll get all that information. It won’t be filed immediately, but probably by 5 tonight.”

“Hi, I was in a collision yesterday, and was calling to get the insurance information for the other driver, so I can get the insurance process started.”

“Oh, well, we don’t give that information out over the phone. We can mail it to you, or you can come and get it. Oh, but that report hasn’t been filed yet anyway. Maybe try again tonight after 6pm.”

Although anger may be my go-to emotion generally speaking, I only remember one other time in my life feeling so blindingly filled with rage. Fury that took over until I was shaking and crying. I had a visual on the other driver’s insurance information, but his hand was covering the name, and he appeared to be having a heart attack, so I didn’t ask him to please move his thumb. That bit of common courtesy (and, really, what else could I have done?) is biting me now.

Not to mention the incredibly helpless feeling of being misled by the person who was supposed to be in control. Why say you will file something that day, if it won’t happen? Why assure me that I don’t need the insurance information if I actually do?

Phil walked by during my call, and when I got off the phone (the call placed outside, as our reception remains poor here), I began screaming. I screamed for some minutes, ranting at the top of my lungs, then called my sister and ranted to her.

When she could get a word in, she suggested I take as strong a dose of homeopathic Aconite as I could. I did, felt myself settle back down to a normal emotional range, and then read to the boys for some time.

The day got better after that. Phil caulked the countertop, so I no longer have to worry about water droplets falling behind the sink. He used wood compound on the two joints of countertop along the wall, and, when those finished drying, sanded the surface.

Then I used mineral oil to seal it. So the countertop along the wall is finished, and it looks great. How lovely to have a functional surface.

I made a delicious pasta for Phil’s and my lunch, with roasted garlic. (The boys ate pasta just with butter, cheese, tuna, and maybe capers. Their loss.) I made a nice chorizo sausage-avocado-cilantro-egg sandwich for dinner, for those who wanted to try it.

I continue trying to put my life in order, and that is good.

Phil had an encouraging meeting in town, worked on engineering, shot a possum, held The Peanut (as he calls Caleb). He had a fine day, too.

Except for his visit to the police station. The receptionist was understanding, but unable to help. “I can’t even put a note in a file to please mail the paperwork, because there is no file as of yet.”

So we are completely in limbo, and just have to trust that the officer will not die before he gets the paperwork filed. Because if he does, will we ever be able to have the other driver’s insurance cover the accident?

That’s too distressing to think about.

December 5: Less Than 24 Hours Later

I was in a collision today. I’ve never been in a collision. Well, Phil backed a rental car into a car parked illegally, and Phil hit a turkey that caused $3000 damage to a different rental car, but I have never been in a moving-car-accident.

Caleb and I were heading to his frenectomy. He was born a tongue-tied and has dealt with gulping air and choking—not horribly, but enough to be a concern. I am ready for him to be happier and to stop smacking, so I was very committed to getting to this appointment (not to mention that I didn’t want to pay for an appointment I didn’t keep).

I was almost to the dentist’s office, about two blocks away, 15 minutes early for my 10:30 appointment. The light at the double left turn changed to green as I was approaching. There were maybe six cars in the right lane and one in the left lane. The car in the left lane did a U-turn, so the left lane was clear for me.

I thought, “I shouldn’t race through this turn, because I will probably make it, and none of these cars has seen me; no need to rush through their blind spot.” And then, “I hope I make this trajectory correctly,” as the intersection is enormous and I always want to make sure I stay in my lane when I have to drive the length of a football field without lines to guide me. I flicked my eyes in the direction I would be going, and then, when I flicked back, realized that the driver in the right lane was doing an illegal U-turn. He was older, and I wonder if he didn’t realize it was a double left.

I witnessed an accident as a child, and it was terrifying. So I was interested to observe that in the split second that I was braking and realized there was nothing I could do to prevent the accident, I had total peace. There was nothing I could do, I was doing nothing wrong, but two cars cannot occupy the same space. "So this is what an accident feels like."

I was pushed over the median, then drove slowly into the nearest parking lot. I must have been going quite slowly, as the airbag did not deploy and Caleb slept through the whole thing. Right now, ten hours later, I haven’t felt any soreness or pain.

The other car was more disabled, it appeared, but eventually followed. Something had punctured the tire of the vehicle, so I’m sure it was hard to drive. But since four lanes of traffic were coming, I’m glad he was able to clear the road.

“Are you okay?” the passenger asked first thing. The driver got out then. He was shaken to the extent that he could hardly stand, and, when I left, both a fire truck and an ambulance had arrived. I would not be surprised if he was having a heart attack. He was holding his heart and staggering, and I could hardly get a word out of him. I got his name, but no other information.

I told the police officer, when he arrived, that I had a vital appointment that I would really like to make. He took my information, and I drove—slowly—the quarter mile to the appointment.

The frenectomy lasted almost an hour, and Caleb screamed the whole time. It felt like a fitting coda to a stressful morning.

Afterwards, I finally was able to reach Phil. (We had called each other repeatedly at the time of the accident, but were not able to connect. The bummer of living in the country with spotty cell service.)

Then I spent almost two hours on the phone. The insurance company. Phil. Finding the name of a body shop. I was comfortable in the dentist’s waiting room, had a constant stream of tears in relative privacy, and Caleb, exhausted from his ordeal, slept or ate the whole time.

I had a few panic moments. I was an hour from home, and our one vehicle was probably totaled. (Considering that hitting a turkey caused $3000 in damage, and the fact that the passenger door no longer opens, I think a moving collision finished off our van.) The tow truck would come … sometime. I spent 16 minutes trying to tell an insurance person the final destination of the tow truck, and finally gave up. Phil contacted them. I needed a rental car, but didn’t want to get the rental shuttle before the tow truck came. It felt like a stagnating mess.

But now see the provision of the Lord. Besides, of course, the fact that I walked away from an accident.

I called my friend Claire to find out the name of our mutual friend’s body shop. She said, “I’m in town. I will bring you where you need to go. We were going to go to Chipotle in a few minutes. I will bring you Chipotle.” Furthermore, she and her daughters were actually coming to the exact same dentist at 2pm.

When they showed up shortly before 2, I was just finishing getting almost all my stuff out of the van. They had shopping bags to easily transport the various town shoes (less dirty, and stored in the car) and CDs and various building supplies. One noticed the charger that I would have forgotten.

The tow truck showed up then, too. No problem with that.

And, driving separately, Claire's husband arrived also. “I’m taking you to my house and you can take the Suburban home.” So I ate as Louis drove and talked, and then drove the Suburban home. No need to get a rental car, and deal with town driving when I was wiped out. What a great blessing.

Back in mid-October we had asked about buying their Suburban, actually, before I looked at what we had spent for the electrical work and realized we had no extra money at the time.

Caleb slept all the way home. I cried most of the way. I loved that little minivan: its cruise control, how it seated 8, the zippy way it would get off from a stop, how quiet it was, how much it could store.

In some ways, this is a season of both deep gratitude, for the season we’re coming to, and a season of grief.

And then I came in to find Isaiah was making dinner. When the family found out that I was in an accident, they suggested various things to help me: cleaning up, making dinner, praying for me.

I am so grateful they did that, because Caleb's mouth clearly pained him, and he cried inconsolably from 5pm until he fell asleep, wiped out, at 10pm. I am so grateful that he slept during all my calls earlier in the day (I cannot even imagine how bad it would have been otherwise), but sad babies are so hard to deal with. Feel better, baby!

December 4: A Family-Sized Sink

Phil worked out in the blasted trench today. I “helped” for part of it (as in, I added a feeble extra push while Phil strained away), and was impressed to see how very much strength was required to bend the heavy black plastic line.

At about 11am, Phil turned the water on. I think he intended to be cautious, and check the two outdoor junctions first. But the main shutoff valve inside was open, so I went in to check for leaks at that junction and found Jadon in the utility closet, standing with a grin, watching the water push out the air for the first time.

Thankfully, we were good on leaks. (I think the sink had a small one because some part of the faucet wasn’t screwed on all the way, but that was how it came from the manufacturer, and was simply a matter of tightening it down.)

An hour later, we had hot water, too!

And ice in the ice maker (though the first few batches looked pretty heavily laced with chemicals).

And a dishwasher that runs. I hadn’t bought any dishwashing detergent. I used the Dr. Bronner’s that we have, and Phil said that they looked clean. Great!

I spent an hour making dinner: a steak and hash meal. The steak turned hard and rubbery, and the boys didn’t appreciate the hash (kale, cauliflower, fried potatoes). That was too bad.

But after the meal was done, the space exploded in happiness.

For more than four years, if the dishes needed doing, I washed them away from the family. But today, I washed them with the family. Joe, perhaps a bit bored, was eager to help. I would clean off part of the counter, and he would wipe it down. We loaded the dishwasher together. And then I did some dishes and he did some dishes. “I like helping!” he said, multiple times.

And while we were happily busy together, Jadon sat in the recliner chair and held the baby, and Abraham and Isaiah played a high energy, giggling game of dog and master, or something. “That’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” said Isaiah.

And I got to be a part of it! And I got a clean kitchen out of it, too!

And may I just say that the enormous farm sink we have is a dream. When Phil and I first got married, we had an enormous sink, and I have missed it ever since we moved out of that house in 2002. (The next house had a custom kitchen and was configured in a way that would not allow for an enormous sink.) Today I put in the largest frying pans, the cookie sheet, multiple large pots … and they all fit! And were easy to clean!

Another fun thing: Phil hung up the baby’s Johnny-jump-up. Growing up, I remember singing to my siblings when they were in the Johnny-jump-up, and all the brothers since then have enjoyed bouncing. Because our door is rough-framed, Phil just took a piece of wood, screwed it up, and so has a little platform to attach the jumper. The baby appeared to enjoy it.

I found the fourth and final large Lego box in the storage trailer. We have Lego bits coming out our ears. Joe and I spent some time finding pieces for his special people set. We did a good job. He had been missing perhaps 2/3 of the needed pieces, but by days’ end, he was missing only maybe 15 smaller pieces.

The task before us now is to sort by color, with minifigures in their own category. We'll probably need to keep the boxes separated, too, as one is mostly old school Legos from Phil's childhood, one is special sets all mixed up from Boulder, and two boxes are a jumble of sets we've received since arriving here. It’s a bit addicting to sort, like a constant treasure hunt, or a bit of order imposed on a chaotic world.

End November, Begin December

One of my most long-awaited things came the last day of November: bookshelves enough to store a good many of our books.

Phil, knowing how eagerly I've awaited them, powered through the pain for probably about six hours to put them together, including putting in the electrical outlets below them.

I have always had books in boxes: even in Boulder, I kept Sonlight Cores boxed up for the time I would use them. To actually unpack my entire book collection was a lengthy process, and one I relished. I finally got to sort the entire collection by Sonlight Core; non-Sonlight books are divided into young child, middle grades, and mature. I sorted by sequels, by art or history. Saturday night I got off to a good start, but my floor is littered with piles, waiting for companion volumes.

On the first day of December, I actually made a list of new recipes I would like to try. (One of my most happy unpackings was a three-ring binder of recipes I like; I have missed that binder for years.) I went shopping and found all the ingredients I would need.

On December 2nd, I made sure to at least open all the boxes of books still in the storage trailer. Some of them are Phil's books (engineering or otherwise); some are agriculture books, which we aren't keeping on the Ikea shelves; some are books I haven't read yet, and, as such, do not belong on the Ikea shelves. But the rest joined their companions in the piles, waiting.

As I peeked in the last few boxes, I found table extensions. Now we had a table we could all fit around comfortably. And though we don’t have dining room chairs yet, we have one chair from the original dining room set, four folding chairs, and a spelt bucket, so the whole family gathered around the table for dinner. We sat and prayed before we ate, and then we enjoyed cast iron pizza, which was a delicious, quick, thin crust version.

I feel a bit like I've been exhaling stress for the last two weeks. I hadn't wanted to think about how very restrictive the single-toaster-oven, no-dining-table, small-fridge life had been. But I can think about it now. In retrospect, that was tough.

On December 3rd, I was up at 5am, ready to keep sorting books. Getting my life in order is so satisfying, I didn't even need a nap all day.

I made pumpkin bread for breakfast for the boys, and fancy friend rice for Phil. It all tasted so wonderful.

The weather was pleasant, so I moved more boxes of books, and rearranged things so that we could extricate the triple bunk bed. Phil disassembled it, and the boys helped carry it down to where we reassembled it.

We do plan for the boys to have real beds one of these days, with real sheets, but that is another expense and another design-build project for Phil, so I don't think it will happen this December. And rather than have the boys sleep on mats on the floor of the playroom, it is much nicer to have them stashed in beds.

To celebrate, we got out the flannel quilts that were given right before we moved and never used, as I didn’t want them to get dirty. That was a fun addition to their beds.

With the floor mats removed, the boys cleaned up the Legos. It took some time, but they worked with good cheer. And then the sleep room and play room were both dry mopped and clean. Ahh.

I made meatloaf for dinner and everyone had seconds and everyone liked it. Will wonders never cease, as my Mom would say.

And the bookcase, though not done yet is looking really good. I have too many books for the space that's left, but I'll figure it out.

On a completely different note, Abraham's drawing skill has been improving dramatically lately. His drawing of Calvin and Hobbes in a tent made me smile: lanterns, snack, comic book, bread, tuna, pickles, can opener, gun....

November 29: Three Years Running

The last two years, the Thanksgiving weekend has proved unfortunate for us. After a pleasant day with friends and family on Thursday, something unpleasant happens later.

In 2011, our cow Catherine went down. Phil figured she was almost dead, and we had the vet out for the first and only time. She got up unassisted before the vet arrived, but he basically told us that we were starving our cows with our rotational grazing practices. We were doing our best, but were clueless. We know a lot more now.

In 2012, our neighbor graciously brought us a deer he had shot. Phil jumped to get the hook for hanging, and strained the ligaments in his finger, which basically stopped all construction for the next two months. It was a frustrating time for us, one of the hardest I think we’ve been through.

Sadly, 2013 continues the string of unfortunate events. When we arrived home about midnight, the ground had frozen. We have a floodlight, but it doesn’t reach up quite high enough now for us to walk in the light all the way from car to door. There are several dozen feet without light.

Phil usually brings a flashlight with him, because he prefers not to walk in darkness. For some reason, though, he had no flashlight and turned off the lights of the car that we sometimes use to light the way.

I carried down the foodstuffs and diaper bag, and was heading back up to get sleeping Joe when Phil yelled for me to help. “I can’t breathe! Take Caleb!”

He wasn’t having a heart attack, thankfully. But he had slipped or tripped on a hump of frozen earth (mounded up due to the digging of that blasted trench) and fallen, not to the ground, but onto the clawfoot tub sitting there. On the right side, Caleb was unharmed (though startled and screaming). On the left side, Phil probably cracked some ribs.

I dosed with Arnica, and Phil woke late this morning without any apparent bruising. But almost any movement was agony for him. By midafternoon, he said, “I am going crazy! I can read, but I don’t want to read! There are things I want to be doing, but I can’t!”

In the evening, he was holding Caleb in the recliner while I finished dinner. Isaiah, affectionately, pulled the back of the chair down. The angle was such that Phil’s ribs did something excruciating. He cried out, and when I got there to grab the baby, I think he was fighting back tears.

It would not be my preference to have Phil out of commission for the next month or so. But now that I have a table, and a real workspace, I can haul dishes back and forth as needed, washing in the RV. A work stop, so close to completion, is probably worse for Phil than it is for me.

I spent my day continuing to shuffle kitchen goods. I think I have gone through the RV cupboards and closets. There are some more things to wash (not enough time for that project to be done yet), but I felt like I made good progress.

I found a couple little jars of Thai curry paste that I had forgotten about. I had a chuck roast thawed and waiting to be eaten, and I made Thai Massaman curry, with potatoes and beef in a red curry coconut sauce, over rice. It was excellent. I often burn the bottom of rice, but today the rice cooked perfectly, with the delicious grains nicely separated, not smooshed together.

So I am in a happy place. I found several sets of Star Wars Legos for the boys, and they put them together. I once gave Phil a star destroyer, and that set, fully built, is about as long as Joe. It’s huge! The boys are under strict instructions that, when they are finished enjoying them, the sets must be separated again and stored properly. If multiple sets happen to break into pieces and mix (as has happened to all new sets for the last four years), someone will have to rebuild and then store.

They heard that. And they had a great time, for hours, moving the minifigures around.

So I sing in the kitchen, the boys laugh in the bedroom, and Phil, in pain, sits in silence in the recliner, unable to do what he wants to do.

November 28: Thanksgiving

Something metallic woke me with a start.

“Oh,” Phil mumbled. “Maybe that was the mousetrap. We found a mouse inside last night.”

All hopes for sleep vanished in that moment. All day yesterday, extracting utensils from mouse droppings and washing them, pouring slightly nibbled packages into glass jars … all day, all I could think was, “This is all going to a mouse-free environment!”

But, no. This is the country. Apparently there is no such thing as a mouse-free environment. Mouse on the lam, and no evidence to find him. (And we can only hope it's a male, and not a pregnant female. Don't think about it!)

Although it didn’t quite drive me to tears for the third time in three days, it brought me very, very close.

Life. It’s imperfect. Get over it.

(And I found out later that Phil had stayed up until 2am, cleaning up the various boxes and other debris, hoping to rid the house of mouse. All for naught.)

On this Thanksgiving Day I made six loaves of bread. Four loaves of spelt, and two of pumpkin. My in-laws found a large KitchenAid mixer at an estate sale. Much as I have loved my KitchenAid, it is the small version, capable of two loaves of bread at a time. Phil isn’t convinced two loaves is enough for a day: “I sometimes go looking for bread at night and there isn’t any.”

I’ve been looking at baking three loaves of bread each day, and the larger mixer can help me do that. They all turned out beautifully. What a great joy, to prepare food in a climate-controlled space, and bake four loaves at once in a real, sealable oven.

And then leave the door propped open to let the smell of bread baking waft through the air, spreading both warmth and tantalizing taste buds.

I have been concerned about the temperature. It dropped to about 22 degrees outside, and with only a single radiator-style space heater, it was pretty cold in the night.

Then we pulled down a second heater. Both run at full heat, 24-hours a day. Combined with the exhalations of seven people, and the solar gain on the days the sun shines, we are plenty warm, even when the night temperatures drop to 22 and the wind blows. It’s pretty amazing!

Phil cleared off the recliner chair. “I’m in heaven.”

A bit later he carried down and reassembled our kitchen table, too. We don’t have enough chairs, but a few people can sit there. Very nice! Shockingly nice, really, to have a place to sit down, a spacious place, to eat.

We had a lovely Thanksgiving dinner. Phil dressed in clothes no one has seen him in, but he used to wear regularly: collared shirt, sweater vest. That used to be normal.

We arrived home shortly before midnight.

November 27: Crawlspace Waterbed

In the morning, the rain had stopped. The water in the utility closet had slowed to a very slow drip. Everything seems better in the morning.

Lately we’ve read and talked through some of Proverbs. Solomon uses words that may need explanation ("Froward" means "perverse," for example), and so we talk through maybe half a chapter, verse by verse. The startling bit today was that Wisdom calls in the street, but if you refuse to listen, she says that she will laugh at the day of calamity. That’s such an “I told you so!” response as to be shocking, unchristian. And yet … she offered to make fools wise, and they refused. So is that shocking? Or just a natural, right response, unkind though it may seem?

After he played some card games with the boys, Phil worked on storage cabinets for most of the rest of the day: doors, shelves, handles. The temperature is supposed to plummet tonight (“feels like 10” the forecast promised). I gathered together my kitchen goods from the white barn and RV; I cleaned various appliances and foodstuffs. Rather than five gallon buckets of popcorn and spelt and oats in the barn, I now have half gallon glass canning jars filled and on my shelves. If I want to mill some spelt, I open the jar and pour it in. So easy! So clean! I don't have to wipe snails off the spelt buckets (that is, until I need to refill the glass jars). And they look so nice, too.

Caleb probably didn’t need to eat more than usual, but I have a lot of kitchen goods and it felt like I was interrupted regularly. By end of day, I had not nearly finished putting the food and equipment where it should all be.

At one point, though, Phil headed down to work in the crawl space. And the rain yesterday had pooled at the corner of the house, where the grading is not quite finished because Phil had so much to do, he moved on to something else, something urgent at that moment. Phil said that he was walking on the plastic and about midway across the crawlspace, it suddenly felt like a waterbed.

Phil is so, so close to being done in the crawlspace, but will he get to work down there even yet this week? Hard to say.

As long as the end was not in sight, I could deal with most setbacks with equanimity. But the idea of even a few days’ delay brought me, yet again, to tears.

On further reflection, though, I can manage a few days’ delay. I can manage even for weeks. We will survive. We always have.

November 26: A Rainfall Disaster

We woke to a slow drizzle. No big deal.

It wasn't until late afternoon that the horrible part of the day began.

To set the stage: the rain had been picking up all day. It was now falling quite steadily.

In the morning I had gone up to work in a space where I have consistent internet. It was unheated and cold inside; so cold that an unopened bottle of sparkling water had partially frozen. I found it hard to get warm after being chilled to the bone, so I spent a few hours afterwards huddled over a space heater.

When I wasn't quite as chilled, and the water was somewhat thawed in the RV (hooray!), I did dishes for an hour. Nice hot water, but my feet were icy by the time I was done. To warm up, I huddled under down comforters and fed the baby. I drank hot tea, but it didn’t warm me up all the way. I dozed off. When I woke up, I figured I should go start the steaks for dinner.

Before I left, I looked at some pictures the boys had drawn. And I heard a very odd noise, like gushing water.

In the utility room, I found the culprit: the pipe that Phil had carefully dug and placed yesterday, but not backfilled entirely lest he be unable to actually hook it up at the right time, was gushing orange, muddy water into the utility room. On the other side of the wall, the rain-drenched land had absorbed all it could, and now was sheeting down into the lowest point, the not-backfilled hole, now filled with water and seeking a lower place: our utility room.

I called for Phil and quickly found a bucket. Incredibly, the bulk of this terrific run-off had poured directly into a 6” square cardboard box. Once the bucket was in place, I poured the box out into the bucket. The box had held at least a quart, and I caught it before it disintegrated. Small mercy. A quart of muddy water is quite a bit.

Phil was home, recently returned from an errand. He turned the pipe up and the water stopped flowing. Small mercy.

With a damp floor and assorted plumbing and electrical bits littering the space, I left to go cook steaks.

This attempt was an utter failure. Not only was I wet and cold, but the steaks refused to cut no matter what knife I used. They were practically raw, despite following Phil’s instructions (perfectly suited for a different cut of steak). And I am predisposed to hate steaks because trying to get rid of the silverskin or gristle takes so much time: I think, for the most part, I’d rather eat some ground beef and call it good.

As I was trying the fifth knife, Phil came in to check on me. I was at the stage of the downward spiral where nothing seems like it will go right again: ruined steaks, more steaks in the freezer and those will (of necessity) also be ruined, cold, rainy, I was the one who suggested we dig the trench that poured out muddy water, grumpy boys, no internet....

Phil took the steaks to try to figure out what to do with them. If I was ready to toss them to the dogs, they could hardly get worse. I would carry the bread and toppings. He offered to wait for me, but I have a little pride issue about my ability to walk around the farm in the dark (never had any issues before), so I told him to go along.

In this case, "pride goes before a fall"—literally. I was carrying a cutting board and a heavy paper bag of groceries. The terrain was uneven and settling because the newly dug trench bisects the path I took. I stepped, and my foot sank. I stepped again and found myself down, fallen on elbow and muddy to waist.

Now sobbing loudly, I gathered most of the groceries into the torn, damp paper bag. A loaf of bread dropped out as I made my way to the boys, squelching on a mud clod in my shoe at every step.

I had finally bought a new farm jacket some weeks back, after the down NorthFace jacket I had loved since age 19 finally completely wore out last year (not only was it filthy, not only was it torn in multiple places from bits of wire on fences, not only was the down torn out around both sleeves, but the zipper was broken so that both sides stuck together in one place, requiring me to step into the jacket if I wanted even a bit of warmth).

My new farm jacket is rated to 10 degrees. It is navy blue firehose canvas, comes down over m hips, and is warm and beautiful.

And now it was ruined, at least for trips to town. Orange patch on elbow, orange on hem. (Truly, the amount of orange was less than I expected, considering how far I fell.)

I rescued the bread: only a small part of the bottom was muddy: how it landed on the ground did little damage.

But I should have been thankful. I was wearing nice jeans, but had just put on quilted overpants to keep more warm. Those were muddy, but not the jeans. And those quilted overpants are made to be muddy.

I found out later that I had stepped right into one end of the trench; basically, I stepped into a hole. I didn’t have to fall far to hit my elbow. No wonder I felt like I was lolling on the ground. I sort of was, except the ground was two feet down at that spot.

Instead, I was in tears and full of complaints. Why must everything be so hard? I emailed my sister and mother that I felt like a character in a Hemingway book.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

Hemingway: To die. In the rain.

Amy: To get to the dropped bread. In the rain. Left in the wake of a ruined new jacket.

While I was bemoaning my lot via email, Phil was being an adult. He cooked the steaks under the broiler which magically made them both edible and cuttable. He mopped up the utility closet and dealt with the leak that was developing. He put the cheese and meat and other assorted groceries away. He cut off the bread bits that were muddy.

When I was done venting, I ate some steak (pre-cut, mind you) and felt human again.

But the leak in the utility closet then intensified. And that was the battle we fought all evening and through the night. The water dripped and streamed a bit from chin-height. We had to somehow keep it from completely ruining the floor, the back of drywall, the framing, the paint. I used one method, and it started to flow into the crawlspace, which is now covered with black plastic (meaning, the muddy water would not just sink down through the gravel and away).

Phil went out to fill the hole back in as best he could. He stepped down and almost lost a boot, but had the good sense to keep foot in boot and dig his foot out. He covered the exterior pipe with a bucket, and it helped. A little.

He tried this a second time, later, but was then out of ideas and options. I mopped up every half hour, and then covered the back of the drywall with plastic wrap. That at least stopped the spatters from real damage.

But the better idea was to put a towel over the leak, and stick a pipe on the bottom of a towel, to direct the water right into the bucket.

We dumped the water, always two or three gallons worth, at 10:30pm, 12:30am, 1:15am, 2am, 5am. It was not a fun night.

I was grieving over my bad idea. Phil was grieving because “I knew in my gut it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t figure out why in my mind, and so I did it anyway.” I was sad for being so anxious to be done that I put pressure on; Phil was sad for giving in so readily.

It felt like we were Adam and Eve. “’Just dig the trench,’ said she, to her husband, who was with her.”

November 24 and 25

On Sunday, after church and community group, Jonelle and I looked through homeopathy books, comparing what we’ve used the last year with the course we’re looking to transfer into. We are excited about the books we’ll be using: much superior to what we’ve been using.

On Monday, I had a day in the car: up to Charlottesville to drop off Jonelle and home again. Up to Charlottesville to take three boys for evaluations by the holistic dentist and home again.

Jonelle was blessed with travel mercies: she caught a standby flight for the second leg of the trip and made it home hours earlier than she would have.

I had a mercy at the dentist. Although the appointment was scheduled for Jadon, Abraham, and Joe (all cavity-free, thankfully), I asked about Caleb’s difficulty latching on. It turns out he is pretty severely tongue-tied and has a very high dental palate. A frenectomy (to cut the frenum and free his tongue) can be done without anaesthetic up to six months: that might allow him to avoid later dental issues, and it will certainly help with his latch.

I’ve scheduled it for ten days from now.

We returned home to find that Phil had had a profitable four hours. He had dug a trench and laid a water line, and backfilled the trench.

Our water to the RV froze last night. We have done no dishes. We have steaks thawed, but no plates to eat them on, no forks to eat them with, no knives to cut them into bits. So we had popcorn for dinner. And some bread.

When we have no water, life feels much harder than normal.

Phil told me later that he had had an issue with water, too. I had done a good job during his illness making sure the water line was unhooked from the spigot to the cows. But the line curled in a few places, and the water in those places froze. To water the cows, he had to go out with a blowtorch and melt the water, but not the plastic. I suspect it took quite a long time.

November 23: Visiting Provision

Phil’s chemical prostration continued through today, at least as bad as yesterday. How frustrating for him and us!

Jonelle and I had a productive day, though. We had gone to bed waiting on the paint to dry. The second stage of the Annie Sloan's Chalk Paint process is to put on a wax that will bind to the paint and make it durable (or something like that). Another thing the salespeople didn't mention is that the paint is almost smell-free, but the wax is quite toxic-smelling. Blah.

Bt Jonelle waxed the dresser first thing. Then put on the new handles. It looks fabulous, and makes me smile every time I look at it.

I also have a garage sale bookcase that has been useful, though ugly.

Because we had to mix two colors, Jonelle used the straight navy to paint the bookcase. It was tough to paint in the creases, but after two coats of paint and the wax, it looks entirely different. I love it now!

I enjoyed putting all Phil’s work clothes away. I almost cried to Jonelle that Phil had so few clothes that were fit to be seen in public. She said, “But he’s a farmer. He can wear work clothes that get worn out.” This was a good thought, a continuation of the conversation we had begun earlier in the week. I can think of myself as a person who lives in the country. I can wear clothes I like and change into work clothes if I head out to garden or help Phil. But I don’t have to live in work clothes that are the wrong color or make me feel ugly. I’ll keep a few less-than-stellar things for my work times, but can choose to dress nicely the rest of the time. (Also, I then found bags of professional clothes that Phil had worn when he worked in an office, so he actually has tons of clothes fit to be seen in public; they just haven't seen the light of day in a few years.)

I was surprised by how the boys eagerly came to try on clothes. Abraham was happy to find three hoodies that fit, and Joe came and wanted to find hoodies, too. I don’t think I was happy to try on clothes when I was their age.

The most amazing moment of the day was when we headed up to move the wardrobe. If we could move the wardrobe, we could finish putting the boys’ clothes away. Jonelle and I scooted the wardrobe over to the door, then tipped it carefully out. “It doesn’t weigh that much!” she said hopefully, to which I replied, “It’s all relative.” But when we actually pulled it out of the door, it was much heavier than we expected.

Just as we were standing, confounded and unsure of what to do next, we heard a yell: “Lykoshes!”

Doug and Denise Bush “happened” to stop by at that precise second. Doug came running when he saw us, and took over the wardrobe moving process, until it was in place. Phew! I think Jonelle and I might have died if we had tried to do that on our own. Such a gracious provision of the Lord, when Phil was completely unable to help.

Jonelle vacuumed the construction debris, thought about nice groupings of wall decorations, and spent an hour or so with me going through a mass of accumulated life-debris (what my mother would call "rummel," which, I have heard, means "sand" in Arabic). I held the sleeping baby and she put things in boxes or give away bag or with like items until the mass appeared more manageable.

After I had managed all day on about four hours of sleep, we went to bed early.

November 22: An Amazing Amount of Errands

Jonelle and I had a seriously burly day. We got ready as fast as we could to leave, and left the farm at 10:30 with the two littlest children, a girl almost 2 and Caleb, almost 6 weeks.

In Charlottesville, I withdrew cash at the bank.

We went to Lowe’s and had a fabulous time buying about 15 assorted things. Normally I wouldn't think of a stop at a big box store as the highlight of a day, but because we had the littles, everyone—not just the women but male employees and scruffy men—gave us big smiles and tried to see the baby’s face. Caleb nursed while I sat on the floor and Jonelle and two employees picked out tiles and the setting mortar and grout and tools. The first person to help us was a young lady, and she was soon joined by a young man.

When I asked the young lady where to find a particular part, she said, “I’m a girl. I don’t know what that stuff is called. We’ll ask him.” And he first showed us a photo of his 6-week-old on his phone, and then answered our questions for every other item. Aisle 12, aisle 16, aisle 17, aisle 24. It was brilliant. We knew, then, exactly where to go.

Jonelle and I had talked earlier about Virginians, and how I thought the people were a friendly bunch. “Yes, people here are friendlier,” Jonelle said.

The particular part I needed was a nut and bolt. Quickly stymied in finding the identical part, we asked for help from a cheerful man with an accent: “We are females and are clueless. We need help!” He gave us a little tutorial on how to locate the proper bolts (match them into the guides on the wall, count the number of threads) and how to buy them (put them in a bag and mark the quantity and part number). We also needed a piece to hold up the shelves in the armoire, and he helped us again. He was still holding the final brass shelf-holder and I laughed and said, “Yes, you probably don’t want to keep that as a reminder of our time here,” and he laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t need that to remember you.”

He was wearing a ring, and we had our babies with us, so was that outrageous flirting, or just good cheer? In any case, we left the store almost giddy with good experiences.

On to Whole Foods, where we again had happy interactions with clerks.

Then we located Michael’s in the local shopping center. I had found some art and wanted to frame it. Jonelle went in first and I stayed in the car to feed the baby and eat a sandwich.

Picking frames and mats is not easy, so it was really helpful to have her there. And then the pieces were all 25% off! We left feeling really good about our experience.

So then we hit the walking mall to get Annie Sloan's Chalk Paint at a new store in town. After paying $2.75 to park, we had an hour.

This was the first sour note to the day. Chalk Paint is not the same as chalkboard paint (which is cool in its own way). Chalk Paint is a thick paint that does not require sanding before painting, nor between coats. I had really set my heart on a particular blue, and they had pulled the last can from the shelves just 20 minutes before. (Why they mentioned this—I don’t know. It didn’t help, but instead made me frustrated that we hadn't come earlier.) A nice red was my back-up color. That was out of stock. Grey was a distant third. That was out of stock. So was the burgundy.

We briefly considered driving to the next store, but it would have been several more hours in the car and, actually, they were out of the blue also.

Thanks be to God, Jonelle has an art background. She suggested combining two colors, a bright green and a solid navy, and those two, fingerpainted together, made an approximation of the color we wished for.

After buying the needed wax and a medium brush, we were out of there; a bit deflated, but pleased that we had the chance to move forward.

Eliana was getting ragged and Caleb was getting fussy, but we quickly stopped at the high-end lingerie shop. Jonelle was again a huge help, and getting the properly sized undergarments completely reshaped my body.

Hurry, then, to the car to avoid a ticket or towing. Caleb was fussy, but we didn’t want to pay $2.75 so I could sit there and feed him. I was going to stop at a local elementary school, done for the day, to feed him, but he was sleeping, so we drove on to the post office. He slept through that, and new homeopathic books had arrived.

Home again by 4pm, we found Phil, completely prostrated from chemical exposure the day before. It took quite some time for Jonelle and me to unload all the purchases, and Caleb slept through it all.

At 6:30, we received delivery of a beautiful dresser. One of the knobs had fallen off, but the owner found it and will mail it to me.

The weather was a magnificent, balmy 62, so we moved bags of clothes.

Then, after the children went to bed (slumber party again!), I worked on framing (most of the frames gave us fits: they would not work unless there were no mats, and even then … super tight. Some pictures I just used cardboard as a backing and taped it up.

The pieces I finished, though, were magnificent. I am so pleased!

Jonelle sanded the dresser down for a time, and then began to paint.

The Chalk Paint had been built up too much for us, so we were quite underwhelmed, verging on disgusted. If all that was promised was that we wouldn't have to sand, that would have been great news. But none of the other assurances came to pass.

Yes, the paint is thick and the brush chunky. Jonelle had a good time with it, at least for the first hour. The heavy brush did tire her out, after that. (I am not a painter. I tried a few brush strokes, but Caleb was fussy, so I didn’t do much. I would probably not do it again.)

But the “one, maybe two coats” reassurance did not prove to be our experience. Neither did the “ten minutes and dry” promise (we finally went to bed about two hours after the third coat, still waiting). We did get a fairly good amount of coverage, but the dresser took more than the cup of paint that the store suggested we might need.

Plus, because we hadn't had the cans premixed, we needed to get not only the color we desired but also the right quantity, because if we didn't mix the entire amount, we could never match it perfectly to do a bit more for touch up. Our first color was a bit too green (see foreground drawers), but the second coat was exactly the blue we were after (see background dresser).

Plus, we had received so many reassurances about how we don’t need to sand or prep, that when the paint dramatically threw into relief just how not flat the sanding job had been—it was a bit of a bummer all around.

But we ended the day well. Jonelle searched through the newly arrived homeopathic repertory and we talked through remedies for Caleb. He continues to be just uncomfortable, choking in the night, aspirating some of the reflux, wheezing, fussing, sometimes reaching full-blown panic. He is very sweet and not intentionally cranky. He just doesn’t feel good.

Jonelle suggested Calc carb, and after we discussed, I dosed him. Almost immediately he fell more deeply asleep. He did have a bit of a choke about an hour later, so I dosed again.

So the day was a mad rush, but good!

November 21: An Ugly Dresser

On Thursday morning, I continued to deal with the things from my wardrobe while Jonelle started to replace the veneer on the dresser that Phil loves and I loathe.

Our friend Susan gave it to Phil before we were married. It’s about 100 years old, and does have beautifully dove-tailed drawers and wooden runners. But the veneer is peeling off much of the top and part of every drawer.

And the top drawer, randomly, has a bit of black inlay that isn't on any other drawer. Why?

We checked online and found directions to refresh it: cut the veneer so it is missing in squares and rectangles instead of flaky bits. Use wood veneer tape, an iron-on adhesive, to fill in the missing spots. After the veneer tape is stuck down, smear on wood filler to make it all even. Then sand.

Jonelle chipped away for many hours. I would never have had the patience. Then we used veneer tape, purchased at the local hardware store, to fill in the spots. I will say, that was pretty awesome, to see how easily it sticks down.

We spent the evening going through the middle three boys’ clothes: sorting, folding, in some cases tossing. We talked about homeopathy, which was quite fun.