A couple months ago time-outs became tough. Our rule used to be you had to sit in the time-out corner in the dining room for the number of minutes equivalent to your age—and if you kicked, screamed, or otherwise created drama, time-out started over.
There was kicking, screaming and drama. Always. It was miserable, for everyone.
Now the kids have to sit in time-out and gently hold the timer. I explained that it’s glass and holding it is like holding a bird’s egg—if it’s dropped or thrown, it breaks. The gentle handling requires almost immediate calmness.
It’s also a five-minute timer. At first I worried this would be too long, but they spend the entire time watching the sand fall, and they calm, calm, calm.
Once the sand runs out we spend time talking about why the time-out had to happen, and follow-up with the usual apologies to those needing them, hugs and “I love you” from me.
It’s not foolproof. But for the most part it has greatly improved what had become a nonworking discipline technique.
Rarely do I have success with these sort of things, so when I do, I feel the need to pass these tricks along.
“While you’ll feel compelled to charge forward it’s often a gentle step back that will reveal to you where you and what you truly seek.” —Rasheed Ogunlaru
Last night ice crystals formed on our single-pane, leaded-glass windows that frame our front door.
This morning, I noticed the most beautiful ice formations on the window in our half bath, accentuated by the early morning sun.
And then Owen climbed up on the stool to wash his hands and … nothing.
I looked at the ice crystals and let out a slow and heavy sigh.
We had forgotten to let the faucets drip overnight.
I read some “how to thaw frozen pipes” articles online, all of which talked about the importance of prevention. I called Andy at work. I turned on all the other faucets in our house (which were still working) to a slow trickle. I turned on the half-bath faucet, too. I put a space heater in the half bath, turned it up to 70° and shut the door.
Our house is more than 100 years old. The half bath was an addition. There is nothing below it, except a crawl space (which we discovered after moving into the house was used to store piles of slate tile that once served as the roof on the house—we’ve since turned several into mini chalkboards).
“You have to go into the crawl space,” Andy said, over the phone. “You have to find out what’s going on in there.”
On went my boots, coat, mittens, hat and scarf around my face. I bribed the kids with Neccos (yes, it was still morning) and TV. Out I went. Except the four-foot door, made out of wood and lattice and held on with rusty hinges, wouldn’t open. I looked down to see that a block of the concrete sidewalk had risen high enough to block the opening of the door.
I pulled, and pulled, and pulled.
Back inside, I called Andy.
“The pipes are more important than the door,” he said. “Do I need to come home?”
“No,” I said. I was determined to handle this mini household emergency myself.
I dressed again, and went back outside with a hammer. I looked for a pin to pull out in the hinges, but everything was ice-encrusted and rusted over. Still, I hit the hinges with my hammer a few times. Nothing.
So I lifted up and pulled on the door, with all my might, thinking if the door broke, so be it.
Success.
I crawled into the crawl space, smiled at the piles of slate tiles and wondered about the old moulding and hooks that were also down there. I could do something with that, I thought. I tried to focus.
I could (obviously) see no pipes. All I saw was cold stone foundation, and some poured concrete.
And then, I heard screaming. Owen screaming. A blood-curdling scream followed by sobbing.
I ran out as fast as I could to find him on our icy deck, in his winter coat on but upside down, barefoot.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I screamed, scooping him up and rushing him inside.
As I rubbed his feet to warm them up he said, “I wanted to help you and I couldn’t find my shoes.”
(He’s fine.)
Back outside. I cleared out some debris and carried another space heater down to the crawl space (where, conveniently, there was a plug). I plugged it in, turned it up to 70° and shut the door.
Then I went back inside and read up on the dangers of space heaters, freaking myself out well enough that I checked on it (which required re-dressing for the weather) every 20 minutes throughout the day.
Around 3pm I noticed the ceiling of the crawl space bulging. I could see the insulation peeking out. I also noted past water stains.
Surely, I thought, our pipes had cracked and the space was filling up with water.
I went back inside, called Andy.
“Drill a hole,” he said. “See what happens.”
So I grabbed our drill, chucked a 3/8″ bit into it and didn’t think about the possibility of accidentally drilling into the pipe until I was halfway through the drilling job. I pulled the bit out, held my breath and waited.
Nothing.
Back inside. Back to peeling clementines, building Lego towers, insisting on Christmas thank-you notes, soaking a doll’s hair in a concoction of water and fabric softener, negotiating TV time, fruit snacks and games on the computer.
Back to checking the crawl space.
Over and over.
And then, something clicked. The space heater running in the bath wasn’t pushed up right next to the pipe. I was simply using it to heat the space, in general. I felt the pipe, behind our pedestal sink, and close to hardwood floor it was, indeed, very cold. So I pushed the space heater up practically against the pipe and set the temperature for 75°. And while peeling clementines (for the 10th time that day) I heard the noise of rushing water—it was from our faucet, into our sink.
I’m still holding my breath. Having only lived in 100-plus-year-old houses since Andy and I have been married, I’m used to things not working out. In fact, I still keeping checking the crawl space, expecting to find water everywhere.
But for now, we have running water. And for now, our pipes haven’t burst. And forever more, I’ll run a bit of water every time it gets this cold (that’s what you’re supposed to do, right?).
Fingers crossed.
“Three feet of ice does not result from one day of cold weather.” —Chinese Proverbs quotes
“We kids feared many things in those days—werewolves, dentists, North Koreans, Sunday School—but they all paled in comparison with Brussels sprouts.” —Dave Barry
Grateful for heat and a hot gas fireplace and worn-in flannel pajama pants and the draft stopper Sophie made with Nini for the window by her bed and the space heater in the boys’ bedroom and my black kettle and a (mostly) working stove and being able to put additional quilts on all of my sleeping children tonight. Grateful for the wonder of what negative daytime temperatures feel like without the worry.
May all living things find such simple, necessary comfort tonight and tomorrow.
“[W]hat a severe yet master artist old Winter is. … No longer the canvas and the pigments, but the marble and the chisel.” —John Burroughs
She achieved this milestone by chomping on the now rock-hard gingerbread house she helped make a couple weeks ago.
However, not realizing she had lost her tooth, she swallowed it (hence the nervous smile). She came to me, bloody mouth, in tears.
I hugged her and gave her a wet washcloth to bite. We danced and then I told her that we’d simply leave a note for the tooth fairy explaining what happened.
It also surprised me how much difference discreet teeth straightening made not just to my confidence, but to my oral hygiene routine too. I had assumed private braces were purely cosmetic, but the way my bite was corrected has improved my chewing and made cleaning between teeth far easier. For anyone considering a more tailored route to a healthier smile, I can highly recommend checking out The Brace Place for private braces and comprehensive oral health care solutions—they completely changed how I look after my teeth and how I feel about them.
Then, I called the doctor.
Honestly, I expected a “no big deal.” And it’s not, not really. But they do want to make sure it doesn’t get stuck in her intestinal track. Which means we have to make sure it, well, comes out.
No one tells you these things, before you become a parent …
“Other than a dimple in a cute little chin, What’s more adorable than a toothless grin?” —Azu ‘Betty’ Espezia
I make wishy-washy New Year’s resolutions. To write them down would simply be overwhelming. There’s so much I want do do but mostly, I just want to do better.
But if I were to write them down, “do better with my blog” would top the list. Gosh I was terrible last year. I love to make excuses so here’s one: I get behind, and I don’t know how to catch up. Example: I haven’t posted about Halloween, so how can I post about New Year’s?
As my mom has told me several times, it doesn’t matter.
So here’s my New Year’s post. Halloween will likely be a month from now.
Today:
I restarted (for the fourth time) my Loseit.com goal. I am a cliché. And starving.
Around 10am I convinced Sophie to climb into bed with me while Owen and James ran around the house shooting these Plane toy things at breakable things. It was snowy and windy and cold and we curled up together under my down comforter and my new raw wool blanket (a perfect Christmas present) and Sophie chatted on and on and on about “Garfield and Friends” (yes, the TV show from the late 1980s, she’s obsessed) and I listened and nodded and laughed and slightly dozed and as much as I love Christmas and all its decadence the decadence of just sitting in bed mid-morning doing nothing was, well, decadent.
I made a lunch that no one ate and one that Owen cried most of the way through because it wasn’t cinnamon-sugar toast, which is what he wanted.
We spent 40 minutes getting dressed to spend 20 minutes out in the snow.
It was gorgeous outside.
We built the world’s worst snowman. We were out of carrots (the reindeer ate them). I tried celery for a nose but it was much too big. So I used found vegetation. “It’s a bit lumpy,” Sophie said regarding the snowman’s smile.
We played.
Once inside I made hot chocolate. We were out of milk, so it wasn’t the cocoa-sugar-milk-vanilla-stovetop kind my mom always made us, but the instant powdery kind made with a kettle of hot water, which Sophie told me several times “wasn’t nearly as good.” But I threw in a ton of marshmallows, which helped.
Then I sat outside the half bath for more than an hour with hot tea, waiting. (Details aren’t necessary except to say we’re still potty training.)
I made dinner with hands that smelled like clementines. Dusk fell and the snowflakes fell slower but bigger—they were beautiful. I wished for George Winston in the background but Team Umizoomi won.
Andy was late (traffic) and cold. I fled upstairs to do freelance work for three hours while he played board games and insisted on bedtimes.
I ended the evening by finishing “Les émotifs anonymes,” (a lovely film), eating popcorn and drinking tea.
And now I’m back in bed, under my down comforter and raw wool blanket, listening to icy snow hit our drafty, old windows that rattle in the wind but are so fitting to the house we never want to change.
And even though it’s just a moment, a day, a month, I’m happy for new beginnings—for a chance to restart goals, improve upon one’s self—to try again.
“I made no resolutions for the new year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.” —Anaïs Nin
We watched “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” tonight and it reminded Andy of this video. He played it for the kids—I forgot how much I love it. So it’s an oldie (December 2011), but one of our family’s favorites.
“And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.” —Dr. Seuss
It’s snowing and almost Christmas so, basically, the perfect time to post about our summer vacation, no? To prepare for your vacation abroad, you may want to read flight and hotel reviews at RewardTrek. Those who would like to travel sustainably may look into eco-friendly accommodations from CarbonClick. Families who are planning a trip to Africa may consider booking a luxurious Rovos Rail Durban to Pretoria journey. Adventure-seekers, on the other hand, should consider planning a trip to Bali and booking a rafting bali ubud adventure. Contact an Airport Driver to schedule airport pick-up or drop-off services.
When we learned that Andy’s cousin, Julie, had gotten engaged, Andy and I talked about flying out, just the two of us, to attend her wedding. But then she sweetly asked Sophie to be a flower girl, and the boys to be ring bearers. (To illustrate how excited Sophie was with this request, let me just say that she practiced daily—and for months we had loose silk flowers all over our house.)
The rest is my fault.
I Google Mapped the drive from Fort Thomas to Dallas (where the wedding took place) and then decided I wanted to spend a day or two at the ocean (which is not at all on the way). And then I thought about how long it had been since we visited Andy’s sister, Liz, in Atlanta. So I tacked that on. I tried to add on a few days in New Orleans and Memphis, but Andy cut me off. If you also plan to do a long drive, we recommend that you search for a towing or wrecker service Roanoke so you’ll know who to call in case of a car issue on the road. Working on an oil change and all the necessary car maintenance must also be done prior to your road trip to ensure that your vehicle is in top condition.
I’m pretty sure I packed all the kids’ clothes.
All of them.
First stop—Atlanta. We met Liz and Eric for pizza at Mellow Mushroom.
We had ice cream after. We let the kids share one bowl, picking whatever they wanted—which resulted in a chocolate-dipped waffle cone with orange ice cream topped with gummy bears. I said I was full.
The kids were thrilled with the hotel room. Considering most nights we have at least one-if-not-two kids in our queen-size bed with us we thought it would be no big deal to all pile in a king-size bed.
We were wrong.
Hotel cuteness.
After breakfast with Liz and Eric, we headed onto Pensacola, Florida. We stopped here for boiled peanuts. Turns out, I don’t like boiled peanuts. I do wish, though, I could capture everything about the man who sold them to us—he has been selling them on the side of the road for sixty-plus years, I think (June was a long time ago now). He and his stories were worth the stop.
Next stop: the ocean!
Turns out, Owen isn’t a fan of the beach. He is a fan of sitting in his beach chair eating fruit snacks all afternoon, however.
Later that day we discovered Quietwater Beach—which was basically a knee-deep, bathwater-temperature haven for the kids.
We wore them out that day.
And then promptly woke them up for a stop at Joe Patti‘s for fresh shrimp.
Andy made the most delicious shrimp scampi that night.
We spent the next day back at Quietwater Beach, this time walking the boardwalk and venturing out farther, which meant life vests.
We stopped for some homemade popsicles at a cute little place and then did one last walk on the beach. If the summer heat becomes unbearable, it is advised that you keep your family indoors with the ac on. For ac repair Christiansburg, call Blue Ridge Heating & Air. Have your hvac system serviced annually by an hvac company to maintain its energy efficiency.
Owen wasn’t a fan of the noise of the waves.
I loved that last walk.
This was our cute little cottage, which I found online.
There were two bedrooms—we packed bed rails, and this was how the kids slept.
Next we had two days of driving, first to Shreveport, Louisiana and then on to Dallas for the rehearsal dinner. We stopped at a high school for a picnic lunch.
We made it to Texas. I’m skipping so much. Details about how we didn’t eat any fast food, choosing instead picnic lunches or roadside diners (with some successes—who knew roadside Thai could be so delicious in Texas?—and some failures). Of will-they-ever-go-to-sleep-in-this-one-room-hotel bedtimes mishmashed with the late-night, slap-happy, all-five-of-us giggling I so very well remember from one-room-hotel vacations as a child. Of colossal van meltdowns. Of the most fantastic family bonding that only happens on trips like this. Of a thousand games of “I Spy.”
But I digress. The wedding was at The Cotton Mill in McKinney, Texas.
It was hot. And beautiful.
Here are the boys practicing pulling their wagon, which held the third ring bearer. I have to admit: When Julie told me her vision (that the boys would be pulling a wagon together, without an adult, down the aisle and that another living being would be in the wagon) I pretty much envisioned disaster. Turns out, I wasted a lot of time worrying. They were great.
Here’s Julie, the bride-to-be, showing the flower girls where to be.
Emmy and Sophie
rehearsing
waterfall watching
my groom
That night was Fourth of July. So after the lovely rehearsal dinner at The Pantry Restaurant, we surprised the kids with sparklers outside our motel room. This went splendidly—until Owen burned his thumb (great parenting, no?).
The next day was wedding day. Aunt Susan made all the bridesmaids and flower girls cute towel wraps to wear while getting ready. And Jill made necklaces for Julie and the entire wedding party.
There was a lot of waiting.
Check out Sophie’s hair—one of the bridesmaids did it! I struggle with putting her hair into a ponytail so I thought this was just amazing.
Julie gifted the flowers girls with pink shimmer dusting powder, which, as you can imagine, was a huge hit.
Here’s Andy fixing the bow ties on our two handsome little boys.
I took a quick picture of the empty reception hall.
James
pink bow-tied brothers (love)
a few more pictures of the grounds and decoration
This is Blair, Emmy’s mom—she made both of the flower girl dresses. Not only can I not do hair, but I also can’t sew. So again—I was in awe.
Sophie, who loves all poof, couldn’t have been happier.
And here she is putting on more shimmer dusting powder—on her feet.
the beautiful bride and her beautiful mom
Aunt Fran (the bride’s grandma) and Jill (Sophie’s grandma)
the boys, waiting
Ross, the groom, built the cross.
I was in charge of moving the wagon and getting the boys back to their seat after their walk down the aisle, so I don’t have any pictures of it (Andy was in line with Sophie). I’m pretty sure I had more butterflies than they did over this simple walk but again, they were great!
the ceremony
Sophie and so-chic Grandma
Next up—pictures! I didn’t realize they had intended for me to be in a huge extended family picture and I missed it. I’d like to say it was for good reason but honestly it was a combination of 90°+ temperatures and Spanx …
fancy dress, glass of wine and a diaper bag
first dance
Of course we had trains at the wedding.
The kids loved loved loved dancing. Blair found lacy rompers for the flower girls to wear under their dresses, which both Sophie and Emmy stripped down to as soon as the reception started.
The reception was great fun and it was so nice to catch up with and meet extended family and friends.
This is pretty much how we all felt once it was over.
The next day we went to Tracy and Jeff’s house (Julie’s parents) for a cookout and swimming before the happy couple left for their honeymoon.
It was a fun, exhausting, beautiful, hard, memorable, completely worth it trip. Thank you, Julie and Ross, for inviting our kids to be in your wedding—it’s something they still talk about, to this day.
I’m already beginning to talk about our 2014 summer vacation. Andy just keeps changing the subject.
“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” —Helen Keller
Owen and James hit each other when angry—sometimes with their hands and sometimes with objects, like their wooden trains. We have a zero-tolerance policy re hitting. They know this but still—still—it’s something we’re working on.
Sophie is old enough to know that hitting is absolutely not allowed. Still, I watch her sometimes, so angry with her brothers. She balls up her fists and shakes—shakes with anger, shakes with the restraint necessary not to hit them.
It can be so hard, being 5 years old and 3 years old, living in the same house.
But as much as they hate, they love. They love. Like patiently help each other across the shake-shake bridge at the park love. And fall on the floor crying if they think we’re leaving one behind love. And get so incredibly excited when the other one gets to put a sticker on his potty chart love.
And then there was Sophie’s love, today.
We’ve been struggling, discipline-wise, with Owen for several weeks now. Punishments simply don’t faze him. We have to work hard to find a consequence that will make him understand the severity of his actions. Most recently, we throw a piece of Halloween candy away for each major infraction (such as hitting). Today, he lost six pieces of candy for various infractions, five at one time (it was a bad one).
Sophie was extremely upset by this (even though half the time she was the one being hit). She couldn’t bear the thought of him losing candy. Whereas a time-out was often plenty enough for her, she didn’t understand that for Owen, it wasn’t.
And so that is how I caught her sneaking some of her own candy, from her own Halloween bag, into Owen’s.
When my three children are angry with each other, the whole world knows it. And yet, like much of life, their love for each other is so much quieter—and so much bigger.
They love.
They hate.
But ultimately, they love.
“The opposite of love is not hate; it’s indifference.” —Elie Wiesel
