Well, we have been settling into our new house!
Unpacking didn't take long, but every now and then I find a box of items in a closet that need an official home. My husband and I are settling into a routine of sorts, filled with work, dishes, cooking, cleaning, making little changes and fixes, etc., etc.
Dave Ramsey would be proud of our budget meetings. Money issues scare the starch out of me, so my favorite plan of attack is avoidance; but the ominous "M" on the calendar's last Tuesday of each month keeps us accountable, and I am finding out that things are much less stressful when we know how much is coming in and when/where it's going out. Still, I have had to adjust to a new way of thinking of money - I used to deal with it in terms of tens of dollars. Seventy dollars for groceries, twelve dollars for my monthly share of our family phone plan, forty dollars for a school text book . . . now, however, money tends to leave in hundreds, whether it is for groceries, insurance, mortgage payments, house bills, and on and on.
Living in town hasn't had a steep adjustment curve, and the folks here have been so kind. We have felt so welcomed by our neighbors - I especially enjoy chatting across the lawn when a neighbor and I are both outside at the same time.
Having our own home makes us feel so rich - and aren't we? Sure, things might be tight and we save for what we want, but to have four walls around us that have our name on them . . . it's just cozy. I marvel at all God provides. As Thanksgiving draws near, I become more and more grateful for the refuge we have found in this place - a place of healing from yesterday, of hope for tomorrow, and always, always of gratitude for today.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
The Perils of Homemaking
I nearly killed Louis last week.
We've had our handsome, black and white, six-month-old kitten about a month now. I've delighted in (most of) his antics, welcoming the company of another living creature while my husband is at work all day. I've reveled in him as only a cat-lover, long denied the presence of a feline, can.
He's soft-spoken for a cat, barely letting a person know if they're standing on his tail. As cats go, he's very much a people-lover. He keeps us laughing with his unique set of curiosities and fears. (The day I brought a slinky home, he was scared like you wouldn't believe as it clattered its way down our flight of wooden steps!) But the other day, curiosity very nearly killed the cat.
It was laundry day and I was bustling about trying to get through it all. I had had some interruptions and was trying to get the laundry all dried before evening church programs.
Louis had exhibited interest in the dryer before, and one time I even had to remove him from its interior before starting the next load on its way to drying. This time, I noticed him put his paws up on the front and sniff inside, but I thought nothing of it and soon forgot in the midst of rotating laundry.
I had the load of whites drying and was loading darks into the washer when I thought I heard a child's cry. I stopped the washer so I could hear better, and I listened but didn't hear anything, so I went back to my laundry. I grabbed my swimming suit and wanted a laundry bag for it and remembered that they were both in the dryer with the load of delicates.
Yanking open the dryer door, horror landed hard on my chest when I realized Louis's hind end was sticking out from under the damp clothes.
If you're a lover of cats, or if you dislike witnessing the suffering of another creature, or if you have a modicum of compassion about you, you may begin to imagine the panic that rose within me as I frantically pulled the clothes away from him and as he gave a pitiful meow. I spied blood spots on the clothes and could only hope I hadn't inadvertantly used up all nine of his kitty lives!
He was dizzy and warm, so he stretched out a while with his belly on the cool concrete floor. A bit of a bloody lip seemed to explain the spotted laundry, and in a matter of minutes, he seemed to collect himself.
My trauma, however, lasted much longer.
With every blood spot I found, I shuddered and scrubbed it clean with renewed penance. That night, I couldn't close my eyes without seeing him lying all thrown about in the dryer, and I didn't get any sleep until I went and got him and had him sleep on my lap.
Maybe someday, I'll be able to look back on this and laugh, but please, please, please don't tease me about ityet.
Ever.
Who knew homemaking could be so perilous?
We've had our handsome, black and white, six-month-old kitten about a month now. I've delighted in (most of) his antics, welcoming the company of another living creature while my husband is at work all day. I've reveled in him as only a cat-lover, long denied the presence of a feline, can.
He's soft-spoken for a cat, barely letting a person know if they're standing on his tail. As cats go, he's very much a people-lover. He keeps us laughing with his unique set of curiosities and fears. (The day I brought a slinky home, he was scared like you wouldn't believe as it clattered its way down our flight of wooden steps!) But the other day, curiosity very nearly killed the cat.
It was laundry day and I was bustling about trying to get through it all. I had had some interruptions and was trying to get the laundry all dried before evening church programs.
Louis had exhibited interest in the dryer before, and one time I even had to remove him from its interior before starting the next load on its way to drying. This time, I noticed him put his paws up on the front and sniff inside, but I thought nothing of it and soon forgot in the midst of rotating laundry.
I had the load of whites drying and was loading darks into the washer when I thought I heard a child's cry. I stopped the washer so I could hear better, and I listened but didn't hear anything, so I went back to my laundry. I grabbed my swimming suit and wanted a laundry bag for it and remembered that they were both in the dryer with the load of delicates.
Yanking open the dryer door, horror landed hard on my chest when I realized Louis's hind end was sticking out from under the damp clothes.
If you're a lover of cats, or if you dislike witnessing the suffering of another creature, or if you have a modicum of compassion about you, you may begin to imagine the panic that rose within me as I frantically pulled the clothes away from him and as he gave a pitiful meow. I spied blood spots on the clothes and could only hope I hadn't inadvertantly used up all nine of his kitty lives!
He was dizzy and warm, so he stretched out a while with his belly on the cool concrete floor. A bit of a bloody lip seemed to explain the spotted laundry, and in a matter of minutes, he seemed to collect himself.
My trauma, however, lasted much longer.
With every blood spot I found, I shuddered and scrubbed it clean with renewed penance. That night, I couldn't close my eyes without seeing him lying all thrown about in the dryer, and I didn't get any sleep until I went and got him and had him sleep on my lap.
Maybe someday, I'll be able to look back on this and laugh, but please, please, please don't tease me about it
Ever.
Who knew homemaking could be so perilous?
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