Top Ten Things I'm Looking Forward To About Our New House

10.  I can keep all my math manipulatives in one spot.


Not only the rulers and compass and pattern blocks, but empty gallon jugs and 2-liter bottles and a yardstick.  Then I won't have to empty the rest of the milk into a tupperware container every time we do a lesson on units of volume.

9.  A mudroom.


When we built this house, there were only two people in our family who were walking, both of them adults who value prompt snow boot removal upon entering.


Now, not so much.  Our current floor plan requires walking up the stairs and across the living room before coming to the logical boot-removal location.  Ditto for wet shoes or muddy bare feet.


Hopefully our new floor plan requires effort to avoid prompt boot removal.


8.  The kids' bathrooms are inside their own rooms.


Which means they have less excuse to wander out "for a drink" every time an adult walks by.

7.  Lord willing, a bottom-freezer refrigerator.  


Now, this is one small evidence in how far I've come in contemplating our new house.


Buying a lot was Jason's idea.  Building on said lot was Jason's idea.  Using a new floor plan was Jason's idea.


I don't like change.


But see how far I've come, that I'm not only looking forward to a different house, but voluntarily considering a different style refrigerator than I've ever had!


After extensive research which basically involved quizzing my mother-in-law on her new fridge, I have come to hope that with the freezer on the bottom, not only will the ice cubes stay in their receptacle, but my frozen foods can be filed neatly in categories instead of shoving them into a frosty pile and hoping they don't slide out and clonk me on the head when I next open the freezer.


6.  A deep freezer in the pantry.


The great hope here is that I will use it more efficiently when two doors and a flight of stairs aren't separating me from my freezer.


Every time I have to catch a frosty landslide (see #7), I think, "I should move this stuff to the big freezer."  And then I consider the flight of stairs, and how my children will all burst into questioning tears if I descend it, and probably try to follow me, thus risking their necks.  And then I cram the food back into the fridge freezer.


Likewise, when I make my grocery list I think, "I think I put extra chicken in the freezer once; I should check.  Or..... I could just buy more."


If I get a deep freezer within 15 feet of my refrigerator and I still don't use it, I'll need to seriously confront my laziness problem.


5.  The main bathroom (that Other People use) isn't the one where my kids bathe or brush their teeth.


Oh, the mercy of God, on me and my guests.

4.  I won't have to label all our science experiments with "do not eat" signs for Jason.


It should be a pretty intuitive rule of thumb:  if it's in the school room, don't eat it.


3.  Separate areas for play, school, and civilized society.


The school room will be a recognizable, designated location for activities like coloring and writing.  The playroom will be the place for noise and scattered toys.  The living room will be the place for polite conversation.  Of which we have so much here.

The point is, as much as I love homeschooling, at our house now, there's no telling where the quiet area ends and the noisy toy-scattering begins.


A new floor plan won't change human nature, but maybe it can help compartmentalize it.


2.  No sink in the school room.


When we first talked about floor plans, I thought a sink in the school room would be great for science experiments and cleaning up after art time.


Obviously this was before Caleb.


Here are some things that are pertinent to school that do not mix well with a sink:  science reports, spelling books, sheet music, my phone, my laptop, crayons, library books.


Possibly a straitjacket would be a better addition to the school room than a sink.

1.  No food in the school area.


By extension, no crumbs stuck to papers, no putting books down in sticky spots, no putting everything away only to get it all back out after lunch.


Honorable Mentions go to...


- A master bedroom at the opposite end of the house from the kid bedrooms

- A playroom on the main level (and therefore, hopefully, monster-free)

- A small, flat yard

- A private master balcony

- And of course, the sense of giddy hope that comes with a fresh start

Immanuel

The evenings are getting so dark.


Some people like fall, and even, inexplicably, winter.


Those people are weird.


Yes, there is beauty in the change of seasons, especially in the splendor of foliage.  The beginning of the school year always feels like a fresh start.  Cozy blankets, hot drinks, and pumpkin pie candles are all nice.


But the darkness.  Who doesn't feel melancholy to notice that each day is shorter than the last, that the sun shows itself less and less, that the world is getting ready for a long, lifeless sleep?


Each year tells the same story.  The garden dies, the world gets cold and dark, and life seems to ebb away.  People like me get gloomy.  We're incapable of holding onto summer or keeping the sun shining.


But...  "While we were still helpless, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly" (Romans 5:6).  


The Lord God did not just walk with His people in the verdant garden.  He didn't show up when life was a sunny beach, to join the party.


We celebrate Christmas at the darkest time of year.  This is right and good, because Jesus came to a dark, dark world.  When we were steeped in sin and blindness, when the ground of the garden was cursed and dead, Jesus showed up.  Not shying away from our miseries, He joined us in them, and redeemed us from them.

"The people who were sitting in darkness saw a great Light,

And those who were sitting in the land and shadow of death,

Upon them a Light dawned."

-Matthew 4:16

This, then, is also part of the story--the beginning of the glorious final chapters.  

We have hardly anything to do with it.  We didn't summon a Savior any more than we summon the spring.  Oh yes, we cry out for a Savior--indeed, just as Jill did in C.S. Lewis's The Silver Chair:

"Please, what task, Sir?" said Jill.

"The task for which I called you and him here out of your own world."

This puzzled Jill very much.  "It's mistaking me for someone else," she thought.  She didn't dare to tell the Lion this, though she felt things would get into a dreadful muddle unless she did.

"Speak your thought, Human Child," said the Lion.

"I was wondering--I mean--could there be some mistake?  Because nobody called me and Scrubb, you know.  It was we who asked to come here.  Scrubb said we were to call to--to Somebody--it was a name I wouldn't know--and perhaps the Somebody would let us in.  And we did, and then we found the door open."

"You would not have called to me unless I had been calling to you," said the Lion.

"Then you are Somebody, Sir?" said Jill.

"I am."

May every premature sunset this season, every biting wind, remind us of the Savior who loved us enough to break into our darkness and be with us there.

Mid-fall update

We're just over a quarter of the way through the school year.  Homeschooling is a mix of joy, frustration, fun, exasperation, wonder, a whole lot of noise, and sanctification (I hope).  One of the million reasons I'm thankful we homeschool is how clearly I get to see my sin!  And glory in Jesus' grace.

(And sure, I have this grateful, teachable attitude every moment of every day.  Especially when multiple children are crying at once and I can't locate one of my students and Caleb just found out how to turn on the garbage disposal.)

The house is all closed in now, though, at the moment, lacking doors and windows.


We're involved in an endless series of decisions:  What kind of front door?  What kind of back door?  What color cabinets?  How many stairs above and below the landing?  What color floor?  What sort of roofline?  Which way should these doors open?


Each decision is perfectly simple though.  For example, for the master tub, all we need to know is that the total height of the wall is 97 inches, less 13 inches for the window header, less 48 inches for the window, leaves 36 inches to the bottom of the window.  A typical vanity is 31 to 32 inches high with a 4- or 5-inch backsplash, which adds up to 36 inches, and that's the amount left to the bottom of the window, besides a 2 1/2-inch trim.


So clearly, we need a 72-inch bathtub.


Simple.

Our house under construction in the background

I had what was supposed to be my last chiropractor appointment last week.  Of the four original strength tests, I've now passed three.  Which is good!


I still miserably failed the fourth.  Which is bad.

He upped the intensity of my exercises again and made an appointment in eight weeks.


The doctor seemed pleased and upbeat, but it was somewhat discouraging for me.  On this test I failed, the average woman can hold the pose for 149 seconds.


I held for 22.

He tried to cheer me up by pointing out that I tripled my last score of 7 seconds.


Anyhow, he thinks I can still improve, which is what we'll assess in eight weeks.  I do think my back is better than it has been for a long while--and dramatically better than when I first went to him.

Thankfully, we haven't had any major illnesses yet this fall.  Caleb came down two days ago with terribly-gunky-disgusting-globby-gook-coming-out-of-the-eye-itis.  The pediatrician mercifully prescribed medicine over the phone without making me come in.  The downside is that we have to put drops in an unwilling toddler's eyes.


Two drops in each eye.


Three times a day.


For five days.


Let the reader think to him or herself what this experience is probably like.


We did manage to get out and vote on Tuesday.  One child was disappointed that we went to the fire station and didn't see any fire trucks, and another child was disappointed that we didn't get to "boat."


But bless those poll workers, they gave us all stickers.

Yay for civic duty!

Why my fat jeans are now skinny jeans

Our girls's birthdays are only a few days apart, so between their friends, immediate family, and grandparents on all sides, we were required to eat cake approximately 37 times within a very short period.


First there was Ada's actual birthday, celebrated at home with just our family.

Raspberry swirl

Then on the weekend between their birthdays, they invited their friends over for a Frozen party.


We moved the big screen to the living room for a screening of the movie, the girls wore their princess (flower girl) dresses, and we had popcorn (everywhere), delivered pizza, and blue "ice" punch.

They were a little excited.

I set up an ice palace in their bedroom for those who don't like the scary parts.  It was complete with garbage bag "ice" on the floor, batting "snow," and new coloring books.

The littler princess (and prince) waiting for guests to arrive:

And the guests:

Yikes.

Caleb was mesmerized by the movie and inspired to put on someone's princess shoes.

I did at least get a pass on making a cake that day.  We had an ice cream cake from Dairy Queen.


To celebrate at Grandma's house, they got a sparkly pink sprinkle cake.

Age pancakes were required for breakfast.

And finally, Lizzy's actual birthday.  She requested a strawberry cake.  (Note to self: wait to put on fresh strawberries until the last minute.)

Good thing October and November don't have any other holidays that involve sweets or large feasts.  I wouldn't be able to button my pants.

Being Caleb

I stepped out to the grocery store this morning after the usual delicious Saturday pancakes, leaving Jason to clean up with all the kids.  I hadn't gotten past the produce aisle when I got a text saying only, "Have mercy," with this picture attached:

Toddler, on the couch, in possession of a large bottle of syrup.  Mercy, indeed.  God help us all.  

Forgive the blurriness of the picture.  I can only hope Jason snapped it as he was sprinting to disarm the situation.

Caleb's other recent adventures include sabotaging doing school.

He also found a worm one day on the driveway.  He was incredibly possessive of it.


"No touch it!!"

He petted his worm.

But no one else was allowed to.


"My worm!!"

He came up with brilliant ideas, à la Evel Knievel.

He attended OctoberFest (food, fun, and a festive lei).

He explored a new playground.

He learned why people don't stand in the water to throw rocks in the water, when you're wearing sweatpants and it's October.

He, of course, dressed up for Halloween.

Along with his siblings.

And learned how trick-or-treating works.

(He had to hold his tail because Jeddy kept pulling it.)

And most importantly, what you do afterwards.