It's been a good day.

Steve got home in the middle of the night last night, so we've had all day together today. He was here when the kids got up for school this morning, and was here to hang out and eat pizza and watch TV with us tonight.

This is a rare luxury for us.

It's been nice to feel "normal" today, to take care of the business of doctors' visits and vehicle repairs and banking and shopping, together. It is especially sweet to just sit with Steve and talk face to face and to be able to reach over and touch his knee or give him a kiss on the cheek.

To add to the sweetness, it's been a beautiful day with plenty of sun and a nice breeze and temperatures right around 80 degrees. As I write, a storm is rolling in and I can hear thunder in the distance along with the peepers in the marshy area behind the house. Awesome.

I love it, and I'm savoring every second.

Enjoy your weekend.

He's not just another pretty face.

 He's not just a pipeliner, either.

The pipeline pays the bills, but Steve's real passion is fire.

Structure fire. Wildfire. Fire is his mistress, he says. When fire calls in the middle of the night, Steve will get out of bed, get dressed as quickly and quietly as possible, and leave his family to go to her while we sleep. Fire makes him leave family functions in the middle of dinner, keeps him out late at night, and has at times caused me to wonder what he loves so much about it. When the danger of wildfire is imminent, he will spend his weekends on standby waiting for that one cigarette butt flicked out a car window or that spark from a trash burning barrel that ignites a field of dry grass.

In his younger years he spent weeks at a time in other states fighting forest fires. He is a member of our local volunteer fire department. When he has the time - like last spring when he was laid off from the pipeline - he works as a keyman with the Michigan DNR.

Sometimes I think Steve was born with some sort of Must Perform Public Service gene. Or maybe he just can't stand to sit still. Or maybe there really is some attractive or addictive quality to fire.

Whatever it is, it sure keeps life interesting.

As if we were somehow lacking excitement.

Working so far away from home recently has put a cramp in Steve's ability to participate in much of anything related to firefighting, including planning and setup for the department's annual fund-raising event which will take place Saturday. The Fireman's Ball is a pretty big event 'round these parts. Music, refreshments, prizes, dancing. And the best part: connecting with members of the community and fellow firefighters from near and far.

I think Steve will be happy to have a chance to stop in and say hello while he's home this weekend.

I bet lots of folks will be happy to see him, too.

Just roll with it. (Or: Once is enough.)

Some days the things I planned to do just don't get done and instead I end up doing something else entirely or nothing at all.

Yesterday was one of those days.

I was thinking making granola sounded like a good idea. Somewhere the wires got crossed and what I ended up doing was working on grout.

Granola. Grout. Whatever. I can't help how my brain works; I just roll with it.

So I don't have a granola recipe to share today, but I have a ROOM! with TILE! that's GROUTED! and SEALED!

If you don't understand why I'm so excited about a tile floor you can read about the process by which said floor was completed here and here. In true Pipe Life form, we've been living on the tiled-but-not-grouted floor for a few weeks. We finally got it grouted late last week, then yesterday I did the FINAL FINAL step of sealing the grout. Then I got down on all fours again and scrubbed every. single. stinkin'. tile. one more time.

Before:

Interestingly, as I searched my files for a halfway decent picture of the floor before it was tiled, I found this one that I took exactly a year ago - April 27, 2009. This one shows where Sam taped out a Four Square court. Ingenious little stinker, isn't he?

After:

It's done. And now I can start moving furniture out from the places in the house it doesn't belong and back into our front room.

I liken this particular project to having a baby. You wait so long for it to happen, then when the day comes you're not sure you're ready but there is no turning back. During the height of the work certain people are threatened to within an inch of their lives. You laugh. You cry. At some point you wonder how anyone could have thought this was a good idea. But you work through the pain and at the end you have a wonderful prize for your effort. After a couple of weeks you have forgotten all about how much it hurt and you think it might be worth doing again someday.

Yes, tiling is like having a baby.

Except for that part about forgetting how much it hurt and wanting to do it again someday. The prize at the end? Beautiful. Totally worth it. Do I ever want to do it again? Not on your life.

I still want chickens. Sort of.

I keep telling Steve I want to raise chickens, and he keeps telling me I can't have any.

I think the reasons have changed over the years, but they have all been valid. When I asked him recently to tell me again why I can't have chickens he said, "for the same reason you're not planting a garden this year."

Ouch.

He also reminded me that we have all sorts of wild critters around here, including raccoons and coyotes, that would love to eat chickens. And it would be pretty easy for the wild critters to get at them because I would want our chickens to be free range. Laugh if you must, but I would love to be able to sit with my coffee in the morning and watch the chickens cluck and peck their way around the yard. I think it would be relaxing. They eat bugs, too, which would be quite helpful.

Oh well. Raising chickens just isn't meant to be in this season of our lives.

It's all good, though, because I get to live vicariously through our neighbors who do have chickens.

And bonus! They give us fresh eggs.

Beautiful, aren't they?

I should note that originally we (read: Steve) struck a deal with the neighbors to trade something fresh from the kitchen for eggs, and I have been pretty lax in keeping up our end of the bargain while Steve is gone. I willingly admit Steve is the better (read: more adventurous) cook in this house, and he likes to share the wealth with others. I? Can cook well enough to keep us alive. I can't shop in the pantry and throw things together like Steve can. But since I'd like the steady stream of fresh eggs to continue, and since my dear sweet husband keeps telling me I can't have hens of my own, I think I'll whip up some granola today and have it ready for the next time Mr. Neighbor stops by with a dozen eggs.

Granola I can do. Because I have a recipe.

Maybe I'll share the recipe tomorrow.

With pictures! Because that's about as adventurous as I get in the kitchen.

Happy Monday!

Clean Slate Sunday: 4.25.10 edition

As I sit down to write this post the sun is finally making an appearance - or at least trying to - after a rainy, windy, chilly weekend, but I have absolutely no desire to go outside and enjoy it. I am just too doggone tired.

The bad news is the weekend has flown by. The good news is we packed a lot of great family time into it.

Friday evening the kids and I took my grandma out to dinner. It was so nice to visit with her. I stayed up late Friday night because Steve was on his way home for a visit. He got here a little after 1 a.m., and then of course we spent some time chatting and catching up.

Saturday we had a lazy morning, then Rachel and I attended a Mother Daughter Tea with her Girl Scout troop while Steve and Sam hung out in town and did some window shopping. We had dinner with Steve's family Saturday evening, then visited with friends and let the kids play until way past bedtime. We skipped church this morning in favor of sleeping in, had breakfast with the in-laws, came home to relax for a couple of hours, then Steve was off again around noon to head back to the job in PA.

My body is tired from an abundance of activity and lack of sleep, but my heart and soul feel refreshed and energized by the visit - albeit a short one - with Steve. It sure is hard to let him go when that time rolls around again.

As I do most Sunday evenings, I am looking to the week ahead and trying to plan at least some of my time so I don't get halfway through the week and look around and wonder what I've been doing with my days. It never ceases to amaze me how much work there is to do, whether it is the everyday housework or yet another project waiting to be completed.

My list for this week is already pretty lengthy, so I think I'm going to quit adding things to it and set it aside until morning. My list for this evening is pretty short, though: feed the troops, enjoy some down time, and get us all to bed at a decent hour.

If it were just me I'd go to bed right now and sleep all night, but somehow I don't think the kids would appreciate that.

Coffee, anyone?

Dear Children,
Four o'clock in the morning is a bad time. Whatever it is, if you are not bleeding all over the place or near death, please don't wake me to tell me about it. Waking mom at 4 a.m. violates the Pipe Life Household Code of Conduct. Frequent violations could result in random bouts of tears and blubbering from any one of us throughout the day, of which mom just doesn't have the time or patience to deal with. She has Things To Do.

Furthermore, please do not complain that someone else got to the last of the milk before you did. The early bird gets the worm, my dear sweet babies. Perhaps if you hadn't been wandering around the house at 4 a.m. you would have had the energy to get out of bed when mom said it was finally time at 6.

Please, kindly adhere to the rules and everyone can live happily and harmoniously. But only between the hours of 6 a.m. and 9 p.m. Mom makes no guarantees of happiness nor harmoniousness prior to 6 or after 9.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Love you!
Mom

And while we're at it ...

Dear Dog,
Seven o'clock on a Saturday morning is too early. If I don't have to go to the bathroom at that hour, neither should you. I will happily take you for a nice, long walk after 8 a.m. by which time I will have had at least one cup of coffee.

Saturday is my only day to sleep in until the kids are out of school for the summer. Waking me early on Sleeping In Day is a violation of the Pipe Life Household Code of Conduct. Please don't do it again tomorrow like you did last weekend.

The couch is still mine, by the way.

Stop giving me those sad eyes.
 
Love you!
Mom

P.S. Thank you for not wanting to go potty this morning at 4.

Fear me, for I have loppers.

Happy Earth Day! Are you celebrating? I am.

I will be spending Earth Day with my good friends Mr. Shovel and Mr. Lopper.

Loppers, despite sounding like some sort of weird skin lesions, are a device used to trim shrubs or other vegetation. I paid $1 for these at a garage sale a couple years ago.

How could I resist a giant, scary-looking pair of scissors? These are extra scary looking because they're old and a bit rusty, but hey, they get the job done.

I will be using my tools to eliminate, cut back, or otherwise destroy the bane of my existence: picker bushes.

Oh, they start out looking pretty in the spring, but they are a pain in my tukus and they are quite prolific.

I know we plopped our house down in the middle of the wilderness and wild living creatures of all sorts will forever be encroaching into our space. I get that. But picker bushes? I have yet to discover their purpose on this planet, so I will no longer allow them to take over my yard and grow up through the slats of my deck. They scratch my children's legs and poke my dog's nose.

 Wild strawberries? OK.

Woody plants with thorns? Not OK.

The picker bushes must die.

That's how I am celebrating Earth Day - by killing some of nature's bounty. Perhaps not what the founders had in mind, but at least I will be rejoicing in the sunshine and clean air I have the privilege of breathing while I work.

And I'm not dumping chemicals on the offending vegetation. That's gotta' count for something, right?