Sprained

I am typing this from my bed, which I have hardly left all day, because I’m uncoordinated on crutches and my foot is in massive pain.* It feels abominably lazy, so I have to list off all the things I’ve done to comfort myself. I have nursed the baby, provided cooking advice to the children, prayed, and read a number of books to accommodating audiences. I am willing the cells in my foot to quickly mend all damaged tissue. By sheer force of will, this must be better quickly…we’ve got a Seder to go to at Fancypants University next week. Unfortunately, I sprained my foot.

The story is embarrassing. Husband volunteered to take all the children to buy groceries (and pick up a really sweet Craigslist deal to replace the rapidly deteriorating flooring in our kitchen) and I, in my giddiness at having an empty house all to myself, went into CLEANING BEAST MODE, with a plan to clean and write and clean and write until my house was immaculate at my novel was perfect.

So I was sprinting through the house, and with all the grace that nature has gifted me, I smacked my foot into a lovely pillar between the dining room and living room.

It only hurt slightly, but enough that I sat down and wrote for a while. Then went back to CLEANING BEAST MODE,  ignoring the pain. Until the pain became not-ignorable, about 8 o’clock that night. By 9, I couldn’t move my toes.

By 9:30, I feel like this:

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By 10, a nurse was telling me to go get it x rayed, and no, it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

So I go to the ER at 11 pm, where my fellow hospital patients are an unconscious man bleeding from a bandaged head wound, and a barefooted, t-shirted, handcuffed man railing about police violence and hollering colorful epithets at the five security guards accompanying him on his hospital bed travels.

I’m feeling silly being here. There are so many more people who need so much more attention than I do.

But here I am, and when they look at my foot, they tell me I should be here. I still feel silly. Shoulda stayed home with ice.

Jane the Austen’s violin teacher also happens to be in the ER, accompanying a sick relative. She sees me (though I do not see her; did she catch me spying on the crazy people?) and sends me a text. We have a lovely text conversation in between paperwork and wheeling to and from X-Rays. (I don’t feel polite texting while people are doing stuff for me, even if they’re not talking to me). She offers me a ride home, which is lovely because husband is at home with our five sleeping babies.

Jane the Austen’s violin a lovely, lovely woman, one of those people that radiates goodness and puts one in a perpetual state of awe by the breadth and depth of her pedagogical  and humanitarian and artistic talents. She helps me up the steps to my house, and dear husband makes me eggs, because it is past midnight and I am hungry and he is compassionate.

In the morning, Jane the Austen and Jack the Stewart make crepes and bring them to my room, so we can have breakfast as a family:

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They sit on my bed and I read them stories. When Clive the Staples discovers my crutches, all bets for a tranquil morning are off:

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But that’s OK. I’ve always known that he had a destiny in the circus arts.

Somehow or other, the seven of us ended up having a lunch of peanut butter and apples in my room while Husband the Man read Alcatraz and the Evil Librarians to us all.

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Jane the Austen half-listened, half-penned the next great American Novel. Also, note Lucy the Maude’s fist photobombing. All my favorite people are right here.

Later, the children brought me a leaning tower of banana bread with cream cheese frosting. Because when the children are in charge of the food, they will make whatever they darn well please! (It was delicious.)

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We lay in my bed like a bunch of lazy fools, eating banana bread and watching enthusiastic homesteaders tell us about how to keep chickens. Why are we researching chickens? We’re homeschooling millennials. Chickens are our destiny.

It was a glorious afternoon. Husband the Man took Lucy the Maude and Mr. the Rogers home teaching, and Katherine the great fell asleep on me while we did our Chicken Youtube research.

When the rest of the family came home, husband piggybacked my sprained-foot self down the stairs and we curled up around the fireplace as we burned up the dried out Christmas tree.

Yes, the Christmas Tree. Yes, it’s March.

Our family seems so small when we’re all cuddled up together.

Conclusion: Having a sprained foot is not that bad when you have a family like mine.

Second conclusion: Seven in the family is not too large. Not by a long shot.

The End.

*Due to the fact that I write and schedule these things ahead of time, I’m hoping that by the time this posts, this injury will be a thing of the past.

 

Here’s what we’ve been growing–

 

Fairy Gardens:

Snowdrops (which we had no idea existed on our property until they burst forth with all the vigor of an invading army this spring):

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Gladiolas, Dahlias, and two kinds of sprouting mystery bulbs, which we uprooted, broke up, and replanted with hope and prayers and optimism:

Sourdough English muffins, and ensuing delicious lunches:

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Decomposing organisms, hopefully mostly in our (outdoor) compost heap. I haven’t got a picture of that, so here’s one more thing we’ve unearthed that delights us:

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Did we do some lanscaping and edging with 103 year old bricks buried in the yard? Yes.

Did we discuss the onset of World War I while doing so? Oh yes.

Literally stumbling across American antiquity all the time is among the best things about living in the wilds of urban Connecticut.

The End.

 

General Conference Eve in Seven Steps

The most exciting thing about today is that tomorrow is April first, the first (full*) day of the Semi-Annual General Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

General Conference is Christmas, Easter, and the Superbowl at our house. It’s a glorious time when sitting in front of a screen for 8-10 hours in a weekend is not only justifiable, but hands down the best way we could be using our time.

The refreshment and renewal we get in this weekend is unmatched by any vacation, any inspirational or motivational retreat you could throw at us.

Since lists are all the rage, here is my list of ways to get the most out of conference:

  1. Pray for the speakers to say what they need to say.
  2. Pray that I’ll hear what I need to hear (because 1)teaching and learning are interdependent processes, and 2)being interrupted and distracted by child needs is an inevitable part of our participation in conference)
  3. Take stock of questions I have, areas of my own character that need to improve, people I want to help but don’t know how, current concerns in child rearing that don’t have obvious solutions. Write them all down to keep in mind during conference.
  4. Ask for my heart to be prepared to understand what it needs to.
  5. Remind the kids that conference is coming, review steps 1-4 with them, and gear up the enthusiasm! (our kids are always excited for conference. It may be the outpouring of spiritual gifts and learning, or it may be all the treats they get to eat conference weekend. One way or the other, we all like conference.)
  6. Print off Conference Packets and activities for the children. It’s possible that toilet paper prophets are blasphemous, but by golly, they keep the littler people occupied so we can learn from prophets how to be better people, and therefore better parents.
  7. Draw up menu and grocery list for the tailgate conference party of the year! At least the first half of the year…I’m so glad we get to do this twice annually

 

*It started earlier, with the Women’s Session of Conference. Which is the best women’s conference in the world. And totally free.

The Sunday We Conquered the World and Survived the Apocalypse

Here’s what we did a few Sundays ago:

Made cinnamon rolls:

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Attended Stake Conference :

(No picture. Just a lot of wonderful learning from a lot of wonderful people. It’s possible that I spent part of it in the mother’s room chatting it up with a Sister in Zion-cum-beauty pageant winner about the plight of young refugee mothers and how she can help them as part of her platform. Yes, it’s wonderful and exciting stuff).

Made a carnal mess in the kitchen with beets and boiled bones:

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Conquered the world:

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Built shelters in the backyard, proving the offspring are ready for the apocalypse:

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Yep. We do love our sabbath.

The End.

 

Portrait of our Morning

Taken at approximately 9:25 am:

Jane the Austen:

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She practice for 30-45 minutes each morning, often in her bathrobe because it’s cold in the wilds of Connecticut.

Clive the Staples:

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While J the A practices violin, Clive the Staples and Mr. the Rogers cuddle me on the couch. We alternate who is getting in their reading with me, and who is practicing math and writing. At the moment, it’s Clive the Staple’s turn to read. He’s a major fan of Frog and Toad. Note Lucy the Maude’s hair in the corner.

Mr. the Rogers:

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Mr. the Rogers found new passion for writing today, due to the content.

Katherine the Great:

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K the G sleeps in. Being a toddler, we let her. So on this morning, as on many mornings besides, she breakfasts while the rest of the children are already at their lessons.

Lucy the Maude:

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L the M spends her mornings on my lap. But I didn’t photograph her this morning, so here we are on the Fancypants University Shuttle, doing what we always do: imitating kangaroo and joey.

In conclusion:

I love my children.  9:25 am is usually our most glorious time of day.

A Few of My Favorite Things:Family Home Evening Chart

On Sunday afternoons, I try to sit down with each of my children for at least 30 minutes each, doing something with only that one child, hopefully inducing meaningful conversation.

Because, you know, relationships and whatnot.

The child gets to pick the activity.

Jane the Austen likes to write or read, discuss her favorite books, and geek out over musicals and 19th century history together.

Clive the Staples likes back rubs and feet rubs, cuddles, and drawing.

Mister the Rogers likes to make treats with me, particularly cookies or caramels.

Katherine the Great likes dramatic nonsensical conversations, singing, and dancing.

Lucy the Maude generally likes to nurse, and doesn’t really get formal one on one time. She gets her loving in by default. Thank the stars for breastfeeding, snuggles, and infantile unwavering delightful sociability.

 

One Sunday afternoon, Clive the Staples decided we needed to make a family home evening chart together. So we toddled on down to the basement, found an old 2X4, and set to work with a skilsaw, sander, woodburning pen, and drill.

And my oh my, did we ever make a family home evening chart!

Towards the end, Husband the Man busted out the router, because he’s the only one who really knows how to work that baby, and gave it a fancy beveled edge.

The tags are flipped backwards, because, you know, privacy, but you get the idea.

Now, every week as we rotate everyone’s tag to a new job, I am reminded of my sweet secondborn, and how terribly fast he’s growing up.

 

The End.

Not NieNie Dialogues

Jane the Austen (upon seeing me start a blog): A blog? That’s so cool, Mom! You should make it like NieNie Dialogues.

Me: Her blog is lovely, my dear, but we don’t have enough* Anthropologie in our house to make a NieNie Dialogues sort of blog. Also, I am taking all my photos with my phone, not a nice camera.

Jane the Austen: Well, you can make your version of NieNie Dialogues.

Me: Good Idea.

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So here’s my version. It includes my kitchen window, complete with overflowing compost receptacles. Behind them there’s a lovely view of the corner liquor store.

 

I wouldn’t have it any other way. Except for maybe emptying the compost, because my kitchen is starting to smell like old cabbage.

You’re welcome.

 

*read: any