This morning we began our exceedingly AMPLE spring break from Isaac's school. Two full weeks! Wow! That's… a lot. When I say "morning" I should clarify that I mean "three in the morning." Isaac had a bad dream and then couldn't get back to sleep. So he then chose to torture me for the remaining three hours, while Elias slept like a lamb. Isaac was sleeping on the floor in our room (because he's scared…) and after he woke up commenced to toss and turn and fidget, such that I couldn't sleep. I tried getting up and helping him talk through the nightmare (basic monsters), and reimagine a new ending. After that didn't work I brought him into his room, turned on the light, and set him up with a glass of water and a big stack of wonderful books. I returned to bed, and fifteen minutes later, Isaac came in to find out the time. This devolved into checking the time every five minutes, literally, and finally was reduced to Isaac actually sitting in a chair beside my bed, holding the clock in his lap and gazing at it. When the time would move slightly forward, he would tell me this.
Finally around 5:30 you will not be shocked to learn that I lost my temper, carted Isaac into his bed, yell-whispered at him, and quietly slammed his door. I turned a deaf ear to his sobbing. Ten minutes elapsed, during which my eyelids made light contact. Then Isaac came in and told me that he had hurt himself. (Trust me: it was a minor injury.) During all of this, Ben managed to sleep on the floor, where he had been sleeping with Isaac in the first place. When the clock finally clicked over to 6:01, I woke Ben up and sent both Ben and Isaac downstairs.
I had a vain hope of catching a wink in that narrow window before Ben had to leave for work, but, needless to say, Elias woke up promptly at that moment.
Thus dawn found me, standing at the sink for the one millionth time, bone tired, washing dishes by hand. This makes me feel like Ma Ingles, and not in a good way. We're actually getting a dishwasher delivered today! After only nine and a half months. It's a long story, but suffice it to say that the new dishwasher was entangled in the entire kitchen renovation project, and installing a new one requires actually cutting the counter to get the old one out, and that seemed like it should wait "just a couple months" until the new kitchen happens. But now just a couple months are coming up on a year and the daily grind and dishpan hands of it are getting beyond tolerance. To say nothing of the fetid water that collects in the old non-functional dishwasher. In any case, we decided finally to cut the counter, make a mess, get the old one out, and just set the new one in its place until the kitchen finally happens. May– so I'm told. We do have beautiful drawings now, and that inspires hope. The new dishwasher in itself will be life-altering.
Last weekend I had a novel experience: I skied to the mailbox. We had quite a blizzard– 18 inches in 36 hours or something like that. It happened over the weekend and we were quite snowed in. However we were prepared, had lots of food and wood for the fireplace, and really it was quite cozy and nice. The snow was the fluffy, sparkly sort and knee deep at its low points. I took my new cross-country skis, and skied directly out the back door, all around the yard, and then down the long driveway to the road. it was gorgeous! But now it's warmed up again, the green grass is exposed in wide swathes, the creek is swollen with melted snow, and I saw two robins hopping around yesterday. This must mean that we're in the home stretch. Spring can not come too soon.
Also, the other night I was working in the kitchen when I saw a massive dark creature lurking out in the trees, not far from where Lena was tied out on her dog run. I thought it was a bear at first, although we don't have bears in ohio, but then saw that it was a huge untethered dog. A mastiff, it turned out.My fear was that it would attack Lena or vice versa, and then I would really have a problem on my hands. So I rushed out and brought her in. the dog ran off. But over the next few days, kept appearing again and scaring the wits out of me. On Friday it came right up under my windows, and I could see that it had a) no collar and b) big sores on its feet. So I figured it was a stray, and after making a few calls, finally ended up talking to the dog warden about it. They sent a man out right away– again a difference between life in the city!
So the man tracked the dog through the woods (we still had enough snow to make this easy), and returned a little while later, saying that the dog belongs to our neighbors over there. He said that the tracks led up on to their deck, and the door was wide open. No one home. He discovered that the dog was in the house, and closed the door. He said he would leave them a note on the door to tell them not to do that again. I felt pretty bad for having called to dog warden on my neighbors, especially since until recently we were deluded enough about country living (which it is NOT) to imagine that we could let Lena out for a pee and it would be no problem. But then we figured out that she was running way too far away, close to the road, to various neighbors, and generally not exercising good judgement. I installed a dog run maybe a month ago, and we're looking to activating the invisible fence, whichis here already.
Anyway, I intended to go over and apologize to the neighbor I've never met and bring him a six pack (but is he an alcoholic?) or a plate of cookies (diabetic?) or something, just so as to not start a blood feud. I'll admit to having a low-grade fear that the dog was running loose and the door standing open because he had keeled over from a heart attack or been clubbed by an intruder or something like that. Well, yesterday I drove by the place and noticed that the bright orange notice from the dog warden was still there on the door! So then I was really worried that he was dead on the floor and perhaps the dog was eating his remains. Or the dog had killed him and was the Hound of the Baskervilles all over again. Or that the man was an idiot who had gone to the Bahamas, leaving the dog to fend for himself, and by closing the door the dog warden had trapped the dog without food and water.
In any case, after dispatching Ben to make sure that the orange thing was indeed the dog warden slip, I decided to call the non-emergency police number of Bath. (Picture sleepy sheriff with feet on the desk, I think.) I explained the whole thing. I then worried for a few more hours, mind running wild with possibilties. However, the real answer was one I hadn't considered: the man was home, had been home all weekend, and was clueless. He hadn't noticed the dog warden thing because he never uses his front door. (Hey, I could see it from the main road…) So now I'm really in the dog house, having called the dog warden AND the police…!
But, I should say that I'm very happy to not have a dead, half-eaten body anywhere nearby. Perhaps this is all the result of long-term sleep deprivation?
I'm writing this with Bob the Builder blaring in the background, Isaac sitting on my back chewing gum and insisting that I smell his breath periodically, while alternately nursing Elias and lifting him down off the desk every third or fourth word. I saw this mommy lifestyle book in the bookstore the other day and just happened to open to a page that said, "Is your special alone time when you go to the dentist?"
Pretty much!! Hello two weeks of "vacation."