Today is the penultimate day of our tenancy in the swamp house. My wife, a post-grad educated woman of no mean intelligence or wit, has these funny slips where she'll forget a word but try to get something out anyway. A few days ago, in anticipation of today, she said something like this: "Hey, we're comin' up on that - what do you call it.....pentecostal?
Yes, love - hallelujah, the Spirit is moving and so are we! Despite the best of our intentions, the house still looks a little too cluttered for a penultimate (or a pentecostal!) day. Anyone who's moved can sympathize with the realization that sets in at about this time: all of this has to be moved...tomorrow! There is still junk to be sorted through, part of the kitchen to pack, things to be cleaned, and the regular routine to keep up at the same time. So I repeat to myself what's become a bit of a mantra around here - "Don't worry, it'll all get done...because it has to get done." Of course, the previous three days of punishing heat haven't helped the process much. According to the nearest weather tracking station to us, the mercury rose to just over 109 degrees here yesterday. 109! In a low-lying river valley! Officially, or so I read, Portland topped out at 106 yesterday, one degree shy of the all-time record high. Portland, however, is officially tracked at the airport, which sits right on the Columbia river and is prone to be a little more breezy than here. I'm tellin' my grandkids it was 109.
Here's the good news, though - it's supposed to cool off to a refreshing 99 degrees today! Despite the cheekiness I'm sure you detect, that actually does sound refreshing right now. The back room where Evelyn and I are once again holed up for now is holding steady at around 72, but the air-conditioner has been running around the clock for three days straight. I'm excited (not really) to see the electricity bill next month!
So this is a kind of sign-off from the East Avenue house and from the Man Cave 2.0. It's been a good man cave, despite two floods and a skunk attack. There has been no shortage of look-back-and-laugh-about-it moments in the four years we've lived here, starting from the first or second night we stayed here when we noticed a large slug on the ceiling directly above our bed, and straight on through to the aforementioned skunk attack and everything in between. I'm sure the laughs will be easy and carefree down the road, but right now the laughs are a little more...vengeful. We made a list last night of things the landlords may want to address before trying to rent this little gem out again. This is something I offered to actually do for them, since they haven't hardly set foot on the property in this month after we gave notice. Some of the things we wrote on our list last night won't make the final cut, but we had a good laugh about them, anyway. Brigetta wanted to do the writing because she thought it would be therapeutic, so I dictated all the things I could think of that were legitimate issues. Brigetta filled in a few of her own that brought me to tears with laughter when I read them later. Foremost among them, somewhere between "ANTS everywhere" and "Idiot neighbor dog barks incessantly" was this item about a squatter that lives in a trailer on the north end of the property: "Richard dumps large milk jugs of brown urine on your property." Pardon me while I wipe away another tear or two. You see, it's funny because it's true. The guy doesn't have any indoor plumbing and I can hardly blame him for not wanting to walk to Safeway every time nature calls, but there really isn't anything quite like looking out your window and seeing a rather large man pouring out a gallon milk container full of his own waste about 30 feet from your fence. Gross? Yeah. Priceless? I think so. A great memory to leave you with before we get out of dodge? Definitely. So long from the swamp, folks!
The title...well, I'm sorry but it has really nothing to do with what I'm going to post - it just sounded like a good title. I am, however, resting my left foot on a freshly laundered bathmat that has yet to be placed back in it's native bathroom. Regrettably, it is neither bold or new. It is blue and quite worn. It...could be replaced when we move...by something both bold AND new, which provides a terrific segue to my actual post. Whew! I knew I could do it.
Apologies. There's a heat wave on and our poor little North Korean air-conditioner is struggling to keep up with the 3rd (or is it 4th now?) consecutive day of 90+ degree temperatures. My native Oregonian brain is melting. In a week that has started out busy with the pesky details of moving - like packing, etc. - oppressive heat and humidity, the latter thanks mostly to our yard's ever-present and now expanding mudbog, are two very unwelcome distractions. Yesterday, Brigetta had her Mom over for a packing party that stripped most of the little homey touches from the walls and shelves, replacing them with a neat stack of boxes in one corner of the living room. More empty boxes litter the rest of the space, with just enough room to get where you're going in the house. Towards the late afternoon, Gramma Claire whisked Evelyn away for an overnighter from which she has just now (lunch time) returned. This morning, with the extra peace and quiet, I made the phone calls that had to be made - electricity, garbage, water and sewer, etc. all needed to be transferred or started at the new address. The truck is reserved at U-Haul. The water is on to boil, both literally and figuratively, as Evelyn has requested mac 'n' cheese for lunch, the heat is on outside, and we're feeling the pressure (and the excitement) of the move getting closer. That's all for now - stay cool, everybody!
Just a small entry today. On Tuesday, Evelyn suffered a near tragic consequence for not listening to her Daddy - no trip to the mall. Cruel, I know - but don't go calling child services just yet. We're headed to that most treasured of Daddy Day destinations not long after this gets posted. I just had to declare publicly how much I love being this little girl's dad.
One of her favorite ways to play lately has been to pretend to go and get all kinds of different food and bring them back to me. "You stay right here," she'll say, "I close the door so Scout can't get in here." There'll be a few fading footsteps, about 2 seconds pause, then rapidly approaching footsteps as she returns with her imaginary food. We must have had gallons of pretend lemonade together over the life of this game, not to mention quite a bit of tea, and let's not neglect choc-o-late (spoken reverently around here) - we've had lots of that, too. But Evelyn came up with a new one the other night. "I'm gonna go get s'more of my favorites," she announced, disappearing behind a door jamb. A second later, her head popped back in to view. "What are you going to get?" I asked. A very serious, somewhat conspiratorial look settled on her face as she thoughtfully replied, "Ariel. Jerky. Butterfly treats." I couldn't help but laugh a little. "Wow, Evelyn, that sounds...exotic." "Yeah, dad - they have candy in 'em...and grape juice...and [unintelligible]...and grape juice...and they're just soooo delicious." And off she went to fetch Ariel jerky butterfly treats for the both of us. I have to say, they were every bit as delicious as she made them out to be. For our next course, Evelyn announced - and here I should explain that I was laying on the bed, where I had been reading before this little game started, so Evelyn was standing at eye level with me - that we would be having CHOC-O-LATE next. Only she leaned in as she drew the word out, to approximately half an inch from my right eyeball. Close enough to count taste buds had I not closed my eyes reflexively. Even imaginary chocolate is something to get excited about as far as she's concerned.
There are, of course, events in the course of being dad to a 3-year old that cause me to go from zero to destructive rage in less than a second (as opposed to constructive rage...I guess), but even the moments that frustrate are part of a whole experience that I wouldn't give up for anything. Before we head out the door on our date, let me tell what a few of my favorite things are - and I promise they don't involve whiskers on kittens or brown paper packages (though those are kind of neat).
I love that Evelyn rushes up to the stage on Sunday during the greeting time at church, carefully climbs the first two steps, then runs at me with her arms out and a big shout of "Daddy!"
I love hearing her say "You came back!" when I've just been away for a few minutes at the store.
I love her eagerness to have books read to her, especially when she hands me a book, climbs up next to me, then leans on me while I read it.
I love helping her to get over a disappointment, even when that disappointment is discipline related.
I love holding her hand while she gallops through the mall, or the park, or any other place we go.
I love getting buckled in to the car and reaching back before we leave the driveway for a "slap 'n' tap" (low five followed by a fist bump).
I love to hear her prayers at bedtime (but I do NOT love butterfly kisses therafter, thank you very much, Bob Carlisle).
I love to hear her tell me how silly I am.
I love whispering to her what fun the next day holds when it's time to sleep.
I love my job.
A brief update on our first attempt at taking Evelyn to see the dentist:
For the better part of a year we have been preparing Evelyn to make this visit. We read her a book about going to the dentist on a regular basis, we always talk about it as a fun place - a place where they give you a new toothbrush, and we set her up to be excited to go in every other way that we can. Last night, as we talked excitedly about getting to go to the dentist today, she responded with her usual smiley, sing-song "But not today!" It's a bit of a running joke, but what it really means is this: Evelyn is TERRIFIED of going to the dentist. I'm baffled at how the idea made it's way in to her little head, but she clearly knew that she feared the dentist as much as she fears any other doctor. I tried again to excite her this morning and got the same result as last night - "But not today!"
"Yeah," I said. "Today."
Instant devastation. It took me fully half an hour to get her calmed down to the point that she was only sobbing reflexively. You know - those great, shuddering inhales? At any rate, skipping over the intervening time, I ended up making up a Boris-went-to-the-dentist story on the way to the actual visit that briefly gave me hope that she would make it through. She laughed and asked to hear it again and again, so I asked her if she'd like to have a visit just like Boris' visit. She enthusiastically agreed, and so we marched triumphantly in to the office and checked in. Evelyn busied herself playing with some of the toys laying around while I did paperwork and all was on the right track. Until they called her name and I uttered the fateful words "OK, let's go."
Instant devastation. Also instant attention of the entire office. We tried in vain to just sit in the room where we'd be, but she was just too loud to keep around all the other people that were suffering in relative silence. Finally, realizing that she'd get her wish of just going home granted, she made a 180-degree turnaround, thanking me for taking her to the dentist and gabbing the poor receptionist's ear off while she tried to figure out how to refund our copayment. She even agreed to come back another time to "have her teeth counted," but the real prize was that Daddy had promised to take her to play at McDonald's after the dentist visit was over. I gave her what encouragement I could for being brave and trying, then headed off for the golden arches with a talkative, but clearly worn out 3-year old. We made it home just before 2pm and snuggled in for a Curious George story and a nap. We're up now, but I feel like I could've slept for two more hours...
So round one to Evelyn. There aren't any issues that really need addressing in her little mouth, but we'll keep working on it so that she doesn't need to be as familiar with her dentist as, say, her Daddy. :)
At the corner of Breaker and Minnehaha, Brigetta put voice to the prevailing sentiment in our van: "Why do we always have to leave on the nicest day?" I harrumphed in commiseration as we turned south on to Highway 101 today, bound for home via Tillamook and it's famous cheese factory. Barely a cloud could be seen for all the blue sky and sunshine. I peered out the passenger side window for those few miles to Tillamook, taking in the bay vista - it's gentle undulations sparkling under the noonday sun and glinting off the occasional hull of a passing boat. With the temperature pushing 60 degrees and the wind uncharacteristically mellow, forget Spring - it felt like a Summer day compared to what we're used to in mid-February.
that we were going home today. In nothing less than a militarily precise strategic decision, we started telling her while there were still fun things to do. Before we made our last visit to the beach, for one, AND - the euphemious ace up our collective sleeve - before going to the Tillamook Cheese Factory for lunch and - leave nothing to chance - an ice cream cone! Success! Nary a tear was shed as we cleaned up after ourselves and left Breaker Bungalow to it's next guests and hit the road. Evelyn managed to smite a few more strangers on the way - line workers on the factory floor this time - with a simple wave and smile. A few other patrons couldn't help but take notice, either, as she set about consuming her promised ice cream cone with, as Dr. Seuss was fond of writing, "great vim and great vigor." Also a great mess. But we had fun, without a doubt. From what we hear, it may be our last opportunity for quite some time to visit Breaker Bungalow, so we'll treasure the times we had and look forward to some other future adventure.
You should know that, as I type this first sentence, it's 1:00 pm. I finished my breakfast not long ago, and I only woke up as early as I did because a friend called during their lunch break. Let me explain.
Some of you might also read my wife's blog, and if you have seen her entry from last night, you will know that I dismantled Evelyn's crib yesterday. Correction: I finished dismantling Evelyn's crib yesterday. She started it the night before by snapping one of the metal brackets that holds the base to the frame as she tried to jump her way to sleep yet again. When Brigetta got home from work last night, I had the time to look a little closer at the damage and decide that it wasn't worth fixing. We already had the spin in place - Evelyn got to go to the park while daddy tried to fix her bed, but she knew that if he couldn't, he would make it in to a "big girl bed." Translation: I took apart the crib and put her mattress on the floor. I did everything I could to make it a cozy spot - that includes, in case you were worried, vacuuming thoroughly - and she was thrilled when she came home to see her "new" bed surrounded by some of her favorite stuffed animals with Granny's quilt and her puppy pillow on top. Come bed time, as Brigetta wrote in her blog, she ran right to her bed to crawl in and here's where the adventure begins. At about half past eight, after we'd sung our good night song and said a prayer, Evelyn broke from tradition (and why not, given her recent proclivity to break things?) and asked if Daddy would help her go to sleep. If you've kept up on how sleep works around here, you'd immediately grasp the significance here. If you haven't kept up, I'll spell it out: she NEVER asks this if she knows Brigetta is around, let alone in the same room. So, in almost stunned disbelief, Brigetta gave Evelyn a kiss and said good night, and Evelyn settled in to asking me "what animals do." We chatted briefly about the different things that animals do - whether or not little girls and boys do these things, too, etc. - until I mentioned, quite deliberately, that animals go to sleep. To my surprise, she actually stopped talking about it right away and was mostly quiet the rest of the way.
I should have known it was too good to be true.
TWO HOURS later, after attempting (unsuccessfully) to leave several times, mostly after I was sure she was asleep, she finally settled in to a regular snore. I was caught a little off-guard by the clinginess that preceded it, though. I told myself (still am telling myself, really) that it was a different bed at a different level, there was no sense of being enclosed, and so on - but she blame near panicked every time she thought I was leaving. So I stayed. And stayed, and stayed, and stayed. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, I got in a 20-minute power nap - you now, one of those short, refreshing naps that leave you ready to go for the rest of the day? Yeah, one of those, only with no rest-of-the-day left. Don't get me wrong - I was happy (and a little flattered, sure) to be asked to stay with her while she went to sleep, but it was simultaneously and incredibly frustrating to lay awake for the better part of two hours while she tossed, turned, and made sure my face was still right next to her bed. So at a little past 10:30pm, I marshalled all of my stealth skills and left her room as quietly as possible, fearful that any misstep would cause another panic.
Now I'm a night-owl as it is, but with the extra two hours of laying around and a power nap under my belt, I really didn't have a chance of getting to sleep. I chatted and watched TV with Brigetta for a little bit before she ran off to bed and then I was left to my own devices. Nothing too out of the ordinary about that - I'm up later than she is most nights, either reading, watching TV, or playing games online with a few fellow night-owl friends. The latter is what I did last night, meeting up with 4 or 5 friends to run around a virtual WWII, shoot guns, and throw grenades. Ya know - guy stuff. Until 3 in the morning! That's late, even for me...and I still wasn't tired! I had to draw the line somewhere, though, so I bowed out of the carnage and made myself go crawl in to bed. Not five minutes after doing that, the following phrase - again a first-ever - came floating over from the monitor in Evelyn's room: "I want my daddy." Somewhere between "You've got to be kidding me," and "Well, I'm already awake," I found myself padding over to her room, sweatshirt in hand, to curl up next to my little girl and feel her little hand reach out to make sure it was my face there before thinking "This isn't so bad," and immediately falling asleep.
I remember having to move her back on to her bed once after she'd managed to get her head on to the middle of my pillow, and then Brigetta was gently shaking me awake at 7:30-ish (?), at which point I stumbled back to my own bed, bouncing off door jams along the way, to slumber for a few hours more. So when the call from a friend came at ten minutes to noon, I snapped awake with that "I'm late for work" surge of adrenaline, which isn't entirely inappropriate since this is my day to get the bulk of my work from home done. And here I am blogging about it instead of doing it...
It was a story worth telling, though (I think), but not one I'm terrifically eager to repeat. I'll tell you how the "big girl bed" experiment continues when there's more to tell.
Evelyn is enjoying twin treats right now for telling mommy and daddy twice this morning that she had to go potty before she actually went! Little Bear and a lollipop for the little one (that's alliterative, kids!), and an update for the blog.
Mommy's at work today, so the three of us (Scout included) are cozied (pretty sure that word doesn't exist) up in the family room, which smells markedly better than the last time I updated the blog here. There was a little leftover mustiness after things got put back together, but thanks to the strategic use of "man candles" and a little ventilation, we're good to go.
Other stuff going on: Brigetta's back to a four day work week, so I've pressed most of my musical planning duties for the church in to a rather packed Wednesday and taken over watching Evelyn on Tuesdays and Thursdays. So far, so good. For some reason, when Brigetta isn't here, Evelyn goes down for naps much easier. It's almost amusing, actually (and alliteratively). If we're both around during nap time, Evelyn just won't go down (easily, anyway) without her momma. I've tried several times, just to give Brigetta a break, but our little princess won't have it. I take that back - she'll have it, because daddy can be even more stubborn than a two year-old, but she has it kicking and screaming, with a side of rage. So we don't pick that fight too often. The point is, nap time on Daddy Days = less fight, more sleep, win for daddy.
And speaking of fights - I'm still struggling to get the blood sugar issues under control. I had some initial success with moving my basal insulin dose to the evening, but overall I'm still testing way too high. I'm due for a follow-up with the endocrinologist within the next week or so, but I've seen enough tests and feel comfortable enough with the trend (which is to say not comfortable at all) to make a small dose adjustment on my own as of last night. This way I'll have several days worth of data from that change to show to the endo when I go. The infection in my toe seems to have subsided, though there is still some redness in the area (just much lighter and less inflamed). I can't wait to run out of the huge green pills...
And speaking of running out - Evelyn has run out of show and lollipop, so it's time to unplug and make with the playing. Agh, and quickly - a Billy Mays commercial is on! *shudder*