Nothing Pressing

I vaguely remember last year at this time, writing about all the things we were trying to fit in before summer was over and the cool weather set in. I don't feel as rushed this year, even with our cold summer, but I know I am really enjoying these newly warm days with the kind of delight you take in the last fresh Michigan strawberry. I guess I'm savoring them, with more patience for exploring and picking fuzzy old dandelions and getting dirty or jumping in water.

Today we had a garage sale in the morning, so Trevor took the kids bright and early to get doughnuts and play with friends while I manned the tables. (Sidenote: Repeat garage sale -- with more stuff from friends who stopped by -- in two weeks. It was quiet today.)

After we closed shop Trevor went on a Vespa cruise with a friend and I took the girls to Camp Petosega, where they bypassed the playground and headed straight for the beach. The water was crystal clear, completely clean and so warm that even Berit walked right in. We did lots of adventuring in the lake, picking up wet sand and squeezing it, plopping it back into the water, scavenging for shells and stones and playing with the friendly minnows.

I have always had a fear of lakes (and a terror of oceans), but when I've got my kids with me I usually completely forget about it. It's one thing if we're by my parents' black lake and they want to go in -- no. They can with Dad; out of the question for me. But when we're in Lake Michigan or Crooked Lake, I always think back on our day and realize that hey, I wasn't scared. It helps that our children rarely go in past where Trevor and I can stand, so there's no open water at my feet with who knows what lurking down there.

We came back home and I served ice cream at 4:30 p.m., and somehow they were still hungry for dinner afterwards. We did baths and bed, and when Trevor's not home we three pile into the big rocking chair in Marta's room and read books together instead of each girl in her own room. They chose Dora's Sleepover Party, Ten In The Bed and Tugga Tugga Tugboat -- a book whose lure escapes me completely, yet I read it on demand at least four times a week. Marta took Good Dog, Carl, to bed, and Berit took Noisy Nora with her.

The sun set tonight around 7:30. Seven-thirty! And Facebook is filled with back-to-school excitement. Berit still has one more week before school starts, but we're feeling the electricity of fall creeping in in our house, too. While eating ice cream sandwiches on the deck we analyzed the colors of the leaves on some of the trees hanging over the side -- purples, reds, oranges, and leaves that have already passed through their bright phases and have gone onto brown.

We're meeting friends for a walk in the morning and I pulled out long layers for the girls to wear, though I feel fairly certain they'll be shedding them as the sun creeps out. Trevor's constantly updating us on pre-season football and just informed me that we'll need to be home this Sunday by 8 p.m. for the Bears' first season game. As I wrote that last sentence he told me about it again, and as I write this sentence he continues to tell me about it. Against the Packers, did you know?

With a late summer of little to no building going on, we've been so glad to have several clients eager to build this fall, and Trevor keeps having successful meetings over on the lake as friends and clients spend their last few weekends here of the season. We're blessed, that's just what it amounts to, because this economy stinks and so many people don't have work. We've had a few scary weeks but for the most part, we've turned out to be very lucky, and we are grateful. This past year of unfriendly NASDAQ reports has taught us to cling tightly to the basics and realize that the rest is just crumb topping -- it is lovely to have but could fall away in a moment.

My girlfriend was here this morning with her 9-week-old baby, who was just warm and cozy and slept all two hours she was here, and it just felt right to be holding a baby as the temperature dropped. Both of my babies were born in the winter, and while it's hard not to be able to take them outside, it is nice to snuggle their warm little bodies.

It feels so good to be prepared, with school clothes and new jeans and the coats out of storage, but not needing them. To know that we're safe and secure for the time being. And to have our oldest heading into school, but only a little -- we don't have the nervous excitement of kindergarten for two years yet.

Things are calm. Are they calm before a storm? Hope not. The dog still stinks. Really stinks. And we're thinking about switching to cloth diapers, so, that'll be dirty. Things will pick up here soon enough.

Dangle Down

If you aren't here because of the kid stuff (then why are you here? My book recommendations? Oh please, let it be my book recommendations.), turn away.

Berit needed help on the potty today because her princess dress was so big and so froofy that I had to hold it up while she peed.

She said, "Mom, Angelina Ballerina definitely doesn't have a wee."

Me: "Um, I think she does."

B: "Where is it?"

Me: "Where yours is. You just can't see it because wees are private, and we wear clothes over them."

B: "What does it look like?"

Me: "Well, she's a girl... mouse... so, probably like yours."

B: "Like this, or a dangle-down wee, like Liam's?"

Kids' Club

The neighborhood kids have recently realized that our girls are no longer babies. The majority of the children who live on our block are aged 5-10, and even though they're older than our kids, they've taken a shine to Berit and Marta that we hadn't expected.

I think you spend so long in your baby bubble that it's hard to realize that your children will soon be part of something larger -- a culture of little people who don't think it's at all strange to invade your home without knocking, conquer your swingset or immerse themselves in your children's toys.

Since the start of summer we've had a few tagalongs with every evening walk, which our kids absolutely love. Now that school's just days away, the neighborhood gangs seem to be out in full force. They come over whenever we're outside to play on the swingset, and have recently taken to running in our house with Berit to play in her room. If Marta is inside having lunch or watching a movie, they always pop in to cuddle with her and try to get her to say a thousand entertaining phrases. When they see that I have her video monitor in hand, they ask to see her on it, and coo over the littlest member of their club.

Our kids have fallen right into this. They don't bat an eyelash when they turn around and a big 7-year-old is handing them a toy. And the children are so gentle and polite, and are genuinely friendly and playful that's it's hard to tell them when it's time to leave. They call their parents to inform them of where they are, and settle down to play blocks or read books or run around the driveway. They don't seem to notice that they're two or three or four times our daughters' ages.

In the beginning I wasn't sure how to handle them. They're so BIG, with so much to SAY, and I haven't had much experience with kids their ages so I would wonder when they'd run off to be with someone else and let us take our little family walk. But as time went on I realized how much bigger it all was. They had included our kids in the neighborhood pack, and were checking out the welcome potential from Berit and Marta's mom and dad. In fact, I noticed how important it was for Berit to interact with them, and now even Marta is asking to see them when we walk by their houses.

One day we were strolling by the home of two little boys, ages 5 and 7, who were outside playing and who love to fuss over Marta. We walked past and shouted hello, and Berit ran over to have a quick once-over with the youngest. When she was walking back he shouted, "Bye, Berit!" And she thought he had called her another name, so she said, "NO, I'm BERIT!" And he yelled, "Of course you're Berit! Everyone knows that!"

It was cute, and a lesson in kid society. She wanted to be known. This is her social group, these are her peers. They are not her family, nor are they her classmates who have no choice but to know her. They have decided to be friends with her, and she with them.

Trevor has a hard time with all of this. If I had asked him five years ago how he would feel about having kids run in and out of our house, climbing on our swingset and playing wildly outside with our kids, he would have said, "That's exactly how my childhood was! I can't wait for that!" But when the door opens after a soft knock and a 4-foot boy runs in, he gives me a look as if to say, "Oh I don't think so."

He rolls his eyes and isn't as overly kind to the kids as a host might be (he's not mean -- just full of STAY OUTSIDE, GUYS and PLEASE DON'T TOUCH THE FOUR WHEELER).

I said to him today, as five kids had joined our brood and all seven were doing various activities in our living room during "rest time," "This is it. This is what our life will be like for the next 20 years, at least. Do you want to tell our kids they can't do this? Their friends aren't welcome to be here? We're too picky about our toys and furniture to allow you to have good, clean fun with your friends?" And he smiled, and said that it was just strange.

He often talks about how he's not sure whether or not he'll give our kids permission to try beer when they're 16 (NO) or let them drink if they're going to stay at our house (NEVER), because apparently his parents let him do these things and he now has a healthy attitude toward drinking (My parents did not let me do these things and I also have a healthy attitude toward drinking.), and I think he maybe fantasizes about our kids as teens with things like soccer games and trendy music and is really looking forward to that. But I have to wonder if the same thing will happen as is now; when the time arrives, will he realize that, this time, he's the adult in the situation? That it's a whole lot different to be going through it as the parent, as it was the child?

It's interesting to watch this happen. When a woman gets pregnant, she often reads books, searches the Internet and talks her friends' ears off about being a mother. As her children are growing, she makes friends with ladies who have children about the same age, and they journey through stages together. They talk about what's next, how to handle certain hurdles, how to discipline, celebrate, educate. But men go about things so differently. Yes, I know, there are those dads who also pounce on the books and can't get enough of researching baby stuff, but the majority of guys I know tend to take things as they come, and react from a completely unprepared place. I don't think one or the other is better (OK, maybe I do), but it's nice when you can approach things in two different ways, to see what works best for the kids.

The most interesting part of the day happened this evening. After a late morning and early afternoon of the neighborhood's children being one with our family, we had the Dart family over for dinner, and our girls played with some of their best buds, Liam and Brennan. Trevor spent most of the time with our girls, since Ellen and I were busy setting up a garage sale and the dads were hanging with the children, but as soon as they went home Trevor and Berit headed for the swingset (where she's been the majority of the day). I said, "Looks like it's time for a bath." He said, "We're going to play for a minute." I said, "It's past 7:30." And he said, "I know, but I promised." And then they played, hard, with Berit giggling uncontrollably and Trevor laughing as they frolicked and chased and pushed and climbed.

I think he missed her.

Hum Drum Happiness

It is a remarkably gorgeous day. I have all the windows open, and even the front door is swung wide to let all of the late summer/early fall bugs in with the fresh air. We're looking forward to a barbecue with the Darts this evening, and El and I are going to set up a garage sale for tomorrow, Labor Day Monday. I eschewed the boys' need for fancy beer and instead bought Irish red for Irish Ellen, and Layer Cake wine for the adults' dessert while the kids have ice cream cones.

The DALMAC bikers have been riding through town all weekend with their orange flags, making me wish I was enough of a happy camper to sign up for next year's 300+ mile journey from East Lansing to the bridge. Can't imagine not having our Tempurpedic after riding all weekend.

... We've just gotten back from downtown. Trevor had an unexpected meeting with a client spring up, so the girls and I went to the Grain Train to get trail mix ingredients. We parked by Ace and walked there. Berit was dressed in one of her princess costumes, as usual, and while I don't even notice that she's in full princess mode (with crown to boot), passersby sure do. Whenever someone compliments her, she CURTSIES. Adorable.

We came home with chunky monkey cookies and trail mix supplies, and Marta helped me dump everything into a big pot and stir it up. They're both currently in their cozy chairs watching Max & Ruby with cups full of trail mix. Marta has already dumped hers twice.

Evening At The Beach

Hard-To-Answer Questions

Yesterday I was rushing around trying to get dressed while Marta cried, "GO BYE-BYE!", because the child cannot stomach being at her own house for anything other than sleep (for which she MUST be in her own bed, and this is non-negotiable).

I tossed off my PJ pants and pulled on some jeans. Just before I buttoned and zipped, Berit said "STOP!" She needed to see my c-section scar (again). She's interested in the scar in a roundabout way, because it's a boo-boo, because it's next to a tattoo and is therefore doubly fascinating, and because Marta came out of it. She typically looks at it, then says "wow," and it's over.

Yesterday, though, she said, "That's how Dr. Joe took Marta out of your belly." I said, "Yup, you're right," and pulled on my jeans. She said, "And that's how I came out of your belly, too.

Um... "Nope. You came out a different way." (Tell her the truth, but only as much as she needs. Tell her the truth. Tell her the truth...)

"Where did I come out?"

"Well, you were in my belly, and then you came out."

"HOW?"

"Mommy and the doctors helped you come out."

"WHERE? Your belly?"

"You did come out of my belly."

"From your scar?"

"Noooo. From my... wee." (Yes. She calls her privates a wee.)

GIGGLEGIGGLEGIGGLEGIGGLEGIGGLE "Is that how all babies come out?"

"Yes. Either from a scar like this one, or from a mommy's wee."

"Huh. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Then, last night during prayers, she said, "I don't want to pray. Cinderella doesn't pray. Jane and Michael (Mary Poppins) don't pray."

Me: "They might pray in private. You just don't see them praying."

Her: "No, I would see it. They don't pray."

Me: "Well, maybe they do something different to thank God."

Her: "Mom, what's God?"

Two major questions in one day -- maybe she ate breakfast.

Pros. Cons. Feelings.

This afternoon I came home from four hours of sorting books for Berit's preschool to find both girls desperate to go somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere FUN, that is. With ice cream.

So I put Marta in the car (Berit being in the stage where she has to do EVERYTHING by herself at negative turtle speed) and ran into the house to grab a couple of disposable bibs. As I did this I noticed my answering machine blinking. "Hi Lisa, it's Debbie from ReMax of Petoskey, we just had a request for a showing of your house for 4:30 today." Glance at the clock: 3:51. Glance around the house. Uh... Think: Girls are already in the car, ready to go. Can I speed clean the house and get a message to Re-Max?

My decision: No. NO! Why the heck was it a no? But truly, I don't think we would have made it. Yes, I probably could have cleaned up in a half hour, but not perfectly. Did I just shoot myself in the foot? Possibly. Probably not. Who knows. The people who were so interested in the house last week (Wife's favorite! Top three!) just made an offer on another house. We have an open house scheduled for this weekend and we're just not excited anymore. Does this mean we should quit the game? We're thinking about it. But there's that damn What If.

So we cleaned the carpets and we're doing the bathrooms tonight just in case they call tomorrow. But truthfully, if nothing happens after this weekend, I think we're going to take a break from the Realty game when our contract is up. Will our house ever be really, really clean again after we pull our listing? Maybe not. Will we be any closer to living in town? No. So why pull it? Dunno. Do our feelings count for anything here, or should we just brush them off? A whole year on the market, which sinks lower and lower.

Take it off the market PROS:

It might be a better market next year.

We might make more on it next year.

We might appear fresh to buyers next year.

No more frantic dustbunny clean-outs at midnight.

No more bittersweet cookies baked for open houses.

No more packing up the family and forcing our baby to nap elsewhere when someone might possibly like our house, maybe.

Take it off the market CONS:

It might be a worse market next year.

We might make less on it next year.

We'd be free from a mortgage in case we suddenly win the lottery and can build our house immediately, or in case new things coming up might force us to live elsewhere for awhile.

Why bother taking it off? We know we want to sell. What if we do? Who cares if it's winter?

No extra cookies.

Any advice? I should have went for the showing, right? I knew it.