Whew!

Sometimes this homemaking thing runs me over like a truck.

In my head, I have lovely visions of schedules and systems and progress...

But more often than not, I find my self feeling flattened underneath all the undone.

And so we have today.

My task for this morning was to clean our bedroom. I announced it to the children. I set up a video to entertain them. I didn't even take time to shower. Straight to the task.

And then...

There were just a few remaining breakfast dishes to complete. I quickly washed them praising Aimee Jo in my head for tackling the pile earlier and knocking a huge dent in the never ending stack.

After that short task was accomplished, the "entertained" kiddos were already back in the kitchen feigning hunger nigh unto death. I can't remember what I offered them. But I'm pretty sure they weren't happy with it. In the process of filling their cavernous tummies, I realized I hadn't eaten yet today.

I sat to eat my breakfast quickly, only to be overwhelmed by the dust and mess covering Jeff's desk. I decided that I would quickly dust his desk, which also turned into dismantling a plastic table and pulling up the dirty table cloth from the dining table. Actions that are logical counterparts to "dusting Jeff's desk."

I quickly turned to the table linen cabinet to find a fresh tablecloth. This, of course, led to emptying the linen cabinet and sorting placemats.

Naturally, that meant redoing the entire set up of the buffet so that the linen arrangement there would match the linen arrangement on the table.

I think this is a sickness.

Just as I was officially headed down the hall to the bedroom, I heard a crash. Baxter, the pooch, had knocked off a glass bowl of maple syrup that unnamed child left within doggy reach in the living room. Don't even get me started on the hard and fast "don't eat in the living room rule". I didn't have time to ponder because there were now shards of glass all over the floor. Sticky with maple syrup.

Sweeping, mopping and carefully scouring the floor took the better part of the next hour...since the sweeping, mopping and scouring also involved locating the matching candles for the redecorated dining table.

Lunchtime was upon us and that would require a quick trip to town. I ran and bought the things I needed and came home to yummy eggsalad sandwiches (thanks Aimee Jo!) and nap wrangling.
After four books (two of which I paraphrased like a mad woman) the youngest were down for a nap. The older offspring were off on a backpack adventure in our yard.

I wish I could say I tackled my initial project with gusto. But, the Colts were playing on ESPN and that required my full attention, for about 20 minutes. At which point I realized the three year old had been drawing a road map on his body with a marker instead of napping. I washed and wrangled some more.

Over the next few hours, I intermitently passed between my bedroom and his. He needed reminding of who was in charge. I, apparently, needed to walk 20 miles back and forth down our hallway.

My bedroom was still untouched. And my children were again starving.

I headed back into the fray of food prep and bath time. Interspersed with sweeping my bedroom floor and emptying trash. After four hundred thousand rounds (or so)of "Silas, do not touch Baxter again." Accompanied by a rousing rendition of "You may not have chocolate and ice cream for dinner"...we had children fed, washed, prayed over and tucked in.

I now sit before the computer amazed that the third load of laundry for the day is in process, no one sliced their toes on shards of glass from this morning's incident, and the Chargers beat the Colts. The dinner dishes are also done. And Anaiah's coos are coming from the swing.

Many good things were accomplished today. Including tidying my bedroom (finally).

So, why is it that all I can think about is the monstrous mess in my pantry. The huge pile of ironing. The toy sorting that the boys' room desperately needs. The cookies I intended to bake and didn't. Unsuccessful discipline techniques for my three year old and my new puppy...

These ponderings leave me feeling flattened. I need to pull myself off the pavement and count my blessings. Rest in the moment. Take a shower. :-)

We made it through the day. And the fresh table linens look splendid.

May your day be blessed in the joy of accomplishing even one small thing!

Baxter

It all started with a mutt named Chipper. Chipper (aka Chips) lived with my parents before I was ever born. They were concerned about how he would react when they brought me home from the hospital. They needn't have worried. Chips scooted under my playpen and growled protectively when any stranger approached to gaze at me.

Chips lived with us for a long time. He ran away once, was picked up by someone and then found his way back to us. Pretty remarkable. My early memories were divided into two parts..."it happened before Chips ran away..." "it happened after Chips got back."
He was significant in our lives.

Eventually, Chips had to go to doggy heaven and we were pet less for a time.

Then came Ginger. Our neighbors down the street were selling (giving away?) puppies and after one brief glimpse, my sister and I were in love. We begged and pleaded and promised all the amazing care in the world. Which we were very diligent to follow through with...for about three days. Maybe not that long. Mom did the feeding and the house breaking and Ginger was really hers.

Ginger was with us a long time. Until 1995, when Jeff and I moved to Uganda. Ginger was not doing well and was going to have to be put down. I asked them to wait until I was gone. I couldn't face that goodbye along with all the other ones. I cried when I got the email saying that Ginger was gone.

"Home" for me in my growing up years included a smallish dog...barking at the door when you returned. Playing chase around the couches. Doing funny and intriguing things that would be talked about for years. A buddy when you were sick on the couch. A loyal friend no matter who was against you.

I moved away from that home. We came to Africa, and we quickly purchased guard dogs. But it wasn't the same. I wanted an inside dog, but could never figure out all the logistics of caring for a dog with our frequent travel and long times away from home.

Fast forward to last week...
For our last two trips to the capital city, my husband has been pointing out the dog advertisements on post boards. I have trained my eyes away from the adorable pictures knowing that it wasn't going to happen...so why look.

Jeff persisted. The poster of the Maltese Terrier puppies gave me much pause. Yes, they were adorable. Yes, I would LOVE one. Yes...they WERE adorable.

And at each of my logical reasons why it wouldn't work...my dear husband replied, "But this is something you really want."

Now, if I didn't know better, it almost seemed that my "dogs are meant to live outside" husband was trying to convince me to buy an inside dog.

The next day, as I picked up our meat order at the butchery, Jeff paraded off with all four of the offspring bouncing after him. They returned with huge grins and twinkles in their eyes.

"The last Maltese Terrier puppy is yours, if you agree."

How in the world can you say no to a bunch of jumping, squealing, exuberant children of your womb.

That and... I REALLY WANTED THE PUPPY!!!

We made the deal and met the owner the following day to get the dog.



This is Baxter.

And he has stolen our hearts.

Silas ran laps around the couch today with Baxter. Alex works diligently to teach him tricks. Isaac has become the Baxter-radar informing me what room Bax is in at all times...and what he is doing. Kinley is content to hold him while she reads.

But, I'm doing the feeding and housebreaking (oh goody! more poop to clean up!)...so, everytime he yips when I leave the room...or leaps up into my lap...or cuddles close while I read blogs...I am reminded...

He is mine. Smile.

Our carved out haven in this far off land...feels a little bit more secure...a little bit more "right".

Welcome Baxter. We are so glad you are here!