the kitchen floor is dirty

This is not news. This is everyday life. It strikes me as painfully ironic that when you most need your kitchen floor to be clean enough to eat off of (there's no way to put that phrase that doesn't end in a preposition), there is no way you can get it that way, much less keep it that way. So the dirt sticks to the raisin that falls on the floor, and before you've realized that the 9-year-old has dropped raisins on the floor, the not-quite-2-year-old has eaten three of them.

That's life.

The children don't seem to mind. Lucy doesn't care if the bottoms of her socks (or feet) look like she's been walking around outside, and the boys would probably rather I not scrub the floor. I mean, when the floor is clean (for the whole 5 minutes it stays that way), they have to be obsessive about taking muddy shoes off at the door.

In fact, now that I think about it, the children would all probably prefer that I leave the house untidy and not bother too much about the floors. The main result of it, from their point of view, is that then I am far more likely to ask them to pick up toys when they've finished playing, and way more likely to recoil in horror if they walk into the house in muddy shoes. (And, as this is England in spring, muddy shoes are pretty much the order of the day...) Dusting would be ok, and cleaning the bathrooms doesn't disrupt them too much.

Then again, maybe I should just go for a walk.

Baked beans go with everything

I admit that this isn't news. Not a 'current event' of the sort that bored me as a teenager. Truth may be stranger than fiction, but I always found fiction more compelling at that age. I suppose that what I am about to post is the former: truth, stranger than fiction. Or at least I find it so, since I am from Southern California, where baked beans go with hot dogs and hamburgers, next to the coleslaw.

Here, in England, beans go with a lot more things. Toast, for example. Baked beans on toast is one of my kids' favorite things, especially with soft boiled eggs. If you're British, you probably don't find that odd. (Then again, you might--my British husband doesn't like eggs, so he's not a reliable source.) I don't mind. It makes the kids easy to please when their dad is away. They think it's a treat.

And then there are those intercultural moments in our house, when baked beans find their way onto plates with really odd pairings. Today, it's enchiladas. One of Iain's very favorite meals is enchiladas with baked beans. It still disturbs me slightly. I stick with refried beans, which are the fitting accompaniment to enchiladas.

Green enchiladas aren't something you find much in Durham. Maybe not at all. The Central American proprietor of Salsa y Sabor (next to the bus station) does the green salsa. I was going to post the recipe (and probably will eventually), but now it's time to eat.

Anna keeps us home

Well.

Lewis was supposed to give a paper in Cambridge on Wednesday. I was going to meet him there tomorrow and catch up with a couple of people as well. But he's not in Cambridge, and I am not going. We've each spent at least one night away from home this week, though, and stayed with Anna in the university hospital of north Durham. This is good: having to go back and forth from Newcastle in the summer of 2011 was much more taxing.

Anna will be fine. But a girl who doesn't take medicine well under the best of conditions was not about to drink the vile potion that they said would fight the infection that was making her face red and swollen and sending her temperature sky-high on Tuesday. So IV antibiotics it had to be. She's pretty chipper and the doctors will send her home tomorrow, where she'll continue with a more pleasant-tasting antibiotic.

In the meantime, she's watching lots of movies with her dad, having her nails painted by me (and doing mine as well--photos to follow, or check them out on facebook), and generally charming the socks off everyone in the ward.

That's my Anna!

A homily for Thomas

Last week, Thomas gave me a homily. So this week I returned the favor: http://thinkingcoramdeo.blogspot.co.uk/2013/03/fifth-sunday-of-lent.html

Oh, and happy St Patrick's Day!

Posted with Blogsy

book launch

A book launch isn't the place that you'd expect to find many children. I am glad, though, that my children weren't the only ones there. Anna was her usual self, alternating between charming people and getting into mischief. Thomas was my publicist and chief book-seller. (I admit it was difficult to get him to hand over the cash. What £40? he asked...) Not that many books were sold. Just two, in fact. Given that the crowd were mostly students at the theological college in which I teach, it's not surprising. Some of the university students might have fat allowances, but those preparing for ministry don't.

Special price £39. Thomas thought I should get the money. I am really grateful that a couple of people actually bought the book!

Iain brought a tank. Who wouldn't? He was soon tearing around college with his friend Bleddyn. Book launch? What book launch?

Some folks actually had a look at the merchandise. I appreciated everyone who came, though, even if they only came for the wine. I even appreciated the student who showed up towards the end, expecting another event, who'd forgotten entirely about the book launch. Never mind--he had a look at the book, anyway.

Lucy smiled at everyone and made friends. She insisted that I pick her up frequently, though, with the result that when it came time for me to say a few words, I did so with toddler on hip. Since I wrote most of the original text during kids' naptimes and precious hours while they were at nursery, it seems appropriate that they were close at hand for the speeches.

Anna, enjoying a still and quiet moment, between dashes for the stairs or kitchen.

I think they all had a good time. I'm just glad nobody had a tantrum or spilled anything. As not-conducive to book-writing as the children are, I know with absolute certainty that I couldn't have done it without them.

sisters

Lucy is in that wonderful phase in which new words and phrases are being added to her vocabulary daily. One of the words she enjoys is 'sisters,' and she's clear about how to use it. 'Anna,' she'll say, pointing at 'Anna.' And then, still pointing, 'sister!' 

Like her sister, she loves dancing. She loves the Wiggles, though it sounds more like 'Billig' when she says it. Maybe someday she'll be doing ballet with Anna, in matching outfits like Anna and her classmate in the photo. 

I can't keep up with all that goes on around here, really. Sometimes it seems crazy even to try. Still, I ought to find out what the noise downstairs means... not sisters, this time, but their brothers.

Sometimes no news is good news

When I started this blog, I had no long-term purpose. Anna was having three surgeries in the space of a summer, one of which was a heart surgery. I just wanted a way to let friends and family know how she was doing.

Thankfully, I haven't used this space to report that sort of news lately. Of course, Anna keeps us guessing: last weekend the kids all had a virus, which seemed mostly to have run its course. But then Anna spiked a fever (40.1C/103.2F) and broke out in a rash, and had us all in a dither. (Well, not Anna, exactly, but the doctor who suggested that if she hadn't improved after 24 hours of oral antibiotics, we would have to have her admitted to the hospital.) A couple of days later, she was dancing around the dining room to her new favourite song. But that's Anna.