Terrified of Dirt

Okay, I'm not really scared of dirt. However, my mother is coming to visit. And I'm not a great housekeeper. I'm not the world's worst housekeeper, not by any stretch of the imagination. But I just don't like cleaning (granted, who does?), and I find things to do to avoid it. Like type up blog posts, or something.

However, like I said, my mother is coming to visit. So, of course, I have to clean. I spent this evening in the kitchen, doing dishes and trying to figure out where to put all the stuff that accumulates on the counter. Organic Guy was a great help, and organized the liquor and wine bottles. What a guy. Of course, he also brought home daffodils for me tonight, so he's really completely off the hook. Organic Kid cleaned her bedroom (whatta gal), and helped a bit in the kitchen too. And she got all her homework done early, and cleaned out her snake's aquarium, so she's definitely in my "great kid" column right now.

Ya know, the funny thing is, I'm struggling with how much cleaning I should do. I have a difficult relationship with my mom. I'm hoping this visit will mend some fences, will open up lines of communication. But at the same time, I don't know how much I want to disrupt my normal routine. I mean, I do laundry so that we have clean clothes, and get those put away. I do the dishes and wipe down counters and sweep and vacuum. But if books or papers get piled on the counter, I don't worry about it too much, and put them away when I get a chance. If those little pan thingies under the burners aren't sparkling, I don't worry about it. I clean them when I clean the oven. I pile newspaper on the corner of the fireplace, and take out whole bunches of recycling at once. I don't stress over dusting. Actually, I consider dust a historical reference point. If I dusted, how would I know where things go? Not dusting leaves a good reference! I keep the food put away, but the counter may have a toaster and a cutting board and a blender on it. Right now, I'm thinking I should clean it all. Everything should sparkle. But I also want my mom to accept my life as it is.

So. I think I'll just keep doing what I'm doing....avoid it all while creating a new blog post. Elegant answer to a unsolvable situation, n'est-ce pas?

Grey and Good

I woke up this morning, and it was dark. It shouldn't have been, there should have been the first morning light peeping through the window. I thought, maybe I just woke up extra early. Jumped in the shower, and figured it would be light when I got out. Nope, still dark.

Figuring I just wasn't awake, I wandered into the kitchen, and thought of making coffee. That's when I heard it. That plink, plink, plink sound. Stared out the window (into the darkness). Realized the darkness was just clouds. The plinking was rain. Slow, soaking, ground-drinking rain. So very beautiful!

I finished getting the coffee going, walked slowly in the rain to get the paper, came back in, got steaming coffee, sat down and closed my eyes. Savored that plinking sound, that feeling of rain water seeping through my hair to my scalp. Licked my lips, tasting the raindrops there. Listened and listened to that plinking sound.

I love the rain. And now that the spring garden is all planted, I love it all that much more. It's so perfect, such a long soaking rain after planting so many good veggies. And perfect for a quiet Friday at home, just me and my coffee.

And the sound of the falling rain.

Not So Long Ago

Saint Patrick's Day. I've always loved that holiday. Its always been about spending good times with good friends. And I vividly remember the anticipation leading up to Saint Patrick's in 1998. The day was circled in green (of course) on the calendar. I had a doctor's appointment on a Friday shortly before St. Patricks. I remember how he told me to take it easy. There was a big winter storm blowing up, and I didn't need to be out and about. Of course, I believed that he meant it was perfectly fine for me to go shoot pool with my husband (the one at that time, not OrganicGuy), and my buddy Mark. I'd known Mark since I'd been a wee snot-nosed brat in 9th grade. He's still a good friend, and one great guy.

While playing pool, we started talking about plans for St. Patrick's. I demurred, saying I would likely be busy. Mark and the husband started talking about another friend, Jason, and his idea for trick-or-treating for St. Patricks. You know...go door to door, and ask for treats. Yeah, I know what you're all thinking...didn't you say St. Patricks, not Halloween? Saint Paddys with the green beer and leprechauns and all that? Yes, I did say that. And you would generally be right.

But you may not know Jason. He's a 6'6" redhead, who has a killer Irish accent. He wanted to go door to door claiming to be a leprechaun, and that the house we were at was hiding his pot 'o' gold. He went on like this for a while, making all of us laugh. "Where's me pot o gold?" he'd cry. He'd answer himself too..."Hey buddy (spoken in a flat Nebraskan accent), ain't'cha kinda tall to be a leprechaun?" "Oh-Hoo," (Jason again, Irish again) "And ain't'cha a bit of a thief and all, stealin' me gold, to be claimin' to know about leprechauns." On and on it went. Until, finally, he did it...he knocked lightly on my stomach, and said "You in there, you haven't seen a pot o gold, have ye? Is there a pot o gold in your mummy's belly???" Yes, he was talking to my soon-to-be-born child. The one that was due on Saint Patrick's Day. I laughed. I gasped for air. I begged him to stop. I laughed some more. I bitched about how pregnant women are incontinent, with pea-sized bladders, and raced to the bathroom. Okay, I waddled. Not much racing at 9 months pregnant.

Anyhow, it did snow that weekend. And snow and snow. The previous October, we'd had one of the most damaging snowstorms Lincoln Nebraska had ever seen. 24+ inches of wet snow, on trees that hadn't lost leaves yet. Massive power outages, schools closed for a full week. This storm, the March storm, the one to create a perfect bookend for the October storm, wasn't quite as bad. Only about 15 inches of snow. Started on Saturday, kept going for about half of Sunday. I spent the weekend on the couch stroking the belly and saying "If you just wait until Daddy has the drive cleared, I promise I will take you out to eat anywhere you want for your 16th birthday present." She listened; Dad got the drive cleared Sunday night. Went to work Monday AM. Went home Monday PM. Had supper. Got up from the couch to put some dishes in the sink, and woosh. Uh...honey...that moment can seem such a cliche, but that's exactly what I felt. Honey, the water broke. No, not the sink...yeah, get the keys. I've got my bag.

And then I waited. And waited. And waited. Monday night turned into Tuesday morning. And Tuesday afternoon. With the help of a great hospital staff, and good drugs, the then-husband and I wiled away the hours debating the various strengths and weaknesses of each bracket of the NCAA tourney (hey, don't be like that...it WAS right after Selection Sunday, and I've always been a sports geek!). And then, at 6:15 the Tuesday night (and yes, I'm leaving out the details, believe me you don't want any more details), OrganicKid made her presence known to the world. All red, and screaming, and irritated at being bugged by all these people she didn't know. And just beautiful. Perfect little fingers and fingernails. The perfect size, the perfect shape. And I was immediately in love.

It's now 11 years later. OrganicKid is now pretty much as tall as me (she loves this fact), wears my shoes and shirts to school as often as she thinks she can get away with. She's blond and blue-eyed, tall and slender, funny, bright, creative, and I'm in awe of her every day. I couldn't imagine life without her in in. And I firmly believe the world is a better place, because OrganicKid is a part of it.

She's goofy, she's getting to be a great cook, and I'm so proud of her. And I was right. I was kinda busy that Saint Patrick's Day. I was learning how to be a mom worthy of such a great kid.

Happy birthday OrganicKid. And just remember, all your life long, your mom loves you.

Once a Month

Okay, now it's time for my monthly blog update. Let's see...what has happend since last post? The garden's been started (planted peas, asparagus crowns, and potatoes, need to get lettuce and radishes in). Work has been busy, been to Canada, to California, to Rocky Mount (okay, that's in NC), going to Boone, Asheville and North Dakota soon. OrganicKid turns 11 (tomorrow!! eek!), can wear my shoes, and is nearly as tall as me.

Oh, yeah. I joined facebook. because I'm an idiot. because janda convinced me. because i have an overwhelming need to feel like I'm in junior high, and not one of the cool kids. because i've heard that it's a great way to reconnect with people. Okay, that last one is true. I've reconnected with some amazing folks from my past, and been happy to have done so. So, if you actually read this, and if I have facebook-ed you down already, and you want to friend me (and I still believe that friend should NEVER EVER be a verb), feel free!