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The Roof Over My Head

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I am sitting here at what is normally a very quiet time of day in the house. Any other Monday, you’d probably hear nothing but the washing machine and dryer running, and maybe the vacuum cleaner or some water running as I clean up the mess leftover from the weekend.

But today, they are removing the roof. The sound of thumps and scrapes and bumps and heavy boots walking overhead drowns out the buzz of the dryer’s “I’m done” signal. I can hear a radio but I can’t make out what’s playing on it.

Having a roof done in January is iffy business, but when we started to see water damage on Middle Sister’s ceiling, we knew we couldn’t put it off any longer. Fortunately the weather today is gorgeous with temps climbing through the 50s, and tomorrow will be even better.

It was a shame that Little Brother had already headed off to school when the big truck with the built-in “claw lift thingamajig” pulled up and started offloading pallets of shingles right onto the roof. The rest of the kids in the neighborhood, who take a later bus, had some entertainment while they stood on the corner waiting for their ride.

It’s noisy now, but it will be leakproof later. And then they’ll replace my ugly front door, and the back door with the cracked windowpane, with pretty new doors and frosted-glass sidelights in the front. And I’ll get to go to the Big Box Home Improvement Store and choose a paint color for the front door (and the shutters, which someone in the house who shall remain nameless did not even realize we have).

TheDad asked me this morning if I was excited about getting the new roof. Not really. It’s the doors that I’m waiting for. That’s something I look at and use every day. It’ll be nice to look at something pretty for a change.

Wind out of my sails

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I was chugging right along yesterday, accomplishing housework right and left, and feeling that boost you get when you can SEE that a job is done, and KNOW that it will stay done for maybe 4 more hours. Then I went to daily Mass and the Novena to the Blessed Mother, and Father H, in his mini-nugget of wisdom that passes for a homily at daily Mass, told us that “Every time we hear the Gospel at Mass we are left with a choice.” (chew on THAT for a while–he’s right!)

Then after lunch it was off to a new gynecologist (my old one retired) to see about a problem I’ve been having that is feminine in nature. After a few rounds of him recommending that I take care of said problem with birth control pills, IUDs or other methods that I find extremely objectionable, and me telling him this, he suggested that right now we schedule a thyroid workup and that he would do an endometrial biopsy. He could do that test immediately if I had the time, which I did, so I figured that instead of dreading it I’d just get it over with. I had no idea that it would actually turn out to be minor surgery.

Well, that was the end of my domestic productivity for the day. TheDad, poor guy, worked late and then came home to find me on the couch and no dinner ready, and had to get takeout for the kids. Big Brother missed out on his opportunity to carbo-load on home-cooked carbs before his first cross-country meet of the season.

I think the grocery-shopping will have to wait until tomorrow. It’s back to the couch for me, with my coffee, ibuprofen, and library book. If I save it up all day, I know I can manage an easy dinner.

I’d appreciate the generosity of your prayers as I wait for the result of the biopsy.

My Kitchen Sink View

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Here’s the view from my kitchen sink. There’s been a number of “mom bloggers” posting these lately. Most of them live out in the country, or the woods, and have gorgeous backyard views. I’ve got the Aging Suburban View–fortunately, because the newer developments around here have houses so close to each other that my back-door neighbor could toss that spice bottle out her kitchen window and right into mine. We’ve got a little space between houses here, and I appreciate that. There’s room in the yard for the swing set and Big Climbing Fort, as well as my large clothesline.

My kitchen faces northeast. Not a lot of sun comes in at this time of year. But I do get to see some beautiful winter sunrises.

After reading what Sarah and Suzanne had posted, I wanted to make some kind of Kitchen Sink Shrine as well. I’m there so much, I may as well do some praying along with the washing and chopping. But my windowsill is soooo narrow–nothing wider than a penny will fit! Then I found this little sculpture, tucked into a corner somewhere else in the house. It was a gift from my husband’s aunt, and I have very fond memories of her. It’s a little pewter, abstract Mother and Child, with the Child being a luminous marble–I always think of it as “Light of the World.”

In honor of my grandmother, who always had a picture of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in the kitchen, I hung up a holy card with that picture, that just fits in the spot.


Next to my kitchen sink is the Caffeine Center. Middle Sister received the little statue of the Blessed Mother a couple of years ago. Both hands have broken off, but she’s a very pretty little statue. Somehow she wound up in the kitchen and has never left. I want to keep her safe, so she’s on a little tray with my sugar bowl, coffee grinder and pen mug. I see her each time I need a little caffeine boost, so I’ve nicknamed her “Our Lady of the Coffee Break.”

Slowly but surely, the kitchen is becoming my shrine. I’ve got Saint Francis on the refrigerator and Our Lady of Guadalupe on the bulletin board next to the phone. There’s a Saint Brigid’s Cross on the wall, and a few prayer cards that belonged to my grandmother on the refrigerator as well.

Advent in My House: They’re On Fire

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Too much Boy Scout. Not enough reverence.

For example:

…they start the meal by musing, “I wonder if I can sneeze the candles out tonight.”

…Big Brother is running out of clever ways to light the match. (Tomorrow we may have to do the Boy Scout flint thing. That could keep him busy for a while).

…they have been picking the wax drippings off the sides of the candles and stacking them around the wick, campfire-style. (Note to self: next year, buy the dripless kind.)

…they are begging to light the fourth candle because “we won’t be eating dinner at home on Sunday night, and we need to use it sometime.”

Here’s where I am seriously glad that Advent is as short as it possibly can be this year!