A day in the life...

Nothing exciting, and no pictures since Blogger is periodically death on loading those, but I thought I'd let you all know that we are still ticking along here. I know that the sleight ride has not jingled into the blog yet, but I did get the pictures out of Erin's e-mail last night, so that's a step in the right direction.

Erin is in Chile for two weeks so Elena and I are, for the moment, flying solo. Nana, responding to an urgent summons on the bat phone, arrives Tuesday to bail me out so the situation will soon be well in hand, thank goodness. It was quite a weekend. Yesterday we shopped, and shopped, and drove (lots of driving) but we still didn't get it all done. This morning, crafty as ever, we hustled right out at the bright and early hour of 10:00 AM while the undergrads were still abed and got the last of our things done. Good thing, by the time we got home our rising bread was ready for the oven, with the undergraduate friction factor slowing us down we would have been in big trouble.

Bread into oven. Next project, compost pile. With Elena's help I bent a piece of concrete reinforcing wire into a cylinder (not one you find in the parenting magazines, but really quite popular with the kids) and then lined it with some old chicken wire we found in the woods (living next to an old garbage dump has some cost saving advantages). Along the way we discovered that a wad of old chicken wire, stamped into a rectangle about the size of a door mat, makes a killer boot cleaner. And when it gums up, just chuck it, it cost peanuts (or free in our case). While I made a lid out of part of an old pallet and a big aluminum tray (yes, another gem from the dump) Elena tried her hand at hammering and had her inaugural finger whacking. Ice and cuddles later we took our completed composting cylinder outside and shoveled our moldering leaf pile, part of it anyway, into the cylinder.

Now we had completed all the prerequisites for the real chore of the morning, scraping out the pigeon loft. Also not found in many parenting magazines, but really, really a huge hit with the kids (or at least ours) and it has the added bonus of reducing the chance she'll grow up with allergies (that's right, an hour a week moving poop around with your hands and a taping knife keeps your immune system plenty busy without it having to invent things to freak out about). Loft clean, poop in compost, time to get the birds clean. Back up to the house for the bath pan and two gallons of water. I poured one, Elena poured one -- the birds got 1.5 gallons to bathe in. No bath last week so they were all champing at the bit. By the time we made it up to the house to make lunch and watch through the window all 27 were trying to cram into the 21" diameter tub. Pretty funny.

Lunch followed by rest, but not sleeping. Elena burnt out on resting just as the dishes got finished. Trouble. My nap plan was cleaning the bathrooms. With mom coming I need to make it look like a house where an adult resides, not the indoor squirrel farm of a bachelor and toddler who live like wolves (OK, we don't actually farm squirrels in our house, but see page 2B of the Montgomerey County Examiner). Unfortunately cleaning bathrooms with pre-school age help is some place where I draw the line. Organic nasties are fine, but toxic cleaning chemicals are only for those of us who have finished our educations and can afford to sacrifice a few brain cells. So Elena played by herself while I did one bathroom. Then we went out to test drive my bike which is, finally (and another blogworthy event, just later) road worthy. Bike passed check ride with flying colors so we added saddle bags and will ride to school tomorrow. Then a couple of laps up and down the hill on Elena's trike and it was time to whip up a little dinner.

Elena went in for painting while I cooked and proceeded to hit the wall about the time we figured out that you really could do a passable job painting with beet juice and Nana and Big Opa called. Fortunately, talking on the phone managed to back her off the wall long enough for me to get dinner on the table. Dinner, bath, stories, bed, dishes. Second bathroom clean, basement presentable for Nana. Upstairs awaiting tomorrow or arrival of cleaning fairy. Stay at home parents and single parents deserve all the accolades they [don't] get. Managing a household is a full time job. Clearly whoever outlawed polygamy had hired household help, there are definitely days when 3 or 4 adults seems about the right number to manage a household with _a_ child in it.

That's it. Folding laundry on ergonomic software breaks and really, really angling for sleep.

Oh, by the way, as far as I know no one has actually been found, at least in our county, farming squirrels in their home. Now you all can sleep easier, as can I.