Eric: MOM! A lady called.
Me: Ok, what did she say?
Eric: She said her name was Marilyn.
Me: Ok...what did she want?
Eric: She wanted to talk to you.
Eric is now walking towards me. I am in the back of the barn and he is holding the phone as it loudly beeping--signalling that it is out of range of the base.
Me: SIGH, Eric turn off the phone. Did she give you a message?
Eric: Yeah, she wanted you to call her back.
Me: Did you get her last name?
Eric: Nope.
Me: Did she leave her phone number?
Eric: Yeah. She told me to grab a paper and a pen to write down the number she told me. But I was standing beside the front door and didn't have a pen and paper so I couldn't write it down anyways. I just listened then hung up.
-----Turns out later I found out that the lady who called was our lawyer's secretary. We were waiting for that call. And by the way...the lady's name was Melanie.------
Eric's been banned from answering the phone for the next 6 months--or until he's taken another course on proper phone etiquette.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Ode to the Washer
Dear Washing Machine,
Words fail me. I don't think I have ever found a more faithful sidekick than you these last 10 years and I don't think I've ever given you the appreciation you deserve.
When you entered my home you washed the clothing belonging to 2 people. The work was not hard unless I gave you a load of dirty dairy coveralls which, I must say, you dealt with amazingly well. You were shiny and new and looked great. Soon a little one was added to the household and your work load increased a little.
Then life took a drastic change for you. You were roughly thrust out of your spacious basement, loaded on a truck and exposed to the elements for a good hour. You were hauled off the truck again, wheeled through a tiny hallway and forcibly pushed and shoved down a narrow staircase. There you sat in a rather creepy looking basement. But despite the trauma, you did not succumb to PTSD. No, you faithfully washed a load of blankets for me--yes that very same day. Thank you.
7 months later, once again, you were violently man handled. This time back up those narrow creepy stairs, onto another truck and another brisk ride where you were exposed to the elements. By now we were a family of 4 who depended on you. Yes, all this you took in stride.
After another rough jolting with a few more dings, scrathes and dents, you found yourself in your current resting place. While you have not moved since, our family dynamics have. A third, then a fourth, then a fifth child. Still you worked faithfully. The laundry loads changed from 1 a day--to 3 a day--to even 8 a day.
Dear sweet washing machine. You have stood ready at 2:30am when a child had puked all over his bedspread. You have willingly washed yet another set of smelly sheets when a child had a night time accident. You tackled a weekend's worth of camping clothing. Washing machine, we never, never gave you a break. We totally used you and gave you nothing but more work in return.
But now, we decided to change things up. We've decided to give you a break. We're the ones who have left, and you will not be jostled up the stairs again. We have done this so that you can perhaps live a longer life. Once again you will serve a household of 2. You will be given an easy life. You will not be abused.
Take care sweet washing machine. Thank you for being so faithful. You have made my life easy in an area that would be otherwise quite unbearable without your presence. Enjoy your rest. You deserve it.
--The Gordons--
Words fail me. I don't think I have ever found a more faithful sidekick than you these last 10 years and I don't think I've ever given you the appreciation you deserve.
When you entered my home you washed the clothing belonging to 2 people. The work was not hard unless I gave you a load of dirty dairy coveralls which, I must say, you dealt with amazingly well. You were shiny and new and looked great. Soon a little one was added to the household and your work load increased a little.
Then life took a drastic change for you. You were roughly thrust out of your spacious basement, loaded on a truck and exposed to the elements for a good hour. You were hauled off the truck again, wheeled through a tiny hallway and forcibly pushed and shoved down a narrow staircase. There you sat in a rather creepy looking basement. But despite the trauma, you did not succumb to PTSD. No, you faithfully washed a load of blankets for me--yes that very same day. Thank you.
7 months later, once again, you were violently man handled. This time back up those narrow creepy stairs, onto another truck and another brisk ride where you were exposed to the elements. By now we were a family of 4 who depended on you. Yes, all this you took in stride.
After another rough jolting with a few more dings, scrathes and dents, you found yourself in your current resting place. While you have not moved since, our family dynamics have. A third, then a fourth, then a fifth child. Still you worked faithfully. The laundry loads changed from 1 a day--to 3 a day--to even 8 a day.
Dear sweet washing machine. You have stood ready at 2:30am when a child had puked all over his bedspread. You have willingly washed yet another set of smelly sheets when a child had a night time accident. You tackled a weekend's worth of camping clothing. Washing machine, we never, never gave you a break. We totally used you and gave you nothing but more work in return.
But now, we decided to change things up. We've decided to give you a break. We're the ones who have left, and you will not be jostled up the stairs again. We have done this so that you can perhaps live a longer life. Once again you will serve a household of 2. You will be given an easy life. You will not be abused.
Take care sweet washing machine. Thank you for being so faithful. You have made my life easy in an area that would be otherwise quite unbearable without your presence. Enjoy your rest. You deserve it.
--The Gordons--
Saturday, July 7, 2012
The Names of Courtney
When you are the youngest in a household of 7 you have 6 other people who have the apptitude to give you nicknames. It's a total shaft but Courtney has borne up amazingly well. She responds to her plethora of nicknames with either delight or complete indifference. Here's a list.
CHICKY-POO Her dear sweet mother gave her this name. It is used as a term of endearment. Thankfully she's reacts to it fairly well.
RED ALERT This one was made up by one of the nursery attendants at church. I find it incredibly fitting and we have adopted the term. Often one of the kids will be heard hollering this name out--obviously an indication that Courtney's up to no good.
SPAGHETTI BUTT This one she got from her sister--yeah real enchanting isn't it. But also accurate. You see, I usually put Courtney's meal on the little tray in front of her as she sits in her booster seat at the table. When Courtney decides she has had enough food, she will stand up do a full 180, and promptly sit in the remains of her food. So...one particualr night we had spaghetti.......
RED FIVE Her dad gave her this nickname. Obviously she is a red head. She is also the 5th child. Honestly, I think her dad knew she really just needed a nice nickname for a change. Oh I'm just told that red-five is also from Star Wars. That would make sense then.
TROUBLE Given to her, lovingly, by her eldest brother. The name is also self explanatory and definately deserved.
CHICKY-POO Her dear sweet mother gave her this name. It is used as a term of endearment. Thankfully she's reacts to it fairly well.
RED ALERT This one was made up by one of the nursery attendants at church. I find it incredibly fitting and we have adopted the term. Often one of the kids will be heard hollering this name out--obviously an indication that Courtney's up to no good.
SPAGHETTI BUTT This one she got from her sister--yeah real enchanting isn't it. But also accurate. You see, I usually put Courtney's meal on the little tray in front of her as she sits in her booster seat at the table. When Courtney decides she has had enough food, she will stand up do a full 180, and promptly sit in the remains of her food. So...one particualr night we had spaghetti.......
RED FIVE Her dad gave her this nickname. Obviously she is a red head. She is also the 5th child. Honestly, I think her dad knew she really just needed a nice nickname for a change. Oh I'm just told that red-five is also from Star Wars. That would make sense then.
TROUBLE Given to her, lovingly, by her eldest brother. The name is also self explanatory and definately deserved.
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