And THEN What Happened?

I don’t know when my parents started measuring us on the pantry door. But, it could have been in 1959, when we moved into the house where David and I live now. There are marks for me and JoAnne, then, our husbands, and our children. For years, well, three years, we’ve been saying, “Hey, we need to put Peter on the door.” Last week, I finally did. I showed him marks from his parents and his cousins. I called Kevin and got Peter’s birth length, which we also put on the door. He’s grown 18 inches since he was born (from 19 1/2 to 37 1/2). And, you can see below, how much he’s grown in just the past year.

This week, I’m doing a little more “the rest of the story,” catching up on things I blogged about that ended up needing more, needing changes, needing revisiting.

Every time Peter comes to visit, we go to the Mayborn Museum at Baylor. They have a children’s museum there, the Jeanes Discovery Center. There are lots of Discovery Rooms on both floors. And at one end, downstairs, there’s Mrs. Moen’s Neighborhood. This is Peter’s favorite place to play. One space has a little home setting with a kitchen, garden, and garage. There’s a pretend grocery store, gas station, mail box, recycle center, and several little foot-powered vehicles. One space has a large fire truck, school bus, and Jeep for make-believe play. Last Monday we were there, with my climbing in and out of the bus (pretty challenging) and the fire truck (much easier). A young mom with two little boys came in the room. Peter enjoys playing with other kids, so he joined them (with their mom’s kind inclusion) in the Jeep. The were excited about taking their trip. One boy said, “I want some music.” The mom fiddled with a pretend radio in the vehicle and said, “What kind of music should we listen to, and Peter said, “Peter, Paul, and Mary.” Oh, yeah. A well-trained boy. Meanwhile, I’m quite sad to say that the mom said, “Um, I don’t know any of those songs.” So they pretended listened to something else for a minute or so, before they headed over to the fire truck.

What’s good for the diabetic is apparently not good for the houseplant. On January 21 I described how I had knocked over a container with pills I had chopped in half. They fell into the center of a Sansaveria plant in the bathroom, and they were difficult to retrieve. Two or three were down so deeply in the center of the large plant that I left them there. Because the pills had been halved, they were partially coated in, well, some coating. But the business end of each half was uncoated and, um, potent? I guess. Anyway, that pill reaction is the only explanation I have for the complete demise of a leaf in the center of the plant. It’s lost some leaves before, but never like this one went. The rest of the plant doesn’t seem affected, and maybe I’m wrong.

In a post on January 12 I said, “As of today, January 12, we are back in the dishwasher business.” We were in the dishwasher business for one day. Then we were not. Another visit from the repairman discovered that the problem wasn’t in the door seal, it was in something on the inside of the door. He ordered another new part, which was delayed in ordering and delivery, and which could not be installed because the old part would not come out of the door. He worked and worked and worked on it, without luck. Which meant—a trip to the home store(s) to choose a new dishwasher, which had to be ordered (I don’t want stainless steel; all the other appliances are white, and I want white), and waited for, and delivered to the store, and waited for, and installed, which happened on Monday. So, as of March 14, we are back in the dishwasher business. I’ve used it three times, and there haven’t been any puddles. I’m still learning how to use it, and that I really do need to get some rinse aid.

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven

Ecclesiastes 3:11 (New Revised Standard Version)

The white oak in the front yard is still waiting, waiting, waiting. Like me, it isn’t quite ready for winter to be over. Unlike all those “first out of the gate” sorts of things, it’s biding its time. While we know that spring is the thing that happens next, I am reluctant to put away the sweaters and pullovers, and the tree is not showing its brand-new leaves. Not just yet.