Who ya gonna call?

So I realized with something like horror that Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away.

This seems impossible to me, because my brain cannot believe it's even November yet since New Year's Day was just, like, last week, and there is NO WAY it can possibly be almost Thanksgiving. But alas, it is.

We are (probably) hosting again. Which means, it is time for an epic home disaster to strike.

This year, instead of plumbing, we're going for a leaking roof requiring the removal of the entire kitchen ceiling (due to mold). At least it's not on Thanksgiving day itself. ::sigh::



I'm also grateful that it's a small crowd (just the four of us, plus three others). We'll manage, but man, the timing is truly fantastic on this.

Though I have to say, this whole ordeal proved that my husband would make a pretty cute Ghostbuster.

In the meadow we will build a snow princess

. . . because with two little girls, that's the way we roll.



Yes, she does have a name. She is Princess Frostqueen, if you must know. Because while cute, we are not the most creative thinkers on the block.

The snow in this part of NJ wasn't that bad. When it was all said and done sometime on Friday, we probably had about ten inches.

Honestly, while a pain in the arse, it was soooo pretty:

View of the house from the backyard



The pond from a distance





Shrubbery at the edge of the woods







Making a snow angel and looking up at the sky



Pretty, right? But I have to say, I'm really glad that tomorrow is March 1. I'm ready for spring. No more feeling like a popsicle for me! Brrrr!

A Thanksgiving Story . . . more than a week later

By now, the Thanksgiving leftovers are long gone and everyone has moved on to Christmas.

But wait! WAIT! I never shared my Thanksgiving story. I never told you all how Thanksgiving morning - four hours before 11 people were supposed to show up and expect a turkey and all the trimmings on a lace tablecloth with damask napkins and four kinds of homemade pie - the pluming in our house IMPLODED.

Seriously.

I walked up the hall at 8 a.m. and there was Mark, standing over a toilet with water filled Right. Up. To. The. Brim.

So I did what any hostess would do under the circumstances. I left the house to run a Turkey Trot 5K while he tried to snake out the clog.

(And I need to mention here that my mother-in-law arrived Wednesday night to get dinner going in the morning so that I could run in said Turkey Trot. She rocks).

But I digress.

So I go off to trot with the turkeys and give the home situation very little thought. After all, I have two young children who use 17 times the toilet paper necessary every time they sit their dainty butts on the loo. I assumed (and you know what happens when you assume) that the problem would be rectified toot sweet.

Except, it wasn't.

When I arrived home 90 minutes later, the first thing I saw was Loaf, fully dressed. The second thing I saw was the back of the van wide open and loaded with suitcases. Oh. Crap. (Not literally, but close enough).

Mark met me at the door and explained that every drain in the house had stopped working. Nothing was going down anywhere. And to make things even more fun, water was pouring out of the ceiling in the garage.

Awesome.

Fortunately, my brother- and sister-in-law stepped up to the plate and Saved Thanksgiving! Unfortunately, they live an hour away.

Have you ever moved an entire Thanksgiving feast an hour away on Thanksgiving day? Well let me tell you, it is quite the feat.

My mother-in-law had already taken the bird and left because getting that sucker in the oven was of primo importance. None of us really wanted to eat dinner at 9 p.m. In the meantime, Mark and I packed up the rest of the food: trays of sweet potatoes, pies, potatoes for mashing, a huge salad, a vat of salad dressing, as well as all the condiments, sauces, spices, beverages and trimmings we'd need for the meal.

And in what can only be called a Thanksgiving miracle, we managed to remember everything but a few pears I was going to slice and toss into the salad (it didn't need them anyway).

We then drove both cars (so Mark could come back at the crack of dawn to meet the plumber on Friday) to the relative's house.

Thanksgiving was a resounding success and the next day we found out that the problem was just a tree root that had grown into one of the main pipes. (Nice timing tree. Really. Thanks a lot).

But all in all, it could have been SO MUCH worse. We may not have found a backup host so quickly. It could have happened AFTER the guests arrived. It could have been thousands of dollars in repairs. So overall, I ended up being pretty thankful anyway.

OK. Phew. Got that one in. On to Christmas . . . .

Wordless Wednesday: Garden girls

Click here to see more great Wordless Wednesday posts.

Nature's fireworks

There is a magic time of year here - a sweet spot at the end of June when thousands of flickering fireflies light up our yard. We have no street lights and our home is surrounded by dark woods on three sides. The lack of manmade light enhances that of the fireflies into something extraordinary and for several nights at the end of June, our yard is transformed into a light show unparalleled in beauty.

There is no way to describe it in a way that does it justice. Everywhere you look - up, down, left, right - your eyes are dazzled by hundreds of pops of bioluminescence that rival even the most elegant of Christmas displays. Last night in a fit of insomnia, I sat in the chair by my bedroom window and watched, transfixed, marveling the beauty before me.

This is the seventh year that I've lived here. The seventh year that I've seen this incredible spectacle and I've come to anticipate it, eagerly counting down the days starting in early spring when the show returns. This year, I was especially anxious to share it with the girls.



The fireflies are just about at their peak this week. Soon, they'll be gone, so tonight before bed, I took both girls by the hand and lead them out into the inky night. They are afraid of the dark and were skeptical, but I gently insisted. They gripped my hand tightly as we crossed the threshold, but within seconds all was forgotten.

Even in the dark I could see the wonder in their eyes. I could hear the awe in their voices as they oohed and aahed. They squeezed my hands tighter, not of fear but in fits of excited joy. They squealed and laughed and hopped with glee. We walked carefully through the yard. At one point, Peanut even forgot her fear and let go of my hand, chasing a nearby firefly through the grass.

They did not want to come in. They were hooked, mesmerized, fascinated, spellbound. "Five more minutes?" they begged.

When we got inside, they both wanted to leave their blinds open so they could stare out the window for a bit longer. How could I, the woman who sat in her own window gazing at the firefly dance just last night, refuse?

I'm not sure if we'll be in this house next summer. We constantly question if it's the right one for us, and there is always a chance that we'll move at some point. I only hope that where ever we end up, we can enjoy the same spectacle. If not, I won't be the only disappointed member of this household.

(Edit: I can't take credit for the picture. I've tried many times to photograph the fireflies in my yard, but clearly don't have the right photographic equipment or skills. This photo was taken by rougewriter3 and posted on Photobucket. There are others - go check them out!)

Little taupe houses

”Oh but aint that America for you and me
Aint that America were someting to see baby
Aint that America, home of the free
Little pink houses for you and me.”
—John Mellencamp

We bought our house in March 2001 – a ‘50s ranch on a pretty, park-like piece of property.

Problem? The house was the color of baked salmon – a light peachy pink with a turquoise green door. This is a fine combination if you live in Boca or Bermuda, but we live in suburban New Jersey. Just. No.



We were going to paint right away, but you know? Life happened. September 11 and then trouble at both my job and Mark’s. Two babies. Tight finances. The years passed and our little pink house stayed that way.

But not anymore!!

I am proud to announce that we are now the proud owners of a little taupe house with brick red doors. It’s not as catchy as a certain song lyric, but it sure is easier on the eyes.

Six months with no TV

Could you do it?

The Gav household is giving it a try.

In fairness, we don’t watch tons of TV now. The television is off all day long unless there is some incredibly important breaking news story that we simply must know about. We have a DVR so if there was something we really wanted to watch in the afternoon, we’d just record it and watch it later after the kids are in bed.

The girls are allowed an hour of TV each evening before bed and they get to watch a movie of their choice on the weekend. Otherwise, they are TV free.

Of the four of us, Mark watches the most television, and I say this with the caveat that even he only watches maybe two hours most nights after 8:30 or 9 p.m. Being TV-free is his idea -he’s been nudging for a while now to turn off the satellite.

I’ve been reading at night, unless it’s Thursday because on Thursdays I watch Lost. That is it. No calls. No talking. No reading. No email. No blogging. Lost and only Lost. But Lost is over now until January, so this is the perfect time to pull the plug.

As of last Friday, we no longer have TV. We will still watch movies and we'll keep a cache of kids’ shows recorded so they can continue to watch at night, but no new shows. No summer replacements. No more reruns of The Sopranos. No premieres in September. We’re off the grid so to speak until at least January.

I think it will be good for us. We had a nice time the other night in a house devoid of not only TV, but lights too. I’m not saying I want to return to the Little House on the Prairie days, but I really don’t think I’m going to miss the boob-tube.

At least not when there are no new episodes of Lost.

Anyone else want to join us?

Unplugged

Driving home on the highway last night, I knew the storm was at my heels. The lightning seemed to be everywhere except directly over me. A flash to the right, a flash to the left, a flash behind me. The rain splattered on my windshield but the rain sensor never had to launch into full speed.

About 5 miles from home, my cell phone rang. It was Mark. He too was driving home, but from another direction, and near our home the storm was raging. He didn’t want to take the girls home and wondered if we could meet somewhere for dinner.

We have a lovely wooded lot speckled with ancient, towering ash trees. In the seven years we’ve lived there, six have fallen in large storms and seven more were removed by a tree expert because they were decaying from the inside out.

On a beautiful, sunny day, our yard is a little sliver of paradise, but when the rain teems and the wind whips, the leafed sentries that surround our little ranch house feel more threatening than peaceful and we’ve sat through many storms pacing the halls while large branches whack against the windows and roof.

So we met at a restaurant in town and ate a not-very-relaxing and not-very-enjoyable dinner, but at least we felt safe.

Driving the few miles back to our house, we encountered streets littered with branches and bark and we returned to a house without power. Daylight was in its last throes, so Mark quickly built a fire while I lighted a few candles, and we all curled up on the couches and watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. I stroked Peanut’s hair with one hand and rubbed Loaf’s back with the other. We sat like that until the outside was as dark as the inside and the girls’ tiny eyelids began to flutter and then finally, close completely.

The house was incredibly still – the only sound came from the crackle of the fire and an occasional sigh from one of the girls. Even the cats were silent.

They say there is a calm before the storm, but as it turns out, there is one after it too.