My only memories of gardening are the little plot we had as kids, in the shade of the garage—I think all we grew were tomatoes (which I loved), squash (which I hated) and chives, which I think my sister liked eating… and I remember my dad had a worm farm, which I always thought sounded kind of gross. I’m sure my memory is faulty, and we probably had lots of yummy vegetables, but it was so long ago I definitely didn’t retain anything useful for gardening as an adult.
So I’m a gardening rookie. And let me tell you, gardening is the thing to do around here. As well as having gorgeous flower gardens in their front sections (right by the road, so everybody can compare as they drive past), everybody gardens up the entirety of their huge backyards and cans everything for the winter. It’s like living in Blueberries for Sal. Now, I can actually see the benefits of having canned veggies and fruit to last you through the winter, when the fresh veggies you can get are not just expensive but awful—looking and tasting. However, gardening is totally daunting when A) I’ve never done it before, and B) I can hardly find time to read my Bible every day (top priority), much less garden. But I am determined, and fascinated, and it’s definitely a lot easier to take a toddler outside to dig in the dirt with you than to get him to be quiet while you read.
Temperatures have been fairly balmy this week, and even though it snowed last Saturday and is supposed to snow again this Saturday, the ground is soft and spring is in the air. So last night I asked James to show me what to do, and we went out to our huge backyard and decided where to put our garden. We marked out an area the size of Texas, and he showed me how to rake off the leaves and sticks, and start “turning over the earth” with a spade… which looked easy when he did it with one foot, but required me jumping with both feet and my entire body weight when I did it. But, like I said, I’m determined. So this morning Will and I were out there for an hour during Ben’s nap, me jumping with both feet to get the spade into the packed dirt (every jump earning a belly-laugh from Will which made it totally worth it), gloating together over every earthworm (did I say they were gross? That was before I had a two-year-old), and I managed to turned over about 2 square meters (yards) of dirt before crashing completely. I feel very proud of myself, which is good, because everything else aches: my back, my abs, my shoulders, my feet are bruised from jumping on the cheap, warped spade (James bought me a new one today—what a guy). I filled up a bucket with dirt and picked out most of the weeds by hand, and Will “helped” me spoon it into the yogurt containers I’ve saved to start some seeds in… I’m feeling very agricultural. Let’s hope it lasts through the planting… weeding… watering… more weeding… harvesting… chopping… boiling… canning…
Speaking of boiling, as I write this I am boiling to within an inch of its life some oatmeal cereal for Ben on the stove… We’re trying to start Ben on cereal even though he’s barely 5 months old, because he is just one big healthy kid. He never made it to a 4 hourly daytime nursing schedule—he’s been eating every 2.5 to 3 hours since he was born, and hasn’t started sleeping any longer at night—in fact we’ve been going backwards lately from 8 hours back down to 6. So. Cereal time. We bought three different kinds of cereal to try—“Wheat with Banana” (too risky for allergies), “Rice with Apple” (too binding), and “Buckwheat with Prunes,” which Ben loves. He figured out the spoon thing on the second feeding, and was going like a champ, but – it has sugar added. They all have sugar added. Should’ve checked the labels before we bought them, but they’re all in Russian anyway… So I’m trying to make my own, but getting oatmeal to a perfectly creamy consistency without a blender is …not happening. Except I don’t want to fill my kid full of sugar. Which means—lots of extra work for me. Pray I can find a blender before we hit veggies and fruit, or pray Ben learns to “like it or lump it.”
The THIRD new thing in our lives is… dun dun dun (ominous music)… Potty Training. Well, sort of. Will, being Will, is holding the reins with a clenched fist and absolutely will not be moved faster than he is willing to go. Fair enough. All the books say DON’T RUSH. However. When your two-year-old is the size of a three-year-old and has adult-sized BMs that smell even worse, and when he makes an absolute stink (no pun intended) about having his diaper changed—thrashing, kicking, wincing when I wipe anywhere sensitive… well, fair stops being fair and becomes completely frustrating.
So. We bought A New And Improved Potty at the bazaar, a red plastic number shaped like a little chair with a convenient little plastic tub that pops out (rather tightly, which is difficult when the contents are liquid). The New Potty is replacing the little blue potty seat we bought with high hopes last summer, when Will was 18 months, which sat forlornly in a dark corner of the bathroom the entire summer. Last week I perked up one day when Will said “Win-duh-Pooh go pee-pee on potty?”, trotted into the bathroom, dug out the little blue potty and perched “Pooh” jauntily on the lid. Will even consented to sit on The New Red Potty next to Pooh to keep him company—insisted on keeping all his clothes on, though. At least he’s interested, I thought hopefully—that’s a good sign…
Then, another step forward—we had our teammates staying with us last week due to fears of their village being flooded, and their 20-month-old quite happily did pee after pee on the blue potty all week long. Will did consent to sit next to him on the red one—with pants down and diaper off—and even managed to share his success a couple times (receiving HUGE cheers of encouragement from the hopeful peanut gallery), but his success was usually on the first sit of the morning, and then that was it for potty-sitting the rest of the day… “I’ve done my dash, I’m done, thanks”… completely oblivious to the fact that you’re supposed to pee in the potty every time you have to go pee.
Now, this week, with Moises happily peeing back at his own house, Will has consented—grudgingly and with much coaxing—to sit on the potty after breakfast on Monday, and after breakfast and dinner yesterday, but that’s it. No amount of cajoling can convince him to sit more often, and when he informed me later this afternoon (while it was happening) that he was going poop in his diaper, he threw an absolute fit when I tried to rush him to the potty. In hysterics: “No! Change you! Change you!” (meaning “You change me!”), really meaning “I would rather submit to the agony of being changed than submit to this new phase of my life!” That. Is our son. To a T.
::sigh::
Gardening. Solids. Potty training. No wonder I have no time to learn Russian.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Gardening 101
My only memories of gardening are the little plot we had as kids, in the shade of the garage—I think all we grew were tomatoes (which I loved), squash (which I hated) and chives, which I think my sister liked eating… and I remember my dad had a worm farm, which I always thought sounded kind of gross. I’m sure my memory is faulty, and we probably had lots of yummy vegetables, but it was so long ago I definitely didn’t retain anything useful for gardening as an adult.
So I’m a gardening rookie. And let me tell you, gardening is the thing to do around here. As well as having gorgeous flower gardens in their front sections (right by the road, so everybody can compare as they drive past), everybody gardens up the entirety of their huge backyards and cans everything for the winter. It’s like living in Blueberries for Sal. Now, I can actually see the benefits of having canned veggies and fruit to last you through the winter, when the fresh veggies you can get are not just expensive but awful—looking and tasting. However, gardening is totally daunting when A) I’ve never done it before, and B) I can hardly find time to read my Bible every day (top priority), much less garden. But I am determined, and fascinated, and it’s definitely a lot easier to take a toddler outside to dig in the dirt with you than to get him to be quiet while you read.
Temperatures have been fairly balmy this week, and even though it snowed last Saturday and is supposed to snow again this Saturday, the ground is soft and spring is in the air. So last night I asked James to show me what to do, and we went out to our huge backyard and decided where to put our garden. We marked out an area the size of Texas, and he showed me how to rake off the leaves and sticks, and start “turning over the earth” with a spade… which looked easy when he did it with one foot, but required me jumping with both feet and my entire body weight when I did it. But, like I said, I’m determined. So this morning Will and I were out there for an hour during Ben’s nap, me jumping with both feet to get the spade into the packed dirt (every jump earning a belly-laugh from Will which made it totally worth it), gloating together over every earthworm (did I say they were gross? That was before I had a two-year-old), and I managed to turned over about 2 square meters (yards) of dirt before crashing completely. I feel very proud of myself, which is good, because everything else aches: my back, my abs, my shoulders, my feet are bruised from jumping on the cheap, warped spade (James bought me a new one today—what a guy). I filled up a bucket with dirt and picked out most of the weeds by hand, and Will “helped” me spoon it into the yogurt containers I’ve saved to start some seeds in… I’m feeling very agricultural. Let’s hope it lasts through the planting… weeding… watering… more weeding… harvesting… chopping… boiling… canning…
Speaking of boiling, as I write this I am boiling to within an inch of its life some oatmeal cereal for Ben on the stove… We’re trying to start Ben on cereal even though he’s barely 5 months old, because he is just one big healthy kid. He never made it to a 4 hourly daytime nursing schedule—he’s been eating every 2.5 to 3 hours since he was born, and hasn’t started sleeping any longer at night—in fact we’ve been going backwards lately from 8 hours back down to 6. So. Cereal time. We bought three different kinds of cereal to try—“Wheat with Banana” (too risky for allergies), “Rice with Apple” (too binding), and “Buckwheat with Prunes,” which Ben loves. He figured out the spoon thing on the second feeding, and was going like a champ, but – it has sugar added. They all have sugar added. Should’ve checked the labels before we bought them, but they’re all in Russian anyway… So I’m trying to make my own, but getting oatmeal to a perfectly creamy consistency without a blender is …not happening. Except I don’t want to fill my kid full of sugar. Which means—lots of extra work for me. Pray I can find a blender before we hit veggies and fruit, or pray Ben learns to “like it or lump it.”
The THIRD new thing in our lives is… dun dun dun (ominous music)… Potty Training. Well, sort of. Will, being Will, is holding the reins with a clenched fist and absolutely will not be moved faster than he is willing to go. Fair enough. All the books say DON’T RUSH. However. When your two-year-old is the size of a three-year-old and has adult-sized BMs that smell even worse, and when he makes an absolute stink (no pun intended) about having his diaper changed—thrashing, kicking, wincing when I wipe anywhere sensitive… well, fair stops being fair and becomes completely frustrating.
So. We bought A New And Improved Potty at the bazaar, a red plastic number shaped like a little chair with a convenient little plastic tub that pops out (rather tightly, which is difficult when the contents are liquid). The New Potty is replacing the little blue potty seat we bought with high hopes last summer, when Will was 18 months, which sat forlornly in a dark corner of the bathroom the entire summer. Last week I perked up one day when Will said “Win-duh-Pooh go pee-pee on potty?”, trotted into the bathroom, dug out the little blue potty and perched “Pooh” jauntily on the lid. Will even consented to sit on The New Red Potty next to Pooh to keep him company—insisted on keeping all his clothes on, though. At least he’s interested, I thought hopefully—that’s a good sign…
Then, another step forward—we had our teammates staying with us last week due to fears of their village being flooded, and their 20-month-old quite happily did pee after pee on the blue potty all week long. Will did consent to sit next to him on the red one—with pants down and diaper off—and even managed to share his success a couple times (receiving HUGE cheers of encouragement from the hopeful peanut gallery), but his success was usually on the first sit of the morning, and then that was it for potty-sitting the rest of the day… “I’ve done my dash, I’m done, thanks”… completely oblivious to the fact that you’re supposed to pee in the potty every time you have to go pee.
Now, this week, with Moises happily peeing back at his own house, Will has consented—grudgingly and with much coaxing—to sit on the potty after breakfast on Monday, and after breakfast and dinner yesterday, but that’s it. No amount of cajoling can convince him to sit more often, and when he informed me later this afternoon (while it was happening) that he was going poop in his diaper, he threw an absolute fit when I tried to rush him to the potty. In hysterics: “No! Change you! Change you!” (meaning “You change me!”), really meaning “I would rather submit to the agony of being changed than submit to this new phase of my life!” That. Is our son. To a T.
::sigh::
Gardening. Solids. Potty training. No wonder I have no time to learn Russian.
So I’m a gardening rookie. And let me tell you, gardening is the thing to do around here. As well as having gorgeous flower gardens in their front sections (right by the road, so everybody can compare as they drive past), everybody gardens up the entirety of their huge backyards and cans everything for the winter. It’s like living in Blueberries for Sal. Now, I can actually see the benefits of having canned veggies and fruit to last you through the winter, when the fresh veggies you can get are not just expensive but awful—looking and tasting. However, gardening is totally daunting when A) I’ve never done it before, and B) I can hardly find time to read my Bible every day (top priority), much less garden. But I am determined, and fascinated, and it’s definitely a lot easier to take a toddler outside to dig in the dirt with you than to get him to be quiet while you read.
Temperatures have been fairly balmy this week, and even though it snowed last Saturday and is supposed to snow again this Saturday, the ground is soft and spring is in the air. So last night I asked James to show me what to do, and we went out to our huge backyard and decided where to put our garden. We marked out an area the size of Texas, and he showed me how to rake off the leaves and sticks, and start “turning over the earth” with a spade… which looked easy when he did it with one foot, but required me jumping with both feet and my entire body weight when I did it. But, like I said, I’m determined. So this morning Will and I were out there for an hour during Ben’s nap, me jumping with both feet to get the spade into the packed dirt (every jump earning a belly-laugh from Will which made it totally worth it), gloating together over every earthworm (did I say they were gross? That was before I had a two-year-old), and I managed to turned over about 2 square meters (yards) of dirt before crashing completely. I feel very proud of myself, which is good, because everything else aches: my back, my abs, my shoulders, my feet are bruised from jumping on the cheap, warped spade (James bought me a new one today—what a guy). I filled up a bucket with dirt and picked out most of the weeds by hand, and Will “helped” me spoon it into the yogurt containers I’ve saved to start some seeds in… I’m feeling very agricultural. Let’s hope it lasts through the planting… weeding… watering… more weeding… harvesting… chopping… boiling… canning…
Speaking of boiling, as I write this I am boiling to within an inch of its life some oatmeal cereal for Ben on the stove… We’re trying to start Ben on cereal even though he’s barely 5 months old, because he is just one big healthy kid. He never made it to a 4 hourly daytime nursing schedule—he’s been eating every 2.5 to 3 hours since he was born, and hasn’t started sleeping any longer at night—in fact we’ve been going backwards lately from 8 hours back down to 6. So. Cereal time. We bought three different kinds of cereal to try—“Wheat with Banana” (too risky for allergies), “Rice with Apple” (too binding), and “Buckwheat with Prunes,” which Ben loves. He figured out the spoon thing on the second feeding, and was going like a champ, but – it has sugar added. They all have sugar added. Should’ve checked the labels before we bought them, but they’re all in Russian anyway… So I’m trying to make my own, but getting oatmeal to a perfectly creamy consistency without a blender is …not happening. Except I don’t want to fill my kid full of sugar. Which means—lots of extra work for me. Pray I can find a blender before we hit veggies and fruit, or pray Ben learns to “like it or lump it.”
The THIRD new thing in our lives is… dun dun dun (ominous music)… Potty Training. Well, sort of. Will, being Will, is holding the reins with a clenched fist and absolutely will not be moved faster than he is willing to go. Fair enough. All the books say DON’T RUSH. However. When your two-year-old is the size of a three-year-old and has adult-sized BMs that smell even worse, and when he makes an absolute stink (no pun intended) about having his diaper changed—thrashing, kicking, wincing when I wipe anywhere sensitive… well, fair stops being fair and becomes completely frustrating.
So. We bought A New And Improved Potty at the bazaar, a red plastic number shaped like a little chair with a convenient little plastic tub that pops out (rather tightly, which is difficult when the contents are liquid). The New Potty is replacing the little blue potty seat we bought with high hopes last summer, when Will was 18 months, which sat forlornly in a dark corner of the bathroom the entire summer. Last week I perked up one day when Will said “Win-duh-Pooh go pee-pee on potty?”, trotted into the bathroom, dug out the little blue potty and perched “Pooh” jauntily on the lid. Will even consented to sit on The New Red Potty next to Pooh to keep him company—insisted on keeping all his clothes on, though. At least he’s interested, I thought hopefully—that’s a good sign…
Then, another step forward—we had our teammates staying with us last week due to fears of their village being flooded, and their 20-month-old quite happily did pee after pee on the blue potty all week long. Will did consent to sit next to him on the red one—with pants down and diaper off—and even managed to share his success a couple times (receiving HUGE cheers of encouragement from the hopeful peanut gallery), but his success was usually on the first sit of the morning, and then that was it for potty-sitting the rest of the day… “I’ve done my dash, I’m done, thanks”… completely oblivious to the fact that you’re supposed to pee in the potty every time you have to go pee.
Now, this week, with Moises happily peeing back at his own house, Will has consented—grudgingly and with much coaxing—to sit on the potty after breakfast on Monday, and after breakfast and dinner yesterday, but that’s it. No amount of cajoling can convince him to sit more often, and when he informed me later this afternoon (while it was happening) that he was going poop in his diaper, he threw an absolute fit when I tried to rush him to the potty. In hysterics: “No! Change you! Change you!” (meaning “You change me!”), really meaning “I would rather submit to the agony of being changed than submit to this new phase of my life!” That. Is our son. To a T.
::sigh::
Gardening. Solids. Potty training. No wonder I have no time to learn Russian.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Practicing the Art of Abundance
I have a new strategy. Whenever it all just gets a bit to much for me and I start snapping at Will and Ben and just can’t find joy in mothering anymore, as soon as James gets home I ask him to take them both for 15 minutes, and I escape with a cup of tea and “The Art of Abundance” by Candy Paull. After praying and asking Jesus to please remind me of the source of my joy, I read a few pages of that book and then fill up one sheet in my journal with an “abundance list”. It works wonders. Here’s my list from today:
Abundance is… a brand-new tea towel from a friend.
Abundance is… playing ping-pong with a two-year-old.
Abundance is… three squares of Dove chocolate with almonds.
Abundance is… having a coo-conversation with a baby. Your baby.
Abundance is… a cup of tea with cream.
Abundance is… knowing who you are.
Abundance is… the sound of a door opening.
Abundance is… a husband willing to take the kids so you can have a break.
Abundance is… the way a two-year-old talks.
Abundance is… discovering it’s possible to cook a cake in a frypan.
Abundance is… a really sunny day after a fresh snowfall.
Abundance is… your baby’s chubby cheeks.
Abundance is… flowers from your husband for no reason at all.
Abundance is… making eye contact.
Abundance is… fifteen minutes all to yourself.
While I’m making my list and drinking my tea, I can feel my tank filling back up again. It takes the full 15 minutes, but by the end, I’m transformed. My life feels rich and full, I’m thankful again for my immense collection of blessings, and my joy comes bubbling back. Try it. It works!
Abundance is… a brand-new tea towel from a friend.
Abundance is… playing ping-pong with a two-year-old.
Abundance is… three squares of Dove chocolate with almonds.
Abundance is… having a coo-conversation with a baby. Your baby.
Abundance is… a cup of tea with cream.
Abundance is… knowing who you are.
Abundance is… the sound of a door opening.
Abundance is… a husband willing to take the kids so you can have a break.
Abundance is… the way a two-year-old talks.
Abundance is… discovering it’s possible to cook a cake in a frypan.
Abundance is… a really sunny day after a fresh snowfall.
Abundance is… your baby’s chubby cheeks.
Abundance is… flowers from your husband for no reason at all.
Abundance is… making eye contact.
Abundance is… fifteen minutes all to yourself.
While I’m making my list and drinking my tea, I can feel my tank filling back up again. It takes the full 15 minutes, but by the end, I’m transformed. My life feels rich and full, I’m thankful again for my immense collection of blessings, and my joy comes bubbling back. Try it. It works!
P.S. Thank you so much to those of you who are posting comments-- it's so encouraging to know people are actually reading!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Double Bathtime
Usually James and I bath the boys together; he does Will and I do Ben. But tonight he had to take our guests home right at bath time. It’s been 3 days since their last bath, and Will’s hair was getting grimy and Ben’s pooed 5 times in the last 24 hours, so I really wanted to clean them both. I thought, Ok. I can do this. How hard can it be?
Start water. Wash out bathtub. Put plug in. Pour in soap. Leave Will getting out bathtoys and Ben kicking on the floor while I go get towels and pjs. Come back in. Sit down to go to the toilet myself. Lean over while sitting on the pot to take Will’s outer shirt off because it was soaking wet from “stirring” the bath. Finish on the toilet. Feel bathwater. Too cool. Add more hot water. Too full. Let some water out, add more hot, stir water around, reassure distressed Will he’ll get to stir again in a minute. Undress Will, put him in the bath (without the usual “doan WANT to” grizzling, thank God). Leave Will to play while I undress Ben down to his diaper, lay his towel out flat on the floor for afterwards, take his diaper off with one hand while holding on to him with the other, and lower him into the bath. Pray Will doesn’t splash Ben or act up while I quickly swish water all over Ben, rub all the areas that count, enjoy his fat little thighs kicking, smile at him, try not to notice my aching back as I hang over the side by my armpits, whisk Ben out and onto his towel, dry him off, dress him in his nighttime ensemble (diaper cream, diaper, woolen onesie, cotton onesie, sleeper, sleeping bag, hat), and leave him to kick on the floor again. Tell Will it’s time to wash his hair, brace myself for a fight, which actually doesn’t happen. Thank God he’s being cooperative! Wet down his hair with one hand while holding the washcloth gently over his face with the other (Daddy’s brilliant new technique for no water in the eyes), grab shampoo, open, squirt, rub into hair, rinse as thoroughly as possible (still no grizzles!), tell Will to “pull the plug, it’s time to get out.” Show him which end of the cord to pull—not the one attached to the bathtub. Quickly gather up bathtoys while water is draining, reassure Ben who is now crying on the floor. Pull Will quickly out of tub, let him drip on mat while I pick up Ben. Jiggle Ben in one arm while drying Will’s hair with the other, get Will to play peek-a-boo with Ben to distract him from how hot and sweaty he is in all his clothes. Keep drying Will’s hair while telling him to dry the other parts that count, balance Ben on my cross-legged knee while taping up Will’s diaper. Catch Ben as he’s about to roll off, button up Will’s pjs as fast as possible while Ben’s grizzling turns into yelling. Stand up with Ben, squeeze toothpaste on Will’s brush with one hand while jiggling Ben with the other, thank God the hard part is done—and in the door walks James, very anxious and apologetic for not being there to help, and I say proudly, “That’s ok dear, I managed!”
Start water. Wash out bathtub. Put plug in. Pour in soap. Leave Will getting out bathtoys and Ben kicking on the floor while I go get towels and pjs. Come back in. Sit down to go to the toilet myself. Lean over while sitting on the pot to take Will’s outer shirt off because it was soaking wet from “stirring” the bath. Finish on the toilet. Feel bathwater. Too cool. Add more hot water. Too full. Let some water out, add more hot, stir water around, reassure distressed Will he’ll get to stir again in a minute. Undress Will, put him in the bath (without the usual “doan WANT to” grizzling, thank God). Leave Will to play while I undress Ben down to his diaper, lay his towel out flat on the floor for afterwards, take his diaper off with one hand while holding on to him with the other, and lower him into the bath. Pray Will doesn’t splash Ben or act up while I quickly swish water all over Ben, rub all the areas that count, enjoy his fat little thighs kicking, smile at him, try not to notice my aching back as I hang over the side by my armpits, whisk Ben out and onto his towel, dry him off, dress him in his nighttime ensemble (diaper cream, diaper, woolen onesie, cotton onesie, sleeper, sleeping bag, hat), and leave him to kick on the floor again. Tell Will it’s time to wash his hair, brace myself for a fight, which actually doesn’t happen. Thank God he’s being cooperative! Wet down his hair with one hand while holding the washcloth gently over his face with the other (Daddy’s brilliant new technique for no water in the eyes), grab shampoo, open, squirt, rub into hair, rinse as thoroughly as possible (still no grizzles!), tell Will to “pull the plug, it’s time to get out.” Show him which end of the cord to pull—not the one attached to the bathtub. Quickly gather up bathtoys while water is draining, reassure Ben who is now crying on the floor. Pull Will quickly out of tub, let him drip on mat while I pick up Ben. Jiggle Ben in one arm while drying Will’s hair with the other, get Will to play peek-a-boo with Ben to distract him from how hot and sweaty he is in all his clothes. Keep drying Will’s hair while telling him to dry the other parts that count, balance Ben on my cross-legged knee while taping up Will’s diaper. Catch Ben as he’s about to roll off, button up Will’s pjs as fast as possible while Ben’s grizzling turns into yelling. Stand up with Ben, squeeze toothpaste on Will’s brush with one hand while jiggling Ben with the other, thank God the hard part is done—and in the door walks James, very anxious and apologetic for not being there to help, and I say proudly, “That’s ok dear, I managed!”
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Benjamin Timothy, 4 months old
As you can see, Ben is such a twinkly kid! He loves to interact with us, especially with Will, and when his tummy isn't hurting he is so happy and chuckly. The poor little guy is pretty gassy, though-- (takes after his namesake, lol!) His record for saving up poo is 9 days, although lately it's been the opposite extreme and he and I have both had loose tummies... I know, TMI, sorry. But it's what life consists of these days, people!
So I'm FINALLY blogging because we've sorted out a different internet system for our house which we hope will eventually be fast enough to Skype. My amazing, innovative, ingenious Kiwi husband is working out a way to rig up an antenna to get a better cell phone signal in our house-- he's been using a tin can and a wire tonight, and it's actually working pretty well, so when we get the real deal it should be great! I have like 7 blogs all written and ready to go, so be ready for a snowstorm once things get rolling. :)
Thanks for following! Hopefully more soon, maybe even videos, so stay tuned...
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