Home Skillet

Over the course of our almost ten years of marriage, Trent and I have occasionally accused each other of trickery.  It wasn’t intentional on the part of the trickster, but rather that something that seemed like a good idea in college isn’t necessarily something that still sounds fun ten years later.  If you’re twenty and in love and eating a hamburger, you might say something like, “Wouldn’t it be cool to live in a house that looked like the inside of [the College Station burger joint] Chicken Oil?  Rustic wood walls and a huge stone fireplace!  Then after  you’re married and looking for furniture, your spouse might think you had been a little more serious about the rustic home.  But that was just the youthful love hamburger talking!  And how difficult do you think it is to put up crown molding…?

The one thing (ultimatum?) that I explained to Trent well before we were ever engaged was that I did not want to live in the country.  I mean, if we were starving and that was the only option, I’m not going to let everyone die just to stay within a mile or two of a grocery store.  But I let Trent know that our choices would always need to place us in a city that was, at minimum, big enough for a mall.  It’s not that I need the mall, but I’m happier in a town that is big enough to support one.

Last summer in the Smoky Mountains we were exploring some of the old homes still in the park.  Pregnant, two kids running around my feet, and I was trying to put myself even for a second into the minds of the women who really lived the pioneer life, and I couldn’t even imagine the strength and bravery to be able to THERE ARE BUGS EVERYWHERE FLYING ALL OVER MY FACE I COULD NEVER DO THIS! 

But nothing makes me feel more Caroline Ingalls than actually growing something to eat.  And in the most amazing feat of our yard so far, this happened: 

It’s a potato miracle!  A few months (weeks?) ago I found a few lush green plants growing in the compost pile.  They were growing from potatoes that had been tossed in there.  We didn’t get anything planted in our raised bed this spring because, you know, baby, so I planted the potatoes in the bed primarily for aesthetics, not necessarily expecting potatoes to grow.  We’ve cared for other bonus compost plants before, like onions and pumpkins, but they typically don’t produce much.  But these potatoes- they’re everywhere!  Beautiful, delicious potatoes that taste just like…potatoes!  I only pulled a few once I realized they were there and they went straight from the ground to the skillet in 24 hours.

The compost pile continues to be one of the small joys of my life.

Commencement

And just like that, Rush finishes preschool and moves on to the next adventure. 

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, pages 506-507

“Well – now don’t get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea…He’s the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in…um…complementary medicine…I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies…well, they’re called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on – on Muggle wounds –”

Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl.  Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.

“Do you mean to tell me,” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, “that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?”

”Not messing about, Molly, dear,” said Mr. Weasley imploringly.  “It was just – just something Pye and I thought we’d try – only, most unfortunately – well, with these particular kinds of wounds it doesn’t seem to work as well as we’d hoped –”

“Meaning?”

“Well…well, I don’t know whether you know what – what stitches are?”

“It sounds as though you’ve been trying to sew your skin back together,” said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, “but even you, Arthur, wouldn’t be that stupid—”

“I fancy a cup of tea too,” said Harry, jumping to his feet.

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny almost sprinted to the door with him.  As it swung closed behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT’S THE GENERAL IDEA?”

Tate, as usual, is a great sport.  It seems like it wasn’t that long ago that I stood in my (nurse practitioner) friend Tiffany’s driveway, quizzing her on emergency rooms:  What emergency room would you go to for this or that?  What would you do if one of your kids broke a bone?  What would you do if one of your kids needed stitches?  Two stitches in Tate’s lip brings us to our fourth emergency room trip with children, in my book allowing us to now refer to Texas Children’s as TCH.  It’s a really wonderful hospital, but as I always say as we exit the parking garage, I hope we never have to go back.