Schweinegrippe

That's German for swine flu, which has come knocking on our door this week.  Little Man has spent the last two days in bed, coughing and sweating and generally being miserable.  Big Man and I have spent the last two days (and nights!) cuddling, and dosing, and wiping his nose and tears.

The week started with Big Man battling the stomach flu, and he was home sick on Monday and Tuesday.  Monday night, Little Man had a mild attack of the croup.  Though not severe, it was scary watching him struggling for breath.  He seemed fully recovered by morning, but it had been a looooong night, and it was a coooooold day, and I didn't want him running around the play yard all day, chasing friends at school.  So we stayed home with Daddy on Tuesday.

Back to school and work on Wednesday, but only as a teaser, because in the wee hours of Thursday morning, Little Man woke with a soaring temperature and plunging spirits.  He slept most of the day away, and then last night, his temp hit 105.  We called the after-hours doctor, who referred us to the swine flu hotline, who assessed Little Man's symptoms and gave us an authorization number for a course of anti-viral meds to be picked up at a local 'collection point'.

It was funny, when we spoke of calling the doctor, Little Man said, 'Why don't we call Dr. Swanson?  He's my favorite doctor.'  Dr. Swanson is my PhD advisor.  Wonderful guy, really, but his superior knowledge of the Dead Sea Scrolls isn't exactly the kind of help we need to battle the swine flu.  ;)

Today, Little Man is camped out in our bed, with a box of tissues and the laptop, on which he is watching online television shows.  I am not getting any work done, but I am getting lots of cuddles!  Sigh.

A real tree!

This being the first time ever for us to celebrate Christmas away from our families, we are doing it up the best we can on our tiny budget.  We've decided to have a 'charity shop' Christmas, meaning that all of our gifts will be bought in the charity shops (thrift stores).  We're going to make all our own Christmas tree decorations, so we've been collecting cardboard for cut-out gingerbread men, and drying chestnuts for painting and stringing into a garland, and saving Little Man's construction paper for paper chains.  We were even given a 3-foot tabletop tree, and some wrapping paper!

A live tree is the embodiment of Christmas celebrations in my nostalgia (no offense to either of our parents, who have both moved on to artificial trees, and I harbor them no ill will for it).  Every year in my childhood, we visited a U-cut tree farm.  We would roam through the trees, putting gloves and scarves on the ones we liked the best.  After what always seemed like hours, my dad would crawl underneath the Chosen One and saw it off with his handsaw.  I still remember how hard I had to work to get that saw to move when it was my turn to try.  And I can feel the fir needles poking through my gloves as we carried it back to the car.  And I can taste the little mini candy cane the proprietor gave out every year.  And I can smell the pine scent that filled the house for weeks.  So when Big Man suggested getting a live tree, I yearned with all my heart to go along with it, but didn't think we should spend the money (at least £20!).  After all, we already have a tree.

So imagine the thrill when Big Man walked me home after work on Wednesday to a surprise: a real, live Christmas tree, bundled in netting and standing in a bucket outside our front door.  In yet another instance to prove that God delights in giving gifts to His children, Big Man received a coupon from the building supply store where he shops regularly for work.  A free Christmas tree with any purchase over a certain amount.  Big Man needed to restock on light bulbs for several of the buildings on campus, and so, voila, the fulfillment of a silly but very dear wish for his loving wife.

We haven't decorated it yet, because we're currently battling swine flu in our household, but that's another post, and in the meantime, the back porch smells just like Christmas!

Delicious Irony

So, last week was Thanksgiving.  We got to celebrate it twice, once at college and once at Dr. Swanson's (my adviser) house.  The dinner at college has become a tradition, after only 1 year.  In fact, we weren't going to do it again this year, but then people who were there last year (non-Americans, mind you!) said, 'But you have to!  It's a tradition!'  Hee hee.  So, we did it again, and it was nice.

The irony was everywhere.  First of all, we were celebrating Thanksgiving, the holiday that celebrates freedom from religious persecution in England, in England.  Second, there were 40 people around our very, very long table, and only 10 of us were Americans!  It was surreal but fantastic to celebrate our quintessential American holiday with people from Swaziland, Lebanon, Russia, Canada, Scotland, England, and Ireland.

We had a craft: everyone had to make a paper hat to wear to dinner; no hat, no food!  The options were men's and women's pilgrim hats, or 'Indian' headbands with feathers.  The girls split about 50/50 between the women's pilgrim hat and the headband, whereas only 3 of the guys went for the men's pilgrim hat.  If you'd asked me beforehand, I'd have said that probably not a lot of people would get into the whole hat thing.  It's amazing what people will do, however, in the name of getting into the spirit of a holiday; plus, all those 'foreigners' ;) didn't know any better.  :D  All but one person was wearing a hat when we finally sat down to eat!

After dinner, we all watched White Christmas on a big screen.  It was a little bit of heaven for this very homesick expat.  It was funny, though, to watch it through the eyes of others.  The musical is yet another thing that is precisely American.  It requires a suspension of disbelief in a way that other film genres don't, what with the sudden bursting into song for every imaginable human emotion.  Oh well, our guests humored us, even if they don't feel the need to ever watch it again.  So that was our first Thanksgiving dinner; the second was lovely as well, but that's another story.

Enforced rest

Today is my third day home from work, because Little Man has the stomach flu.  He is mostly better this morning, but was vomiting as recently as last night, so he's just not ready for a room full of other toddlers at school.  At least not in Mommy's opinion. 

Speaking of Mommy's opinions, I've had several interesting ones in the last three days.  First, I realized once again how much better it is for me not to be a stay at home mommy.  Only 3 days in, and I'm already struggling to make myself get showered and dressed today.  It's just that my PJs are soooooo very comfy!  :)

Second, and in total contradiction of the first, I cherish the flexibility of my schedule that allows me to take care of my child without penalty at work.  Even though we have a wonderful babysitter (3 cheers for Sarah Laptop!), the moment I got her message that Little Man had a fever on Wednesday morning, I started literally yearning to be home with my boy.  Now, Sarah is perfectly capable of caring for Little Man  even when he's sick.  And by the time I got home, she'd done exactly what I would have done: checked his temperature, given him a dose of medicine to reduce his fever, and a popsicle, and snuggled up with him on the couch, with blankey and his favorite cartoon to watch.  So, obviously other people can care for Little Man when he's ill; still, there is something in me, the mommy, that needs to be the one doing it.

Third, I love to snuggle!  Last night my 4-year-old, who is normally virtually unable to sit still, snuggled on my lap for four straight hours.  It was heaven.

Fourth, I remembered why I study at college instead of at home.  In three days, I've been able to read about four pages.  Of course, the mitigating circumstances of rushing Little Man to the toilet or the sink every 15 or 20 minutes might have something to do with it.  On the other hand, it's just plain hard to get into the mindset of studying when the house is messy, Little Man is sick and bored, etc., etc.

So, an enforced rest at home with my Little Man.   Glad for the chance to be nothing but Mommy for a few days.

As Promised...

Sometimes, my burden of long hours of reading is lightened by a gem.  This particular chuckle comes from the Late Period of Akkadian literature, meaning this  incantation is as much as 3,000 years old.  And yet, somehow its age has not stripped the 'giggle factor'.

Against Flatulence
Wind, O wind!
Wind, you are the fire of the gods.
You are the wind between the turd and urine.
You have come out and taken your place
Among the gods, your brethren.

Benjamin Foster, who includes this in his anthology Before the Muses, calls it "one of the few apotheoses of flatulence in world literature."  Indeed.  Certainly a different perspective than ours, to ascribe deity to, ahem, gas.  Well, I hope this adolescent divergence from my usual ramblings has given you a reason to smile, if you needed one.  And the next time you're feeling a little bloated, just think of it as "the fire of the gods"!  :D

On a lighter note...

Check out the size of that dahlia!

I caught it in full bloom at Chatsworth House.

Also got this great shot of my boys working together.

Little Man is turning into quite the little builder.

Anything Daddy does is good in his book!

An early internship.  :)

Actually just a fantastic playground, again at Chatsworth House.

Fish Tales

Ok, so the last fish has died.  Now, I'd like to say that I'm not really bothered by this.  And I truly don't think that I am.  But apparently my subconscious would like to raise a challenge to that statement, because I spent all night last night dreaming about fish. 

I dreamed that I came downstairs to find a brand new, huge aquarium filled with beautiful fish of all kinds.  And then suddenly I knocked it over!  And I spent the rest of the night searching for fish all over the room.  The carpet was a bright, multi-coloured tapestry, and everywhere I looked there were fish of all sizes and colours, gasping for breath.  I just kept picking them up and putting them into water.  Eesh.

We still have a voucher for replacement fish.  But I seriously wonder whether we should bother.  We've tried Betta fish and Paradise fish, both reputed to be hearty little creatures.  We have yet to try a basic goldfish, and I'm willing to give it a go.  But it seems maybe the right thing to do, at least from the perspective of the fish population, is to give it up.  What's your vote?  Leave a comment and help us decide!

Fish, Beware!

Ok, so we have now owned 5 fish.  After Number 3 died, we went back to the pet store for another water test, a replacement voucher, and some advice.  They said to start over, clean out the whole tank, and let the water age for another 4 days, and then come back and get a different kind of fish, something coldwater rather than tropical.  Done and done.  Little Man picked out a paradise fish, a coldwater cousin of the betta that weren't hardy enough for our house.  Being told they can be shy fish and need companions, we brought home two.

Little Man named them Dash and Samuel.  When we told them they are females, he started to cry and said he wanted boy fishes not girl fishes.  So Dash and Samuel they remained.  Right from the start, they were way more active than the Unfortunate Three.  Soon they each had a favorite corner of the tank.  They bob to the top for air and then right back down again, straight up and down like an elevator.

But then, Disaster!!  One died on Saturday.  We don't know why.  The other is noticeably less active, and has taken over the corner of the deceased.  She hasn't moved from that corner, except to go up for air or food, in three days.  My hopes are not high.  But I don't think I can go through this again, so this is probably going to be our last attempt at a fish.  If she doesn't survive, we'll call it a day, fish-wise.

It's very frustrating, because fish are supposedly simple pets.  I've never had them die off like this before, and we've done absolutely everything we're supposed to, according to the aquatics staff at the pet store.  I've become resigned, I suppose, to their demise.

An At-Home Holiday

I took some time off work this week.  The public schools are on their half-term holiday, so Little Man is home all week.  I decided after all the craziness of the last six weeks, I needed to be at home with my boy.  My at-home holiday has been delightful so far.  Even though I haven't really spent much time at all with Little Man.

Yesterday, for instance, Big Man and Little Man were invited to join our friend Trevor and his two sons for a 'Dads and Lads' day out.  They drove to Liverpool and toured the HMS Illustrious, a Royal Navy aircraft carrier moored there.  By all accounts they had a great time.  I, too, enjoyed my day home alone.  I slept in until 11:30 (!), which I haven't done in ages.  I spent my whole day cleaning the house, from top to bottom.  The only room I didn't get to was the kitchen.  I really meant to clean it, but tragically (wink, wink), Big Man and Little Man arrived home before I got to it.  I still haven't cleaned it.  I might, but I might not, too.

Today, Little Man's friend Masha is at our house.  They love to play together, and are quite a bit like brother and sister.  Masha is 7, and Joseph is 4, so there is an age difference.  Sometimes they bicker, sometimes they can't agree on what they want to do, but overall, they delight in one another.  Right now, they're in the living room, giggling over Madagascar 2.

Halloween is barely celebrated here.  Most evangelical Christians would not send their kids trick-or-treating, we're told.  That makes me sad.  Not for any big reasons, but just because I have such fond memories of my own trick-or-treating.  Brudder and I would spend weeks agonising with our friends over our costumes.  There was the infamous Paco Taco that Brudder made with my parents, using a gigantic piece of cardboard, and crumpled up tissue paper in green for the lettuce, yellow for the cheese, brown for the beef, and red for the tomatoes.  He had to turn sideways to get through a door, but it won a prize at the Halloween Festival at school.  I had two costumes, basically, through elementary school: Little Red Riding Hood and Princess Diana.  In junior high, my mom made me the coolest poodle skirt, in hot pink, with record album appliques in black, and we spent a few hours combing the thrift shops for saddle shoes and the ubiquitous sweater.

It was so much fun to wear our costumes to school all day.  And then my school always had a great Festival on Halloween night, with hot dogs, ice cream sundaes, a cake walk, bobbing for apples, fair games, and a costume contest.  We always started there, and then headed out trick-or-treating afterwards, when it was properly dark.

And then the actual event itself: the delicious pleasures of being out after dark, in an itchy costume, and the frissons of anxiety/anticipation just before running up the walk to ring the doorbell.  I even remember the wool plaid coat my dad wore, and the red flashlight he carried, in case Little Red Riding Hood got a bit antsy in the dark.  Brudder usually wanted to run ahead with his friends, but he would run back to check on me, quite solicitously, and to exclaim over how much candy I'd collected.  My friends Chris and Laurie were usually along, and it was SUCH fun!!

So aside from the debates over Halloween vs. Harvest, I miss trick-or-treating, and I'm very sad that our current context prevents us from sharing that tradition with our little boy.  He even had a costume all picked out - he was going to dress up like a builder.  I think we'll have an at-home holiday.  We'll have Masha and her parents over, and we'll wear costumes and carve pumpkins and maybe bob for apples, and pass out candy to any who come knocking.

Something's Fishy Here!

We wanted to get Little Man a fish.  Simple, right?  Alas, not so!  We thought we'd surprise him by coming home from a shopping trip with the fish in hand (or actually, in bag).  But, they wouldn't sell us the fish and the tank at the same time; we had to take the tank home, set it up with the filter and a heater, and leave it for a week before they would sell us a fish.

Fast forward to one week later, this past Saturday.  We made a big deal of taking Little Man to the pet shop, with his friend Masha, so that he could pick out his first pet for himself.  He looked carefully through over 30 species of fish--tropical, marine, coldwater--before finally choosing the most beautiful, midnight blue Beta (Japanese fighting fish) I have ever seen.  On the way home from the pet store, he chose the name 'Dash', which I thought was pretty groovy.

We followed the instructions to the letter for introducing him into his new tank environment.  Fifteen minutes of his bag floating in the tank, then 15 minutes with a little tank water mixed into the bag, then finally free from the bag and off to explore the plastic foliage.  He seemed to be swimming awfully hard, and kept drifting toward one corner of the tank, where the filter is.  A while later, after the novelty had worn off and we were paying attention to other things, Big Man looked over and discovered he was stuck to the filter!!  Horrors!  One swift rescue later, we told Little Man that Dash would need to rest overnight.  He didn't have any visible injuries, but four hours later, he was resting permanently.

Little Man was unperturbed.  He wanted to know what colour the new one would be.  Fish #2 was a brighter blue Beta, named Samuel.  He came home last night.  Same careful routine.  Filter speed set to lowest setting!  No run-ins with the filter this time, but mysteriously, dead by Noon today.

This evening, the third Beta is exploring the tank.  We had the water tested at the pet shop; apparently our water is 'perfect', so that's not the problem!  This one is a lovely red colour.  It doesn't have a name yet; maybe we'll wait to christen it until it's survived for 24 hours.

So much energy for the sake of such a wee little boy!  Reminds me of this morning's gospel lesson from Luke 12: "So don't be afraid, little flock.  For it gives your Father great happiness to give you the Kingdom" (NLT).

Sick and Tired

I have been sick with a horrible cold for the last three weeks.  While sick, I have: worked a 55-hour work week during Orientation Week at NTC; traveled from Manchester to Indianapolis for a weekend conference where I presented a paper; planned and executed 13 worship services; and moved into a new house.  Needless to say, I am exhausted.  Sick and tired.

And even though I don't remember the last time I felt this drained, I have also been surrounded by dear friends offering help, supportive coworkers, loving family, and a fabulous husband who has carried the load without complaint.  And through all this, God has blessed me time and time again, sustaining me when I was past the breaking point.

Tonight, we're enjoying the quiet of a mostly unpacked house that feels new, fresh, and uncluttered.  We're watching season 4 of The Office, and I'm looking forward to a good night's rest and another restful day tomorrow.

So, even though I'm sick and tired, I'm content and at peace.

Fridays, Saturdays, and Worms

Today is Friday.  I love Fridays, mostly because I can stay up late and not feel guilty about it.  :)  I also love to sleep, and Saturday mornings has always been my sleeping-in time.  Finally, I love my husband.  Even more than Fridays and sleeping in.  So a new pattern is emerging in my life.  I'm heading to bed earlier on Friday nights, so that I don't need to sleep in as much on Saturday, so that Big Man can get up early and go to our garden allotment without feeling guilty about making me get up to watch Little Man   See how that works?  Well, it does on the good days, anyway.  Tonight, I'm feeling a bit under the weather, so I would like to sleep in tomorrow, but Big Man has had a crazy week, and really needs his time in the dirt tomorrow.  :)

Little Man and I went with Big Man to the allotment for the first time last week, and it was a lot of fun.  Big Man has been 'allotmenting' for several months now - we bought into a plot already being worked by several of our friends at college.  He really enjoys having a hobby that he gets to do with friends.  He's the allotment handyman, as well, and has put a ton of hard work into getting the plot cleaned up, built up, and in shape.  The people who had our plot before us pretty much trashed the place.  All manner of glass, wood, metal, plastic, and any other kind of non-degradable debris has been turned up by the shovels and spades.  This is one reason that Little Man has only just now made his first visit - it wasn't safe to turn him loose at first.

Little Man spent three hours basically digging for worms in one of the planting beds.  And my word, did he ever find some!  At one point, he came over to me with his hands cupped together, holding a heaping, overflowing, wriggling pile of worms--pink, grey, green, and brown ones.  Quite a sight to behold.  I only wish I'd had my camera with me!  I was reminded over and over again of the book I read as a girl, How to Eat Fried Worms.  Eeeeeeewwwwww!  I'm sure Little Man will love that book.

I spent my time, not only oooohing and ahhhhing over Little Man's latest worm find, but also weeding a bed of leeks.  My dad often put us on weed detail in his garden when I was a girl, and I hated it.  This wasn't much better, if I'm honest.  The work itself, anyway.  I'm not good at weeding; I leave behind too many little bits, and can't always get the roots out.  Big Man even said I need a weeding tutorial from Peter, one of our allotment partners.  :D  It was made infinitely more enjoyable, though, by the fact that, instead of my big brother chucking dirt clods at me, my friend Deirdre was in the next bed, also weeding, and occasionally exclaiming over a potato discovery, and chatting with me about gender identity and other fun things.  (Though, I miss my brother enough right now that I'd let him chuck those dirt clods again if it meant he was in the garden with me.)

So tomorrow, I will get up and play with Little Man, who is also feeling a little under the weather, instead of sleeping in or even allotmenting with Big Man.  And my husband will come home later in the morning absolutely filthy, but happy, and carrying yummy fresh veg, and satisfied with a good thing in his life.  And that is worth a few hours of sleep!

New friends

Tonight we capped off a very busy week with dinner with our new friends.  Paul and Diana are here in Manchester now, volunteering at the college.  Paul is working with Big Man, and so we wanted to have them over for dinner as soon as we could.

It is always such an encouraging thing to me when new friends just seem to 'click'.  It's a reminder to me of how the unity we have in Christ can do so much of the work for us, initially, in relationships.  In these cases, it seems our common ground of faith and the shared Spirit make things so easy; it becomes obvious after only a few hours together that here are some kindred spirits.  Now, I am not naive enough to believe this happens with all Christians; I know from experience that it doesn't always.  But it happens often enough to make me think about why.

In fact, that has been the overwhelming experience of our move to Manchester.  So very, very many of the people we've met here have been kindred spirits, immediately and obviously.  It's as though the Lord came ahead of us and prepared just the right people to embrace us and welcome us into their lives.  And why am I so surprised by that?  It's exactly what we prayed for as we were preparing to come.  And it's what He desires for His Church, after all, unity of spirit and friendship.

So tonight, in spite of all the stress that I am purposefully trying to ignore as it piles higher and deeper at the beginning of the semester, I praise the Lord for His goodness and mercy in loving us through His Church.

I've been intending

Ok, so I'm about 5 years late in jumping on the blogging bandwagon.  After all, what do I have to say that is worthy of the time anyone might spend to read it on a regular basis?  On the other hand, there have been many moments in recent weeks when I've thought, "Oh, that could be something I could blog about."  My next thought is always, "Just put it in a journal, Sarah."  But my many attempts at journaling through the years have never proven successful.  I'm really not sure why this is going to stand any better chance.  We'll chalk it up to my eternal optimism.  :) 

I used to write updates about our move to England, but having been here almost two years now, that seems kind of presumptuous.  It isn't as though we're missionaries keeping in contact with our supporters.  Still, I know our parents, at least, would like to read occasional notes about our life here.  And, as long as I'm having "I should blog about that!" thoughts, why not try it out?

My bloggable thought for this morning is how quickly good intentions get derailed.  I was telling myself all morning as I was getting dressed, etc., that I needed to spend 10 minutes in silence when I first got to my office this morning (more about why later).  Well, as I was attempting to unlock and open my 100-year-old office door--which I know is always a two-hand job, but I keep trying to manage with just one--my lunch bag took a dive onto the floor, and the soup escaped its container and managed to baptize everything else in the lunch bag.  So, after an hour and a half of telling myself to do something, 10 minutes of cleaning up that mess sent the intended silence right out of my mind!

Now here I am almost three hours later and still no silence.  Last night I led our discipleship group at church, and we talked about the sermon text from Sunday, Matthew 11:28-30, "Come to me all you who are weary..."  We spent the whole evening discussing rest, stillness, and being yoked with Jesus, and our 'homework' for the week is to spend 10 minutes in restful silence and listening every day.  We did a couple of practice runs together as a group--it was not surprising to me how many people were uncomfortable sitting in silence.  I have enjoyed doing this ever since my first experience in a workshop at the Wesleyan/Holiness Women Clergy conference in Colorado Springs.  But somehow, even though I always find it a wonderful time, I have failed to incorporate it into my regular routine. 

Intentions, intentions.  I've intended to write in a journal many, many times over the years, and haven't kept it up.  I've intended to give time to silence and listening to God many, many times over the years, and haven't kept it up.  I intended to spend 10 minutes in silence first thing this morning, and didn't.  (My track record may suggest that beginning a blog is a hopeless cause!)  But I will never forget what Pastor Brian at Trinity told us one week: it's called 'practicing the faith' for a reason, because it takes practice.  You don't just try to run a marathon; you train to run a marathon.  Likewise, you don't just try to live a life of faith; you train to live a life of faith.  So this week, another training session, and off I go into silence.  I'll let you know how it goes.