Dance Recital

The girls have their ballet recital this weekend. Probably one of the most advertised, reminder-filled events in their young lives right now.

And naturally, I'm completely off the mark on all of it.

Yesterday evening, I was checking out my camera, making sure I was good to go on the settings I would need for the darkened theater where we'd be attending the rehearsal. Did you know that dropping a camera, even on accident, and even the night before you really-really-really need it, will still (absolutely) break the camera? It sure will. Okay, so it's not totally broken. Just the LCD screen. Picture a little TV screen in a 4-square layout. Now take 3 of those 4 squares and color them white, leaving just one little old square properly showing the picture. That's my screen right now. I can center everything on the right brilliantly; sorry for the poor subjects on the left or in the middle though.

After what seemed like hours of despair over this bit of unluckiness, and woeing our pitiful lack of finances to deal with the stupid camera with the blocked out LCD screen, it occurred to us that we had 2 working cameras from our daughters. The girls have their own cameras, so it shall be one of theirs that captures all the magic moments this weekend.

Camera catastrophes solved, it was on to the rehearsal. And getting ourselves in costume.

We've had their costumes since before Spring Break. Sent home in carefully packaged plastic zip-bags, we were instructed to remove the costume and hang them upside down. Our bags made it as far as the entry way closet and they have hung ever since. Right side up. (Sigh)

Today was the rehearsal for this grand event. Naturally, it took a moment for me to even remember where the bags had been stored, and another to allow for the momentary Freak Out I had whilst searching frantically for the bag of "essential" accessories that was included. That I lost. But then found again. And then quickly dumped all over the floor. (Sigh)

Putting each young lady into her lovely costume,(and already running late), I came across a great many safety pins lining the outer sides of each. It was at this prestigious moment that I very vaguely recalled being told that I would need to do some hand stitching along the sides where each costume was just "this" much too big. Right. Yes. That. Lovely.

I am very pleased to reassure you that neither child was in anyway injured (or needle-jabbed) as I so elegantly hand stitched her costume. As she wore it. Standing extremely still. And looking more nervous than I felt was warranted. Maybe.

We pulled our act together and marched into the rehearsal a mere 10 minutes late, thank you very much. We sat down in our assigned seats, waiting for the girls' dance class to be called up to rehearse. And then I wondered......and then I knew.

My little ballerinas had arrived at their rehearsal without their ballet slippers. Seriously, could I get any more "together" here? Was it even possible? We were saved by the other classes' rehearsals running over, and the fact that my Hero of a Hubby was at home (just 2 blocks away) and able to speed said footwear down to me, tossing the bag out the van's window as he cruised by the theater, thus extinguishing the need to park.

Sitting in the darkened theater, watching all the dancers do their thing, I couldn't help but wonder at my own escapades of the last hour. I used to be more on top of things. Now I feel like I'm getting run over nearly every single day. I was the Planner. The Get-It-Done Gal who always got things done. Most days I feel like a winner if I manage to actually make it through the day without forgetting something or another. (Though it's hard to know when I should celebrate because I'm not entirely sure if I'd remember that I forgot something).

There was a time when this new me would have sent the creepy crawlies up my spine. But now I just go with it. Eh, it's all good. Today for example, sure I broke my camera, but now I get to borrow my daughter's. That's okay. And yes, I may have momentarily lost their costumes and accessories, but I found them. Eventually. And had a jolly good time on the hunt, mind you. And so what we were 10 minutes late with  no shoes; someone else is always later. And I got to play catch with my husband as he threw a bag out of a moving vehicle. AND I caught it! On the first try.

The ability to achieve or to fail is absolutely in your perception.

And they look entirely too cute to think of today as anything other than a complete success.

The Stay At Home Parent.

You know, sometimes Stay At Home Moms are treated like second class citizens. Whether or not you personally agree with that, it's true. It really is.
If I am told one more time that "I don't actually work", or "Imagine how hard your life would be if you had a real job!" I might have to pop someone in the nose. I just might.

People, the time has come to stop thinking that just because a parent chooses to be at home raising their family, they are not, in fact, waving the white flag of surrender and retiring from the working class world. Note that I am saying Parent here because I know there are a lot of Stay At Home Fathers now too. And good for them, I might add.

In a perfect world, when people find out that I have chosen to be at home with my kids they would say, "My goodness, you are wonderful. What a hard, thankless, tiresome task that is. You should be commended on your ability to sacrifice that extra money for what you feel is best for your family." In a perfect world, there would be a national Stay At Home Parent Celebratory Day wherein all Stay At Home Parents would get a day off. Completely to themselves. And free ice cream. All day.

Yes dear nay-sayers, the Stay At Home Parent works. Very hard. Everyday. When my dear husband leaves for his job in the morning--away from chattering children and in a controlled, quiet environment (I might add), my day is only just picking up from yesterday. The To Do list from the day before never seems to be fully completed and my mornings are spent trying to magically merge that list with the list for the new day.

I have kids to get up and get ready. I know what you're thinking. I do. You're thinking, "But Amanda, the girls are older now. They take care of themselves. You have no work here. Stop whining." I will concede that their getting older has certainly lessened some of the load. Now if only children would magically jump out of bed ready to bound into the bathroom and get ready for the day. And if only they managed to do this without getting half a tube of toothpaste all over the sink. And the counter soaking wet from their noble attempts at washing their face. And without leaving piles of clothing (more than I knew they were even wearing, apparently) all over the floor. It would be like absolutely no work at all.

After feeding them breakfast (and I'll skip over the mess that is everyday; suffice it to say we go through multiple choices which they completely veto before landing on Pop Tarts), it's on to a day of school. Now here's where my day differs slightly from other Stay At Home Parents; I have elected to school my girls at home using an online e-academy. Having taught in an actual brick and mortar school in the past, I can say that the amount of work I put into my daily lessons for this e-school is very similar. There is daily planning to be done, and then prepping for lessons, and then preparing each lesson before teaching it, and then evaluating if they understood it or if I need to switch gears to try again. Looking at the week in advance and asking myself, "How can I make this better? What can I pull in to bring it off the page and make it more interactive? Library books? Experiments? Activities? Crafts? All the while looking ahead in the curriculum to find ways to link certain subjects to one another or to activities we happen to be doing. In short: I'm teaching. And teaching without the benefit of knowing next year will be "better" in that my lesson plans are set. Nope, next year will be a new grade level with new lessons. Back to square one. Again.

After my time directly teaching the girls wraps up, I pull free to do that most pressing of all Stay At Home tasks: Clean. People who think you can't possibly need to clean everyday are very, very wrong. Either that or they haven't seen my house. When you are in your house all day everyday, messes are made. Lots of them. Everyday. So you do the best you can to keep things in check and caught up. But dang it, that laundry things throws a complete wrench in the plans. I have figured out (finally) that if I do two loads everyday, I will keep just ahead of the week. Now as soon as I put that sage advice into practice, we'll be golden. (And maybe it will be a lot like having "No Work" everyday).

Of course, in between loads of laundry, picking up, cleaning, dusting, vacuuming, sweeping, and checking in from time to time with the girls on their independent school work, I have to plan meals. Apparently, no matter how busy the day gets, the family still has to eat. Sometimes I feel like there is pressure on me to make grand and amazing lunches and dinners every single day. You know, because I'm home and I "don't work". Surely I must have time, right? Meals around here have to be fully planned in advance, so I can shop for the stuff and make sure it's in my house before I get stuck in the middle of a recipe without it. (That happens often.) And since we're on a budget (my non-paying, non-working job doesn't add much to the old bank account), what I make needs to be economical. In short, I am tasked with the daily challenge to prepare meals that are fabulously amazing and completely and utterly cheap. No last minute pizza runs here. Or Chinese.

After dinner is in the books and a memory, I have to close up the day. What still needs done that can't wait until tomorrow? What does tomorrow look like? Can I even add to that list? Meanwhile, naturally, there are two girls to pull together for bed: baths and nightly reading first. Finally, an hour or two for just me and the dear husband. Day over. Sort of---there is that on-going list from today that rolls over into tomorrow.

Don't get me wrong, I love what I do. And like most Stay At Home Parents, I have chosen to do this. But I feel like society should stop making me (making US) feel bad about it. Staying at home is not a cop out, people. It's a hard choice that means you're on the front line every single day. Rain or shine. Sick or healthy. It's you. All you. Only you.

So please, when I say that I stay home with my kids, don't respond with, "So you don't work then?" Because I do work, thank you. It's also not comforting to hear, "My gosh, I would LOVE to stay home all day. But some of us have to work, you know." Again, I work. At home. For no pay. My day is not filled with bon-bons and books read on the couch, or catching up on My Stories on television. And even though you think it makes it better, asking "Do you work outside the home" isn't especially helpful either. I get it, you're implying I work...just not "outside" the house. But honestly, that makes me feel like I'm in a cage.

It is, however, okay to say, "Thank you for your hard work." That's always nice to hear (and I've heard it a few times). It's also nice to hear, "I hope you're able to get time for yourself sometimes." It's pleasant when people keep in mind that some days are real sanity-busters. And it's always okay to say, "I wish I could have done that." I know what a privilege my being home is. It's a sacrifice on our family finances, but it's a blessing. I know many people who would love to stay home but can't.

Staying at home isn't for everyone. And just like any job, there are lots of 'Bad Examples' out there that give it a bad name. But there are also the diligent among us. The daily laborers who toil tirelessly, (often thanklessly) away, for a greater good. So when I say "I'm a stay at home Mom", please try something encouraging rather than the cut downs. Thank you muchly.

It's Music Time. For now.

The truth known to all parents is simple: every child comes complete with his or her own set of unique quirks. Each child is simply their own little self, just waiting to be fully discovered and realized.

The really fun part of having identical twins is seeing where those quirks line up together.

Our ladies are 8 years old, slowly beginning the turn into the big N-I-N-E. Their biggest shared "quirk" is that in all their years, they've never been fully committed to any particular hobby or interest. They'll love something for a brief time and then change suddenly into a new love. With little or no notice. Honestly, I was hoping that after a certain age, they'd cool it with that and start getting into some interest or another. But, alas.

Ashlyn described it to me as an invisible Wheel inside their heads. The wheel turns, as most circular things are want to do. And much like the wheel on The Price Is Right, this one spins and then slowly clicks to a stop; each area marked out with a Interest or an Idea. Sometimes it's My Little Pony. Sometimes it's Littlest Pet Shop. It could be raccoons and squirrels. It may even be Coloring. One time, it was Running. Apparently the wheel is very large and split into very small wedges. Lots and lots of them. Specific and vague, alike.

After several years, I confess, it was getting difficult to conceal my annoyance. Why can't they just pick something to work with. Let us nurture a growing interest and help become the leaders and talents of tomorrow. Right??

Recently the "Wheel" has spun around to a new wedge. (Apparently new ones get added, it would seem). Music.

Now this one I can deal with. Yes, indeed. Being a music teacher in my former (pre-parent) life, my heart sang a little tune of joyous contentment. Digging through my Music Teacher gear, I resurrected my recorder and several score books. Thanks to the wonder of online buying, I was able to find 2 inexpensive recorders to begin with. The past week has been spent learning beginning notes and working on reading music.

They've done well. They've been happy. I've been happy. Music will do that, you know. Today, as a matter of fact, they even "allowed" me to move their craft table up to their bedroom so that the full-size Casio keyboard can grace our family room. They're poking at the keys. "What note is this?" "Where is the A? The B?"

And best of all: "Can you teach me?"

Yes. Yes. Yes. I can. I will.

I don't know how long the Wheel will stay on this particular interest, but I hope it's enough to at least spark some sort of hobby for them. Maybe.

When I really think about it though, really look at how it all plays out, I'm glad they've got that mental Wheel thing going on. Because of that unique quirk, they've gotten an in depth look at astronomy, writing, history, cooking, nature, physics, and dance. All their interests have been built and studied on their own terms, in their own ways. Little Renaissance Ladies; bundles of talents that extend beyond the boundaries of "now" and "later".

Yes, I think I can be proud of that. Indeed.

Not Just A Cat

It's been almost nearly forever since my last post. But I'm writing one tonight. Tonight I needed to put words to screen. To think.

Today we said goodbye to our oldest cat, Anna. I know, I know. It's "just a cat". I know.

Only, see..she wasn't. Not completely. Not really. Not to me. She was the first cat that my husband and I got together. She was really our first "child" in those early years when we didn't have any actual babies to fulfill that role.

She did a splendid job, I might add. She was just the right amount "Lap Cat" and "Playful Cat"; she always knew when you needed to cuddle something soft and and purring, or when you were up to a round or two of "Throw The Mouse" or "Play With The Tinsel Ball". She knew. She was good like that. 

She had some annoying habits that my husband and I are realizing we're going to miss. She licked plastic constantly. We could never leave a bag on the floor, or line our bedroom trashcans with bags; she'd lick them. All night long.  She was also disinclined to appreciate what she considered being ignored. If, say at 2:30am, she was ready for some attention and we were (annoyingly) sound asleep, she knew that pawing up our bedroom door, which then knocked loudly against the wall, would absolutely get the job done. Tonight, out of sheer habit, Dan put the 2 throw pillows on the floor, one behind the door, one in front. To stop the pawing. She also loved to climb into the bottom shelves of our armoire, dig through MY side, tossing out many of my folded pairs of pants so that she could make a nest and fall fast asleep. (She never bothered Dan's side. Just mine.) And we always had to double check our bottom cupboards in the kitchen. She was fond of spying an open one and sneaking right in. She would have a blast running back and forth behind the closed cabinet doors, and then fall asleep.

She was also an absolute slob, I don't mind telling you; and she knew it. She insisted on chewing up her kibble to break it up into small pieces, which she then spit all over the floor around her bowl, and then proceed to eat some of those.  We had to keep a stick vac near her bowl. She also had an army of "Babies" that she carried around nightly, making a mothering call. All through the night that call would echo. Upstairs and downstairs. And you knew, Anna was out and about somewhere with one of her babies. Some nights it was one of the absurdly large Rat-Babies (gray or white, she would pick one); other times it was Yanni (the small pound puppy she'd had since she was a kitten and stole it from me); or perhaps it would be one or both of the beanie-baby cats that she had (again) stolen from me. In any case, every morning we'd find her collection of babies in various locations around the house; here and there, wherever she'd put them during the night before wondering off to find another one. Anywhere and everywhere. These items too were evidence of her messiness. We used to have a toy basket for her, with everything gathered up and put away every evening. But by morning the basket would be tipped over and ransacked, whether she played with the toys or not. So we eventually gave up on the basket and just let her make her toy piles throughout the house. When our daughters grew old enough to think that pound puppies and bean-bag cats might be fun for them to play with too....Anna took to hiding them in more out-of-direct-sight sorts of places.

I knew she couldn't be here forever. I knew it. And when she started to decline last fall, I began gearing myself up for the inevitable outcome to the long, slow crawl. I cherished every day with her, even through moving the litter box and her food and water bowls into my Neat Freak kitchen, so she wouldn't need to deal with steps. And when she could no longer double check that she was all the way inside the box before letting it all loose, I put training pads under the box. I gave up part of my laundry room to make a large, pillowed bed with soft blankets when it became clear that her arthritis made moving painful and, for whatever reason, she felt safest in that room.

I spent the better part of today with her. She had sequestered herself in the basement, despite not being able to get down there for weeks. She wanted to be alone. But I had things to tell her.  I wanted her to know what she was to me. I wanted to thank her for everything. She was our alpha cat every time a new kitten came into the family. She showed the newbie the ropes, keeping the newcomer in line and being mothering at the same time. She watched two of her closest feline siblings get very sick and leave us way too soon. But she was our constant. Our dear Anna.

Perhaps this all amounts to "Just A Cat" to some. And I get that. But for me...she was oh-so-much more. And this night...this first night...when I'm surrounded by all those "Babies" she loved and cared for....I'm finding her absence to be almost its own physical presence.

And so I have done what I always do in moments like these: I write. A written piece about an important (and furry) member of our family who has left us to join her cat family. Reading these words over is a sigh of relief for me; a statement that says "She was here. She was important. She still is important."

Don't worry, my sweet Anna, your "Babies" have all been placed for tonight. We'll watch over for them for you, my sweet furry heart.

Rest well. Rest easy. My dear.

Rest well. Loved and never forgotten.

Dickinson Staycation

I hope you all enjoyed your 3 day President's Day weekend. How did you celebrate the various leaders of our great nation?
Did you let the dancing presidents on TV lead you to a sale on furniture?
Did you follow the dollar signs to the nearest car lot?
We decided to mark this year with a somewhat different approach. We created a new family event wherein we put our credit cards firmly back into our wallets. And stayed home. For 3 entire days.

We started this event with a trip to the library where we loaded up on movies, ensuring that the two main audiences in our household: rom-com watchers & cartoon addicts, had their own stack of Must See TV ready to go. Then we headed home and let the Staycation begin.

I cannot tell you how wonderful it was to spend these days on an abbreviated, individualized schedule. We got up whenever we wanted in the morning, which meant we were the family still in our jammies at 11:30, thank you very much. We ate whatever we wanted for breakfast, even pizza, cause that's just how we roll around here, at least when we're staycationing, that is. And the daylight hours were spent however we pleased: TV shows, movies, reading, writing, playing video games, cooking, baking, or crafting. To each his or her own.

Meals were ad hoc and created from whatever items could be foraged from the pantry, and usually involved one or more cans of things. And mismatched quantities of things long frozen and forgotten in the chest freezer. (We had bagel dogs in there, waaaaayyy down at the bottom. Who knew?)

One afternoon all four of us were in dire need of cinnamon swirl bread. Going out to the store would require putting on Real Pants (non-yoga or sweat pants, to you non-staycationers), which are not allowed on a staycation. (Nor are Real Shoes. That is why God made slippers). So to solve the problem I made a loaf of it myself. Incidentally, this made me feel all Pioneer, and really quite pleased with myself. (Until I somehow managed to eat a full one-forth of said cinnamon bread, thus knocking my self-opinion down a few notches, bringing it closer to shame).

But I digress.

The best part was that we had 3 full days to spend as a family, holed up watching documentaries and science shows in the family room, and having picnic meals wherever we felt like eating around the house. Living Room Luncheon, anyone? But this new family tradition also gave me the chance to spend a lot of time with Dan while the girls were upstairs watching Bambi for the nine-hundredth time. It was truly a remarkable thing, indeed.

Today is our first day back in Real Time, traveling through the day on a set schedule with set protocols. (Real Pants. Real Shoes). But we're already planning the next Dickinson Recluse Staycation in earnest, eager to hide away for a few days and just be a family. It's odd how precious that feels, that desire to cling together sometimes. The world is forever trying to break in and tell us what is important, how to spend our time, how to feel about this, that, and the other; sometimes it essential to huddle in your group and just be together, uninterrupted, for awhile. To get back to the roots of who you are and who you are in your family. These years when the girls are young are fleeting, I know. Dan and I are making the conscious effort to grab every second of their childhoods, hold it close, and savor every millisecond of it. And we're trying our darnedest to make sure we're accomplishing that goal together, as a family.

S-P-E-L-L

This week introduced our family to the wondrous world of The Spelling Bee. I thought it would be fun (or at the least, interesting) to register the girls for this right of passage in the world of the elementary-school-aged-child.

So I did.

And then I thought, (approximately 5 seconds after hitting the send button on the registration form), that perhaps I may have gotten myself into more than I could handle. Maybe. What did I know about studying for a Spelling Bee?

The school sent us the lists from which we were supposed to study. 400 words for them to be "very familiar" with. (Oh my.) First through Fourth grade level words. Words that ranged from "red", "many", and "can" all the way to "wordiness", "receive", and "disassociate".

I loaded the words on the handy-dandy spelling practice site we favor, and let them go at it. 7 lists they worked through on a daily basis. 7 lists filled with words that they knew well, and those they'd never heard of.  For 4 weeks they practiced. We practiced. I double checked that they were completing their on-line practice. We spent hours in "mock" Spelling Bee run-throughs.

Say the word. Spell the word, (SLOWLY). Say the word.
Say the word. Spell the word, (SLOWLY). Say the word.
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

As the big day drew near this past week, they were all spelled out, and I had grown weary of forcibly turning every moment into a Spelling Moment around our house. We were f-r-i-e-d. Collectively.

It was with absolutely no expectations that I entered the Bee that day. We signed in and took 3 seats in the front row. Me in the middle; the girls on either side. "Just have fun, sweetie," I encouraged them, answering their questions of worry with smiles.

"But mom, I think all these kids look like better spellers than me," Ashlyn fretted, snuggling deeper into the side-hug she'd burrowed into.

"I think everyone looks excited to be here, sweetie," I soothed, trying to calm. "I think you all look ready to go up there and have fun and spell some words." She nodded; unsure.

On my other side, Caedance looked equally daunted, but ready to go. Get it started. Get it over with.

The Bee got underway and I sent my littlest angels up to do their best. Whatever that would be. I was unsure how they would handle the pressure of being up there, in front of everyone. Unsure if they'd be able to spell the word they were given. Unsure if they'd be still. Be quiet. Stay in line. All the worries that come with first experiences of anything.

I just wanted them to have fun.

I didn't realize I was figuratively "holding my breadth" until the end of the fourth round. They were still in there. Not out yet. They were confident. Clear in their spelling. They were standing in line. They were still.

They were smiling.

I exhaled and smiled too. They were on their own and loving it.

Caedance eventually went out by beginning the word "Last" with an "A". She caught herself right away...more meaning that "A" to be like a filler..."umm". But rules are rules and she was out. Even when being announced as Out, she smiled as she made her way to me.

"Oops!" she laughed as she took her seat.
"Oops," I agreed as I snuggled her close. "Good job, sweetness. I am so proud of you."
"Even though I made a mistake?"
"Oh yes," I held her closer, "Even so."
We continued watching the Bee.

Ashlyn soldiered on up there. Round after round. Until there were just two spellers left; Ashlyn and another little girl. Word after word these two spelled; round after round; another and then another.

And then she misspoke the "W" in "wordiness" as more like "ubYOU" and was out. She spelled it right, but was out for that mispronunciation. She sighed and sat down. Slightly annoyed, but (I think) happy with herself.

She came in second place.
Not too shabby for a first time out, I think.

They each got ribbons for their accomplishments. And a My Little Pony from me.

They had worked hard. And did better than I could have hoped. And they had fun.

And they're already asking about when next year's Spelling Bee is. :)

The Raindrop In The Deluge

You know that old saying, "When it rains it pours"? Have you ever wondered why it seems to only apply to mildly to excessively stressful situations and not to happy and exciting things?

You just never hear anyone saying, "Boy oh boy, I just got a new job that pays 10 times my old salary. And guess what? Yesterday I got a phone call that said all my student loans were forgiven. I know right? And then today...TODAY...I won a brand new car."

Listen for it all you want, but generally these are not the sort of events you'll hear strung along under the tag line, "When It Rains It Pours". Though don't I wish they were.

We recently had a deluge of mechanical failures at our house. In the span of 3 short days, our van (our dear family truckster) broke; our microwave caught on fire and expired on us; and our dishwasher decided (mid wash) it could no longer go on. 3 days: 3 separate events.

It started to feel as though our house had caught some appliance/machine disabling disease and everything was at risk. It also felt like we would be better served standing with our wallets open so all the money could fall out.

When it rains, it pours.

But there are bright sides in even the nastiest of storms, aren't there? Moments to be had. Memories to be made. Lessons to be learned. If only you look closely enough. Right? If only you can see each raindrop for what it can be, rather than what it seems like it is.

As we debated the cost and wisdom of getting our van fixed versus replacing it with a New To You sort of vehicle, I realized how much that old red thing meant to me after all; how many memories I have tied to it. It's the vehicle I drove while pregnant. It's the one that rushed me to the hospital in preterm labor. And it brought my babies home safely for that first time. Though it may be categorized as "Just A Car", that great Red Barron in the garage spans the Before & After in our "Family" memories: from picking up cribs, lugging home baby shower gifts, and hauling one tired pregnant lady from one doctor appointment to another; all the way to that first drive home with them---with all those nervous glances in the baby mirror, and that first family vacation, and onwards to today. I didn't appreciate how much that all meant to me, silly though it may seem, until we had to look at perhaps moving on. I can't tell you how happy I was to be able to get it fixed in the hopes of driving it around until it just falls apart.

And the glimmer of happiness in the failure of my kitchen appliances is two fold. Firstly, (and I mean...really, now), who doesn't want new appliances? Shiny and new with scores of buttons with unknown purposes, just waiting to be discovered. (And if you happen to decide to begin the switch over from black to stainless steel, that's all the better, right?) Another lesson gained from my 4 days minus a microwave and 7 days without the dishwasher is that Dan is no danger of my up and deciding to go Pioneer Gal on him. Nope; he can cross that right off his list of worries. Turns out, I'm a modern girl with an extreme love for modern conveniences. (Secretly, I've always suspected this to be the case, but at least now I have the data to back it up).

For the moment we're settled with the new shiny things in the kitchen and the well-running thing out in the garage. The calm between the rainstorms, you might say. And not that I'm asking for it to happen or anything, but if my refrigerator keeps acting up, I think the lesson there might be that a stainless steel fridge with water & ice through the door is the right thing for a happy kitchen. (I'm just saying).