Homeownership

We are official homeowners. Better said, we officially own 20% of a house. I’ve decided my 20% includes the pool cause, DANG, it’s getting hot up in he-a (check the thesaurus: Hades=Arizona summer; and it’s not even summer yet!). I thought buying a house would instantaneously cover me with a fuzzy blanket of relief, stability. Even after visiting it several times, planning it’s future did not create belly butterflies. All I could think about was our money hemorrhage with no foreseeable cure. Then I cleaned the pool and hung some pictures. Warmer. Then I removed a chandelier and painted it. Getting there. And as the house becomes more and more Carolinian (of the Garcia variety), I think more and more that I can live with the ugly fireplace and the chipped counters and maybe even the monstrous bookshelf that makes a statement I’m not sure I agree with. The carpeted bathroom still spells n-a-s-t-y, but at least it’s Carolinian nasty.
As a homeowner of 4 weeks, I’ve learned the primary responsibility of home-owners:
1) Displaying holiday paraphernalia including, but not limited to: door wreaths and lawn figures.
2) Making sure your house isn’t an embarrassment to your neighbors.
Presently we are failing in both categories. I pledge to collect as many snow globes and twinkle lights as possible. As to #2, I’m afraid we are far from it, but progressing. Project#1: The first time we met our neighbors they mentioned that they are downwind of this:

See the pile on the roof? Can you imagine how many birds over a span of how many decades it took to create a pile of dung this high? Let’s ponder this. [And you are thinking, “let’s NOT ponder this.” And I am responding, you have entered my realm, welcome.] Have you ever been pegged by a white shower just as you think you’re on top of the world? On the mission I was teaching a spiritually-charged charla when a seemingly cute dog approached, lifted a leg, and sent a river down my skirt. No, the man didn’t request another charla; the dog must have been a messenger from the devil.
Project #2 (in reference to the same poop picture): Notice the column hovering over the pile. It is (or was, b/c it’s been sent to the grave) a plastic owl: a pigeon predator placed to protect the roof. This reminds me of another Chilean anecdote. Some Chilean front yards donned 2-liter bottles filled with water. Why? When dogs go to lift a leg on their property, they will see their reflection in the water bottle and be scared away. As logical as a plastic owl.
Project #3: Unfortunately for us, the former owners of our house had a botanical philosophy of “more is more.” We have cut down a few trees, bushes, plants, weeds, etc.

I found 3 birds' nests, about a dozen wasps' nests, a wall light, spigot, and a beer can behind the blanket of vines that covered our back wall. 

Christening the pool:

Elijah making his room his:
Translation: "Do not touch trucks"

That bottom note would scare most parents. Dual language has benefits, but E confuses vowels. He was indicating the number of notes on his door.

Interesting Iris Part 2

David is not the only one fascinated with Iris. There is no end to her entertainment capacity in the car. The kids ask her a stream of questions like so:
Iris, do you want to eat a bike? Her response: Yeah.
Iris, do you want to eat a toilet? Yeah.
Iris, do you want to eat Iris? Yeah.
Uncontrolled laughter between each question and usually a recap to me. “Mom! Iris wants to eat her eyeball!”
She also amazes me. How blissful it would be not to know the difference between good and evil. We walked in on Iris smearing her poo across her crib and body. She stared at us as if to say, “What up my homies, I’m just cillin’ like a villain.”
Iris, do you want to eat poo?
Yeah!
Actually her new favorite cuisine is dirt and she'll eat it wherever she can find it. The other day she ate the playground sand from Elijah's stinky shoes.

Happy Easter

Claire’s first day of soccer=comical. Most of the practice was spent examining a ladybug, much to the chagrin of the coach. Claire had a roll-on-the-ground fight with the other girl. A little boy screamed for at least 10 minutes because he was scored on. The game was even better: scoring on themselves several times with hands, fraternizing with the fans, playing in the net, more tantrums. And just as E mixes soccer and karate, C mixes soccer and dance, prance, frolic.