You're family. Today was today. If you haven't switched to a different blog yet, I guess it's your own fault :)
This morning we woke up by Matt's phone ringing. One of our professors, wife having just undergone surgery not long ago and in a lot of pain, was calling to say that he couldn't come in today, or teach his fourth day of class. Matt left for the office right away to get prepared for a class he's never taught, and the kids and I had breakfast and did devotions and got Mommy ready for work and played and read books and waited and waited for Gertha to come.
She finally arrived in a fluster at 9:30, her tap-tap having broken down and all kind of drama having her on the road, mostly walking, for over an hour getting the four miles here.
I assured her it was fine, but quickly grabbed my coffee and headed for the office. I only have from 8-12 in the office each day, and I need EVERY minute! I headed up the sidewalk for my office and suddenly heard blood curdling screams behind me.
I whirled around to see Lily and Sofie both screaming and sobbing and running across the yard hysterically, followed by screaming Gertha with bawling Ben and screaming Micheline with bawling Jacob and screaming, 85-year old Magloire with a machete...all chasing Jaxson (the German shepherd) who had Edmund, the cat, in his mouth.
Jaxson and Edmund have been scratching, biting, chasing and playing with one another for two years. Every single day, the cat and dog do the cat and dog thing.
But somehow, today, for the first time ever, Jaxson got the cat, and was swinging it wildly between his jaws...hence the horror of the children, hence the anger of the nannies for the children's sakes, hence the wielding of the shaky, always present Magloire.
The kitchen ladies had now all come running, but it was obvious (to me, and only to me) that IT WAS TOO LATE.
There was no screaming or bawling or chasing or capturing that could help anything.
Jaxson was enjoying the influx of noisy, keep-away playmates and was bounding about happily and finally dropped the cat, tail wagging and nudging it for another chase.
The cat was done, alive but suffering greatly, all in front of a huge and horrified audience (mostly all because Sofie and Lily were SO so upset) and so despite the obvious hopelessness of the situation, Micheline and Gertha and MaGloire just kept trying to help and to get the dog and to fix the cat, and...it got really awful and hysterical and I finally, in my work clothes and with three little girls bawling and hanging on my arms, had to make Gertha and Micheline take the hysterical babies INSIDE, make the girls come far away, make Jaxson get to his tie, and beg Magloire to please take care of the poor kitty....
and in the very middle of this the new classroom door came flying open, 30 students streaming out into the yard for break. Only to be met by the mental image you're having right now.
A yard full of people I love, devastated over the tears of our children. The girls utter pain was just killing everyone. At least 73 kittens were promised the blubbering girls by the time Matt heard all the commotion and came out of his office to comfort.
Needless to say, mama did not get her four office hours in today.
I DID get one hour, and I spent it interviewing four fourth year students about their summers, about their families and about their prayers for this upcoming last year. That time was so encouraging, always, and so humbling. Our time with our students is my number one favorite thing. They rarely mean to, and they are not perfect...but they encourage me greatly. They talk this persevering-in-the-faith thing seriously. Always. And it always encourages me onward.
I am also NOT in the finance office, because CAROL is, and that encourages me just as much. Yes, Jodenel is doing ok, but still in the full cast, still off from work, and sounds like he will be for a while still. Poor Mano is thrown in front and center for the first month of school, and if Carol wasn't here, wasn't in there...I would be doing nothing else...so, so, so thankful for her!!
The girls only returned to the house when Shayla offered to teach them how to make marinade, basically a fried ball of dough mixed with hot peppers...a really spicy hush puppy kind of thing, to distract them. They were thrilled, and by the time I got home an hour later the house was a million degrees with the smell of hot oil and a big plate piled with marinade was on the counter. The girls, however, were out on the porch with Shayla, Nora, Ben and Gertha, all of them in peals of laughter.
Somehow, Lily got the idea to interview and make a phone video of Shayla (all in Creole, of course) about how to make marinade, which turned into a group interview including Sofie and Gertha, which turned into a cooking show that included all of them, then (i am not making this up) a choreographed dance and song ABOUT marinade that Lily made up...and so we had a huge plate of spicy puffs and 45 minutes of video and a priceless image I'll never forget of Gertha, Lily, Sofie, Nora, and Shayla all acting like school girls and loving being together and doing something fun.
While they were all happy and occupied, I started kneading out dough for pizza for a few friends coming together to meet and catch up and be loved on at the Ayars tonight. I fished under the counter for a precious pull of 2 tablespoons of olive oil for my crust recipe, brought over from the Dominican Republic by a friend for a pretty penny almost a year ago, carefully and sparsely used.
Not finding it, I got down on my knees and dug around for the 1/2 gallon or so that remained.
It was gone.
Suddenly, the smell of frying oil and the pile of marinade and the peals of laughter as my dear ones chanted and shook their hips to "mari--mari-nADE!" in the other room all came together. I ran to the trash can, and there was my now empty bottle.
It was obvious (to me, and only me,) that this oil, hidden BEHIND my Haitian vegetable oil, was so precious, far too precious for FRYING. Much less frying floured hot peppers!!!!
It was also obvious that it was too late.
There was no screaming or bawling or funneling or capturing that could help anything.
So I stood quietly by my trash can and had the second funeral of the day and ate extra puffy and delightfully golden marinade while my lips burned.
And probably--with what is a terrible idea obvious to me, and only me--kittens.
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