Adventures in Nortonland

Ken and I started out, 34 years ago, fixing up one house after the other. One of our homes was in Smyrna...it was half-built and sitting sky-high in weeds. We bought it for a song and finished it over the course of about six months. I was pregnant with our third son, with two toddlers in tow (aged 3 and 1). That had to be the most exhausting thing I ever did, even more than the 2-year camper stint we did with four kids a few years later. I painted and stained every inch of that house myself as well as bought all the plumbing and lighting fixtures, products and supplies that we needed to finish it. It was insane, that's all. I would fit my big pregnant belly in between the rungs of the ladder, making a fantastic counter-balance when I was painting. I was often found wearing my husband's coveralls, barely zipping them over the grand lump in front of me. I particularly remember one day, where we decided to actually hire someone to help us finish putting up the moulding and trim in the house. They sent me, in the fella's dump truck, to the hardware store to pick up supplies. I was covered in paint and stain, no makeup, Papa's coveralls stretched to the limit, hair a hot mess. I ran into three people that I knew and none of them recognized me. What can I say? I'm a woman of great contrasts. We finally got into that house and I pushed out that 11 pound, 2 ounce sweet-as-sugar man-child three weeks later. Paul Bunyon and his blue ox's got nothin' on us.

We were very grateful for that house, how the Lord made a way for us to learn skills, do things ourselves (thanks to a lot of assistance and wisdom from parents and friends), and then for sending us properties that needed help. This enabled me to stay at home with our children while gaining sweat equity and lots of life experience. Don't ever say I didn't work or I might cut you.  Our end-game plan was to eventually pay cash for a home, which we finally did, bless God. But believe me, we really did work for it. While we lived at that house in Smyrna, though, our purpose was to eventually sell it and move out to the country, where we'd have privacy and room for some wild things to play and roam. 

I never liked all the traffic on the street in front of that house. I had three precocious boys that enjoyed risking their lives and scaring their Mama at regular intervals. Even though there were strict boundaries and a line on the driveway they were forbidden to cross, at times they decided a spanking was a small price to pay for living dangerously. Just a few examples: Once, they stopped traffic because they were throwing dirt clods at passing cars. Another time, a neighbor met me at the door, holding two of my minions by the scruffs of their necks, telling me that they had been playing chicken with the cars in the street. And the worst time.... It was a Sunday. Ken had to work that day, so I packed up our three boys, ages 3, 5 and 7, to go to church. I was great with our fourth child, about 8 months along. When we got home, I dashed the boys up the stairs to change clothes, then went back to my room to do the same. I had taken off shoes and dress and was down to my slip when I had a niggling notion (obviously God-sent). I peeked around the corner to the living room window, only to see Jesse, the three year old, laying in the street making snow angels where there was no snow. That child already had mad athletic skills and somehow managed, over the course of a few minutes, to bolt out of the house, all the way down the driveway and onto the pavement. (I've never understood the fascination my boys had with that road). When he saw a mad, crazy pregnant woman in a slip, screaming and tearing towards him, he decided to jump up and head towards the house. No sooner than he stepped over onto the driveway, a car whizzed by, undoubtedly never seeing him at all. There were no snow angels, but there were definitely angels. And corporal punishment. And new deadbolts on the doors. It's a miracle, too, that I didn't just go on into labor with that baby, but no. I guess she decided to stay where it seemed safe. In fact, we could hardly get her out. She ended up being three weeks late and bigger than her brothers at 11 lbs, 3 oz and 23 inches long. All four of our grown children make us feel like midgets now, not to mention that we might be sustaining brain damage from all the shocks we've been through. Must be the hormones in the milk...or maybe, just maybe, we're related to ole Paul.