Speechless

School starts tomorrow. 

I should be thinking about the last few things I need to get done before then.

Actually, I should be sleeping. 

Instead, I'm thinking about this handsome little man: 

 

That's him on his first day of school recently.

Last week he celebrated his fourth birthday.

Who is he exactly?  I'm going to let my precious friend Megan tell you.  Megan and I were roommates our sophomore year in college.  By the grace of God and the persistence of a few other friends of ours who are better at staying in touch with people than Meg and I are, we have continued to be friends, even though we live in different hemispheres.  

Since January of 2011, Megan has been living in Zambia working for Family Legacy.  Our other former roommate Katy has worked for them for several years as well, and after quite a few trips back and forth, she joined Megan as a resident of Zambia at the beginning of this summer.  

Even though they are so far away and seven hours ahead, the wonders of technology have enabled us to keep in touch... as much as, if not more than, we did while they were living in the United States.  Just yesterday, I got to face time with Katy for a full hour!  

Okay, enough background.  The following is Megan's blogpost about the boy pictured above.  With her permission, I copied and pasted it directly onto mine, but you can read it also on her blog here.

"I have an amazing story to tell you about a little boy. He turned 4 years old this week. He is a sweet, smart, and precious boy who is already displaying the Lord's glory.

When he was about a year and 6 months old, he was admitted into the hospital because of severe malnutrition.  Feeling the weight of taking care of him, his biological mother decided to abandon him at a hospital in Lusaka.  His father called the hospital a few weeks later to see what happened to his son.  By this time, he was sent to a local orphanage in Lusaka.  The father left his phone number, but nothing else.  His dad phoned rarely to check on him, but never intended to step in and take on full responsibility.  The orphanage was able to care for him more than his family ever could.  He was being fed 3 times a day and had housemothers who watched over him day and night.  Overtime, all his friends and the housemothers knew him as a joyful boy—even though his circumstances did not seem joyful.  Although he lived in an orphanage and was taken care of, he didn't have the one-on-one parenting, love, and support he should have had by his birth parents.  He stayed in the orphanage for almost 2 years. During this time, not one family member visited him.

I had the pleasure of meeting this sweet boy when I visited an orphanage one weekend in January. He was the happiest one of them all.  He ran and played with a huge smile on his face.  His personality and demeanor was intriguing. Even his house moms testified to his happy nature.  Although this little boy spent almost 4 years of his life without a mom and dad who truly cared for his well being, his Heavenly Father never left him.  His Heavenly Father already had a plan for him, and boy is it an amazing plan.  His Father not only has never forsaken him, but he has already destined an earthly mother to step in and care with ALL of her heart for him.

And that mother is me.

The Lord started speaking to me about becoming a mom in November of 2011.  I had 2 dreams about a little boy, I didn’t know who he was, but I knew that I was his mom.  I remember waking up both times and feeling a weight from the Lord. After my second dream, I asked the Lord to clarify if the dream was from him. In the next 3 days, I was without a doubt certain that he was calling me to motherhood--to adopt a little boy.  Now, you can only imagine the thoughts running through my mind.  I'm single. I live in Africa.  I work to educate orphans, not take on full care for them. How am I going to do this alone? When will I know that I've found my son? Is he already born? But the Lord is faithful.  Over time, he answered different parts of my anxiety and worry in a gentle way.  He even gave me a name to pray over: Elijah. Although I was staying obedient and waiting patiently, I went through many doubts of whether this is actually what the Lord was calling me to do.

On May 15th, I saw this picture of the sweet boy from the orphanage I visited in January.  When I looked at the picture, the Lord said, “Megan, this is what Elijah looks like.”  I was confused, because I wasn’t sure if the Lord was actually telling me that my Elijah will look similar or if this boy was actually Elijah.  I didn't say anything to anyone yet, but a few hours later, my roommate brought her computer to me with that exact same picture and said the exact same phrase, "Megs, this is what Elijah looks like." That’s when I felt this could possibly be my son.

The next day, I went to visit him. The Lord instantly connected my heart to my son.  He IS the boy I’ve been praying for. When I saw him, held him, played with him, and looked in his eye, I knew that it was my Elijah. Although that was not his birth name, the Lord placed it on my heart to change it too Elijah.  I’m very excited and humbled that the Lord has chosen me step in and care for this sweet boy!

The process of adoption in Zambia is a long and hard road.  It’s not easy.  There are many steps and tiny details that are not laid out specifically on paper.  This makes it very hard to get the right paperwork with the right documentation to finalize everything.  For example, it took me 3 months to finalize paperwork just for fostering him.  But, as I’ve said, the Lord is faithful.  He has walked ahead of me each step of the way.

On August 7^th, Elijah came home with me, and yesterday my sweet son turned 4 years old.  He is such a joyful and clever boy.  He is strong, content, nervous, scared, excited, but is now being loved the way God intended for him to be loved.  He is going to be a powerful man of God—he IS anointed. He has already begun praying and speaking with authority, like a pastor would. J Although the road ahead of me is long, bendy, and bumpy at times, I know it’s the straight and narrow path the Lord is calling me too. 

I am truly blessed that the Lord would not only call me to provide a home and a family for Elijah, but, to also work for Family Legacy, a ministry who provides support and families for hundreds of orphans within their home country. As of now, I’m taking one day at a time.  I don’t know what the future holds, but I intend to stay in Zambia as long as the Lord calls us here.

Malachi 4:6 is the verse the Lord has given me for Elijah:

“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the LORD comes.  And he will turn the hearts of fathers to their children and the hearts of children to their fathers.”

Even in the small amount of time I’ve known my son, I’ve seen this verse displayed in his life. He will be the man of God he is called to be, in Jesus’ name.

Eli's Coming Home!!

Wrapped up after his first bath time at home! First car ride! Off to Pre-School! My Little Aggie! Mommy and Eli!

Precious Baby Boy, I see SO much of Jesus in you already.
You are home."

 

 

 I cannot even begin to express my excitement for Megan and Elijah.  For those of you who know me, though, perhaps you will understand just how overjoyed I am when I tell you that I start weeping every single time I look at a picture of this mother and son together.  I am so proud of my friend for taking a gigantic leap of faith and trusting in God's provision for her.  I eagerly look forward to the day when I get to meet Eli and wrap him up in a big hug!

If you are interested in contributing to Megan and Elijah with financial support,  you can click here to make a one-time donation or set up recurring monthly support.  You can also support Katy by clicking here.

Trust Me on This One

 

Never try to sharpen a kitchen knife before you drink your first cup of coffee.

Love, 

Murphy & Me

You Can't Make This Stuff Up

I was DELIGHTED to have a visitor today!

Padre had to travel to San Antonio for work, so he decided to make the trek up north to see me tonight.  We went to see the movie I have been eagerly anticipating for months now...

 

(Apologies for the tiny picture - I didn't realize it would be so small, and I'm too lazy to find a larger one.)  It was fantastic.  I hope they make a 3rd one. 

Before I get to the funniest part of my afternoon/evening, I need to share a tidbit from last night.  I had a few friends over for dinner and to watch the Rangers game.  We've been trying to make it happen all summer, and finally everyone's schedule worked out.  This picture is also not great, but I wanted to document for Poppy + Goola that I got to use all the bright and cheery serving ware they sent me!  

 

One of the friends had yet to see my house, so I was giving her the full tour.  She must have told me eight times at least that I need a pet.

I'm sure anyone reading this knows me well enough to know that I do not, in fact, need a pet. 

I'm not pet people.

"Even just a hamster or a fish."  "Ooh!  Or a bird." 

No.  I'm not pet people.

Okay, we're sufficiently informed.  Fast forward to this afternoon.

When I got home from work, Padre was waiting for me in his car out front.  I went out to meet him and saw a small-ish dog running near us in the street.  I looked around for who he/she/it might belong to but so nobody.  It had tags on, so I decided to call the owner and put the dog in my backyard until he/she/it was claimed in order to prevent he/she/it from getting hit by a car.  One phone call and a few minutes later, "Fred" came with a leash to retrieve Cookie from my backyard.  

Shortly after that, Padre requested a tour of the house and wanted to see the garage.  I opened my garage door so I could put some boxes in the recycling bin when... whadyaknow... up runs Cookie.  

It had only been about thirty minutes and the dog had managed to successfully escape again and make his/her/its way back to my house.  

This time I wasn't as hospitable.  Padre sent me inside so I could close the garage door while he distracted the dog.  

We talked for a bit longer before heading to the movie theater.  A few hours later, we got back, hugged goodbye, and he headed out front to his car.  He immediately started cackling with laughter and shouted "You can't make this stuff up!!!!"  

I caught only the slightest glimpse of Cookie sprinting toward me before I turned, slammed the door shut, locked it, and yelled goodbye one last time to my dad.

Adventures in Babysitting

Full disclosure:  I started this post last Wednesday.  I am just now completing it.

Babysitting has evolved greatly since I was a young'n.

First of all, I babysat for the very first time when I was 12.  I remember it clearly.  It was a snow day.  Later on, my Aunt Kris took me to the movies.  I can't remember if we saw Dear God or That Thing You Do!, but it was one of those.  Who trusts a 12 year old to babysit their small children?!?!  Now, I was a pretty responsible 12 year old.  You might be thinking it doesn't sound too insane to let a 12 year old watch some school-aged children.  These kids were 3 years old and an infant!

Secondly, back in the day babysitting consisted of the following: parents would pick me up on Friday or Saturday in the early evening, order a pizza and head off.  We would eat dinner, pop in a VHS from Blockbuster or turn on the newest Disney Channel Original Movie and settle in for a few hours of entertainment before brushing teeth and going to bed.  I thought it was the greatest gig because, let's be honest, I'd probably be eating pizza and watching a movie anyway if I had stayed home.  I could get paid for this?!

Nowadays, it's a whole different story. 

I babysit for several families, and most of them prefer that their children don't watch television.  The lazy side of me thought this was crazy at first, but it actually ends up being pretty fun.  Instead of just sitting there on our tail ends, we play games, read stories, go outside, etc.  For whatever reason, almost all the kids I babysit are boys.  I love this because I am much more competent at building Lego towers, laughing at farts, and tossing a football or baseball around than I am at pretend tea parties and dress up.  (Please don't interpret this as some massive generalization about gender stereotypes in young children.  The one girl I babysit just happens to be extremely fond of tea parties and dress up.)  And all of the kids I babysit, regardless of age or gender, are crazy smart.  Because of this, I sometimes rely on their information too much.  Like the time over spring break when I got tricked into walking "down the street" to the park and had to call my roommate an hour later when I was a mile and a half away from the kids' apartment with a 2 and 4 year old, no snacks, no water, and no willpower left to walk back.  (Amanda was a superhero that day for picking us up!)

That same day, the 2 year old pooped on me.  Not just pooped in his diaper while in my lap.  We're talking a leaky diaper and my learning that sometimes adults do, in fact, need to prepare a change of clothes for themselves in addition to a change of clothes for the small children.  

Yesterday, a different 2 year old hit me in the face and gave me a bloody nose.  

Not every day is a fun adventure.  

Today, though,was a rockstar day in the world of childcare.  I started out by packing up some supplies to bring over to my first set of kids for the day so we could do the craft I promised them the week before.  I had seen this cute craft on pinterest where you pour mix tempera paint and bubbles, and blow really big bubbles into a pie tray.  Then you can place a piece of paper on top and it will catch all the paint from the bubbles and make cool designs and stuff.

It was a flop.

Nothing showed up on the paper at all.



Before you even tell me - yes, I did mix the paint in with the bubbles too.  I just did so after taking the picture. 

I improvised. 



 

See those nice clean feet?

I did.  And these ones too.  And I saw a lightbulb go off in my brain as I remembered another stinkin pinterest craft idea.

  

Then I got to work setting up for our new attempt.

 

 

Then I explained to the boys that as soon as they were finished, I would pick them up and dump them immediately in the bathtub.  They were not allowed to let their wet painted feet touch a thing until they were in the tub. 

  

I thought my clean up plan was foolproof, but I was proven incorrect.  I ended up scrubbing footprints from the concrete balcony and the tub.  

  

The next step was to let the paint dry.



When all were dry, we busted out some markers and transformed our feet portraits into pictures of mountains,  angry creatures, and firetrucks.

Then, not being completely fulfilled with my morning of craftiness, I continued in the spirit of hands and feet while watching another child the same day.  

Monday Musings

I don't have one main focus for today, but I do have random tidbits to share.  They will each get their own number and subtitle, because I like lists and specificity. 

1.  Bye Bye Birdies

I am not a very observant person.  My old roommate Amanda and I liked to play a game called "See how long it takes Kristin to notice...." with our other roommate Kristin.  We would make bets (more like predictions since there were never any terms to these bets), but inevitably Amanda would point out whatever had changed within thirty minutes of Kristin arriving home so we never found out how long it would have taken.  The game was a total joke anyway; had I not taken part in whatever changes were made (nailing up street numbers above our garage, painting the mailbox, mowing the lawn after 17 months, etc.), I would very likely not have noticed any changes myself.  

All of that is just to emphasize my lack of observance though.  In carefully poring over pictures of my house and several walkthroughs before I purchased it, I never noticed The Birds.  Giving my mom a tour as soon as I signed all the papers and was handed my key, we discovered these guys in the guest bathroom upstairs.  

 

Ew.  

One friend described them as "comforting," but everyone else has been as disturbed by them as I was.  At some point in July, I finally got around to eliminating them. 

 

In their defense, their presence with the seashell does remind me slightly of Poppy and Goola's house.  That is was their only redeeming quality.

 

But now they are gone.

Look how fresh and clean the bathroom looks now!

 

No, mom, I did not iron the shower curtain before hanging it.  Nor will I.  A few steamy showers in there should take care of it.  

 

There's the sink right outside the shower.  Madre folded/hung the towels perfectly like that.  I will not touch them for fear of messing them up.  

2.  To the windoooooooooooow

In anticipation of getting a new roommate, I needed to clean up the window situation in the guest/her bedroom.  The window sills in there were worse than anywhere in the house.  I borrowed a palm sander and got to work.  Said work was much easier once I correctly attached the sandpaper to the sander.  This was hilarious because I have used them before and knew very well how to properly attach the paper.  Yet I still did it wrong at first.   

 

I think this was midway through the sanding process.  Of course I didn't take a picture at the end.  Or of the final product.  But I repainted them with some nice, crisp, bright white paint.  

Then I took down the wooden window treatments that rained animal hair any time you raised or lowered them.  (I still don't understand that.  Was the former owner's dog climbing the window treatments???  How does dog hair get lodged in there?) 

Next step: putting up new blinds.  I enlisted the help of Amanda and her new hubs Jose, but I decided to get started while I waited for them.  The result?  Naturally, I got a drill bit stuck in the wall.   

Fortunately, it came out easily.  Once I figured out to measure them from the front of the inset, rather than the back against the window, the brackets installed quite easily.  Well, Jose seemed to do it easily.  I was very helpful with the measuring and pre-drilling holes though!

 

  

Aren't they pretty?  I bought them to match the wood blinds that were already installed in the kitchen.  I like them sooooo much better than the metal miniblinds.  I know, I see the old hardware above the window too.  That has since been removed, but I still need to go in and putty those holes and touch up paint.  Eventually I will be putting these blinds in all the windows in the house. 

3.  To the wall

You know who's great?

Uncle Kevin.  

After reading my account of the Light Fixture Mishap of 2012, he caught up on my older blog entries and offered some unsolicited (but extremely welcome) advice on how to get over my stud problem to hang the medicine cabinet.  He sent me to Home Depot to pick up a few items and examined my pictures carefully to let me know which hardware would work best. 

 

He also taught me the vernacular.  I learned that this type of mount (shown below) is called a keyhole hanger.  He also wisely advised me to check the hardware before drilling to make sure that the heads of the screws fit into the keyhole hangers.  Friends, that is the voice of experience right there.  Sure enough, the giant wood screws I had did not fit.  He saved me another pair of holes in the wall with that foresight.

The bottom two holes are the original ones that I had to patch up.  The top two are the ones I drilled before realizing there was a stud on the right.  The hole I had made there was too big to put a screw into though.  The middle holes are the ones I ended up using.

 

 

Looks so much better, right???

In the reflection, you can see the gross brown that covered the walls of the bathroom before.  I'm in the process of painting my bedroom and bathroom walls much prettier colors. 

 

Even though I checked the holes with a level before putting in the screws, this is still the end result of the medicine cabinet hanging.  Let me tell you exactly how much this lack of levelness bothers me:  none.  I have a little secret to share:  with things like this, I just wait for Wonderlynn to visit.  If it's bad enough, she will fix it herself.  If it doesn't bother her, nobody else would notice either.   

 

5.  My First Potroast

and why reading a recipe ahead of time is important...

I had set out to make a pot roast tonight for dinner and then eat leftovers throughout the week.  

I missed the part of the recipe that said to "cook in a slow cooker for 6-8 hours."  This was untimely to discover at 6pm when I found myself quite hungry.  I went ahead and made the roast anyway, so I can have it ready for dinner tomorrow.  I've never made or eaten pot roast before this.  My coworkers learned that about me in the winter months and made me promise I would make one.  

The recipe asked me to deglaze the pan.  I had to look that up.  I learned that the little brown bits left in a pan after browning meat are called "sucs."  It's a French culinary term, according to the wikipedia. 

It sounds gross.  

I imagine I would have had more sucs had I not cut off the 2 pounds of fat on my roast prior to browning it.  I know, I know, cooking it in the fat is supposed to make it more tender or something like that.  I just can't bring myself to eat that.  I also learned that it's really stinking difficult to turn a giant roast with a small spatula.  

 

This picture of the roast sitting in the crock pot does not do justice to its size, so I took another with the spatula in there more visibly for scale. 

 

Is spatula the right word for that tool?  It seems wrong all of the sudden.  I'm pretty sure it said "turner" on the tag when I purchased it.  Whatever it is, it's Bobby Flay brand, super sturdy, and I love it.  Except when it comes to turning over roasts.  

I also had some Brussels sprouts to eat up, so I decided to cook them the way I did when transforming Wonderlynn's perspective forever.  Since my dad referred to them as "baby cabbages" and I happened to have some leftover purple cabbage from last week (one head of cabbage will last for.ev.er), I threw that in there too. 

 

It was such a cheerful color combo that I had to take a picture.  It looked dark, though, so I turned on my flash and took another one. 

 

I can't decide which picture I like better, so I'm showing you both. 

I think the first one is prettier, but I'm no food photog.

 6.  On recipe substitutions

The pot roast recipe called for seasoning salt, among other ingredients, to rub onto the meat before browning it.  I didn't have seasoning salt.  Normally I would have called the madre at that point for guidance, but I was too busy jamming out to the music on my phone to stop it and make a phone call.  How do you stop this greatness? 

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Answer:  You don't.  

So I didn't. 

I decided to use some garlic salt and a pinch of sea salt.  Chefs, I hope this combination is satisfactory.  I shall let you know upon tasting the cooked roast.  

7.  21 days

Actually, I've lost count.  I think this is day 21 of my whole 30.  I lost count because it has been so much easier than I expected.  Gum continues to be the one thing I miss more than any other eliminated food.  I've only felt the need to down a great big, icy diet coke two or three times.  I haven't strayed from the plan at all, even a little bit, except to take communion.  In the first week, I lost about 2.5 pounds.  I lost 5 in the second week.  I haven't weighed myself again yet, but my clothes continue to feel looser.  Two pairs of shorts that were a little snug last week are now falling off of me.  Not because I've been wearing them for a week straight, either.  Right out of the dryer!  

I highly recommend it to anyone.  I have enjoyed the food a lot and melting away without any changes in exercise isn't a bad side effect.  

It hasn't had any impact on my allergic reactions, or whatever the heck is going on with my skin.  I was tested for almost 70 foods last week and the doctor discovered very little.  The search continues.

Let. There. Be. Light.

This is going to be a long one.  Buckle up. 

Our journey begins back in May, when I ordered a light fixture from Pottery Barn to replace the light fixture in my dining room.  I actually ordered it before I moved into the house, but it was back ordered so I had to wait awhile.  

Here is the original fixture, shown while lit to prove that there was, in fact, power that adequately supplied the light source. 

 

While I waited for the new fixture to be delivered, my parents came to town and my dad helped me install one new light, and two light/fan combos.  (Okay, he installed one light while instructing me how to do so for future reference, and I was johnny-on-the-spot with screwdrivers while he installed the fans.  He was a champion.)  I paid close attention, so when the big box finally arrived on my front porch, I was ready to go.  I enlisted Amanda to help me out since it's a job made significantly easier by the presence of another human.  

 

Learning from the previous experiences, I knew to connect the wires and then test with a bulb before actually mounting the entire thing.  The bulb wouldn't light.  

Two of my male coworkers came over to give it another go.  They arrived with a very large and impressive tool box filled with a wire tester, among other things.  We tested the circuit and found that there was actual electricity running in both the switch and the ceiling.  A few phone calls to the uncles led to the eventual conclusion that the fixture was defective.  When I called to return it, I was informed that it was still on back order, and I would not receive a new one until probably August.  If you notice, the wall in the background is still blue.  I had painted it green the week after Father's Day.  (Just for some chronological reference.)

I decided to go ahead and just return it, then look for something new.  I ended up ordering a different fixture from West Elm.  Naturally, this one was on back order as well.  I'd have to wait until around July 31st for delivery.  Oooooof course. 

 After many moons had passed, the new fixture arrived.  This was a week ago today.  I forgot to mention how confusing the Pottery Barn wiring had been.  I was delighted to open up the West Elm fixture and find that, not only were the wires the right colors, but they were labeled as well!

 

As soon as I connected the wires, I screwed in a bulb and turned on the breaker.  

No dice.  

I contacted some more male friends to find out if anyone had some electrically-inclined friends who might be willing to help.  After a few days of hunting, we finally found someone but it was going to cost a pretty penny.  

My stubbornness kicked in big time.  

Why on earth can I not figure this out for myself?  

Here's the thing: I'm by no means a feminist, and I've never found myself having a hard time accepting help from guys.  The problem is that I don't like accepting help from anyone.  I'm fiercely independent, and it kills me any time I have to seek out favors from people to deal with things like light installations, tree branch removal, plumbing consults, etc.  I like to think of myself as a competent human, and it just irks me when I can't do something myself.

In other words, I was fired up.  I decided this morning that today was the day.  I was installing the new light fixture, and nobody was going to stop me.  I would conquer electricity, and that was that.  

One thing that had come up as a possible cause for the problems before was the dimmer switch from the old fixture.  We had thought it might have been the issue back in June, and even pulled it out from the wall to take a look at it, but my friends determined that it was too over our heads.  So I looked up how to remove a dimmer switch and replace it with a normal one.  A few youtube videos later, and I felt sufficiently armed with knowledge to head to Home Depot and get the necessary supplies.   

I sent Padre the following text message: "Today, I am mustering up every ounce of stubbornness and pride I have.  I am going to make the dining room light fixture work, even if it kills me.  I thought you'd want to know."  

He then asked me to try everything short of killing myself.  Then asked me to give him a text update every thirty minutes to let him know I was okay and hadn't electrocuted myself yet.  Please don't take that to imply lack of confidence.  I genuinely appreciate his concern and caution since I was doing this alone in my house.  

Driving back from Home Depot, I heard "Stranglehold" on the radio and immediately knew I was going to be victorious in my mission.  I am not here to defend the lyrics of the song, but it has one fantastic guitar riff.  That song will pump anyone up.  I turned up the volume as loud as it would go and enjoyed every second of the nine minute instrumental section.... rare for someone who enjoys singing at the top of my lungs.  It was just one of those I-feel-it-in-my-bones-that-this-is-going-to-end-well kind of omens. 

 

When I walked inside, I pulled the new switch out of my bag and prepared to work.  My preparation consisted of the following steps: 

1)  Eat.  Yep.  When my blood sugar drops, so does the chance of anything good happening.

2)  Pray.  Then ask Padre to pray and start the 30 minute timer to text him that I was still alive.

3)  Set up the portable fan that has kept me cool and, therefore, sane, through various home improvement projects thus far.  

4)  Get started.

I even remembered Uncle Todd's advice to take a picture before I undid anything in case I needed to put it back the way it was.  

Here's the dimmer. 

 

And here's the fun mess inside.

Yikes.  That mess may or may not have been hanging out like that since June.

When I removed the dimmer, I was left with this:

 

Here's where the trouble really began.  All the youtube videos I watched informed me how to install a single pole light switch to the black, white, and ground wires in the wall.  My wall contained a box of three black, three white, and three ground wires.  

I immediately called Uncle Kevin.  He asked a lot of questions and requested a lot of pictures.  After careful and thorough analysis, he informed me that each bundle of wires (Romex cables, I learned) was feeding something different.  One was the power source, one likely went to the fixture, and the last one potentially powered the outlet on the same wall that hasn't worked since I moved in.  I needed to figure out which one was the hot wire.  For that, I would need a wire tester or a pigtail light.  

By this point, my spirits were not quite as high.  Ted Nugent was losing his inspirational power over me, and I was starting to get discouraged.  I was also strongly opposed to driving all the way back to Home Depot, which really should be paying me commission by now.  

I decided it was a good time for me to go talk to the neighbors to see if anybody had one I might be able to borrow.  I headed across the street first.  I met the man who lives there back in May, and I'd spoken to him once since then in passing.  He did not answer the door.  The woman who answered almost hid behind the door in fear and then looked at me like I was full on crazypants when I asked if she had a wire tester I could borrow.  So much for that.  I then went to one other house where there were neighbors I'd already met.  The man not only didn't have a wire tester, but he also looked at me like I was insane and expressed genuine concern for my safety when I explained what I was doing.  

Now I was hugely discouraged.  I maybe started to cry a little.  It's important to note, for those of you who haven't been around me in the past 3-4 months, that everything has made me cry lately.  This particular occurrence is not an indication of deep depression or of major sadness.  I was just frustrated.

Still determined not to drive far across town again, I did a little scouting online and realized they sell pigtail lights at Autozone.  I called to make sure they would work in a house rather than in an automobile, and the man made me explain the entire story before informing me that it wouldn't work in a house, but they sold voltmeters that would do the trick. 

This is what he sold me.

 

I am fairly confident we used something similar to this in Pre-AP Physics back in high school, and that I didn't have a clue what was going on then either.  Fortunately, he told me what setting to put it on, how to use it, and that it should read around 120 volts.  

After a little fidgeting with the apparatus, I found the hot wires.  Uncle Kevin then called me back and directed my attention to a diagram he found online that would help explain how to wire everything.  He patiently walked me through the entire thing, making sure I understood what to do with each and every one of the nine wires coming out of my wall.  Then he told me to call him back and let him know how it went.  

The instructions were easy.  The application was not.  This wire is super thick, making it very difficult for me to manipulate.  I was able to finish almost all of it okay, except for the white wires.  I needed to strip the insulation off the ends of them, twist them together, and then cap them off with a wire nut.  Every time I tried to twist them, one of the wires broke.  The same wire.  In other words, it kept getting shorter.  This was a wire coming out of my wall.  A limited resource.  I was panicking slightly.  Finally I got it to work.  I had the original fixture hanging again with one bulb so I could test if the switch was connected properly.  

SUCCESS!!!!!!!!!

I don't exaggerate when I say I felt like I was winning an Olympic medal at that point.  It might seem dumb, but this stupid light fixture has frustrated and annoyed me for almost three months now.  

It's the reason my dining room table has looked like this since I moved in: 

 

I flipped the breaker back off, and swapped the old fixture out with the new one.  I screwed in one bulb and tested it again.  The new one worked too!!!!

Now that everything was connected properly, I finished mounting the plate and canopy, screwed everything in, put in all the bulbs, and attached the glass that goes over the bulbs.  One more flip of the breaker, and...

nothing.

No light whatsoever. 

Arg.

Actually, from watching my dad I had learned that if one tiny wire gets just a little loose or touches metal or anything, the whole thing gets thrown off.  I figured a wire had come loose, but I had to go meet my trainer so I determined to deal with it when I got home.  

On my way back, I enlisted the help of yet another male friend who is fairly handy.  I explained what I thought the problem was and that I figured it would just be an easier job with two people and should be a quick fix.  Now around 9pm, I walked inside to a dark house and flipped on the porch light for my friend.  No light.  I checked and the breaker was on, so I knew there must have been a loose wire to turn off the entire circuit.  Not a problem.  

I went in the kitchen to grab some dinner and realized that the entire kitchen is also on that circuit.  Somehow this detail eluded me previously.  

The kitchen.

The fridge. 

MY FOOD!!!

Yikes again.  Okay, now time was crunching.  

I had been using a tiny step ladder, but I figured I'd need something more substantial to get a closer look.  I ran to the garage and grabbed the ladder I borrowed from my parents but had yet to use.  

Figuring out the Little Giant ladder system was more complicated than wiring the light fixture.  

 

A painful incident with a similarly complicated ladder last summer had me extra worried, but I managed to get it set up okay... I think.  

I pulled off the canopy and retwisted all the appropriate wires together.  I got everything else on the circuit working again, but the breaker flipped anytime I tried to turn on the light switch.  It was now too late to call Uncle Kevin, who was likely fast asleep.

My friend arrived and we got to work carefully stuffing the wires back up into the ceiling.  He pointed out where exposed wire was touching the mounting plate and helped me fix it.   He also informed me that he is afraid of both heights and electricity, but he graciously climbed his side of the ladder and touched all the wires anyway.  (Quick plug for the Little Giant Ladder System: if you can figure out how to use it, it's pretty stinkin' awesome because you can have people standing on both sides of it... super convenient in situations like this one!)

We got the bulbs lit!  

Anticipating a similar complication when I pushed all the wires from the light switch back into the wall, I made him stay to help me with that part as well.  It was a good thing I did.  After a lot of work, we managed to get the light switch screwed on properly. 

Looks a lot better than the tangled mess from earlier, huh? 

The result? 

Drum roll please...

...

...

...

LIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm so happy I could cry all over again.

I have to be honest, I had about 43 things to do today, and I didn't get to a single one of them.  

But now this source of months of frustration and annoyance is gone, like a weight removed from my shoulders, and I feel like I can be much more focused and productive with everything else that needs to get done around here.

Huge, mega, ultra, super shout out and thank you to Uncle Kevin, who walked me step-by-step through this entire thing!!!!

 

 

(and who maybe expressed to my mom that this better work so he wouldn't be eviscerated on the blog.)

I couldn't have done it without you.  If you didn't live 1500 miles away, I would be making you the stovetop pork carnitas that I raved about last week as a thank you gift.  I guess you'll just have to come visit so I can make them while you check out my handiwork.  

Love, 

Murphy & Me