Up Too Early to Be Useful, Thoughts on Friends

Ugh. Mrf. *mumble, mumble*

I fell asleep at a reasonable time last night (weird, isn't it?) and was wide awake this morning at five thirty. So far, it's been a perfectly lost morning. I was going to clean a bit, but was terrified I'd wake someone up and lose my quiet time. Thought about showering early, but inevitably the baby would get up and be standing bedside, screaming, wondering why I won't pick him up. Thought about doing some prepwork on breakfast, but again - both bedrooms basically lead straight off the kitchen and it's all "right there", for everyone to hear. So I made coffee, read a bit, wandered around scratching myself and wondering if I should wake up Zorak so we could spend some time together before he leaves for work...

In the end, I decided to blog. That's when Smidge came stumbling quietly out of his room, with his arms held high and his precious sleepy-baby expression on his face. He was after food and snuggles. Oh. That's good stuff. Who needs time alone when life offers you that? He's eating yogurt now, so this will be a quick blogging and then - on with the day!

Just quickly, though, I'd like to really glow and beam a bit about the wonderful women friends in my life both invisible and real. They make me laugh, even at myself. They make me think. They encourage the best from themselves, their children, and their days. I appreciate them. It's only been in the last six years or so that I've developed healthy friendships with women, and it's also correspondingly brought a healthier perspective on who I want to be as a woman. After years of sloughing through the negativity that can be female companionship and avowing that only men made good friends, I've learned that this isn't so. It's not the gender of the person, but the quality of the person that makes all the difference. That point applies to both sides of a friendship. It's been a good learning process.

I had two great phone chats yesterday with two ladies who are among my most favorite invisible friends. Both conversations left me feeling uplifted, encouraged, and thoughtful. What I found so great is that both ladies are so different in some ways, but in the ways that have drawn us together in cyberspace, they're both very similar. They are devoted to their families, to their homes, and they have a great sense of humor about it all. They sense the absurd and realize it's not avoidable, and so they both roll up their sleeves and tackle it all head on.

I love hearing how husbands and wives have helped one another grow over the years - not out of a sense of "I can change him," (which I think is the most detrimental philosophy known to marriage), but just out of the natural progression of having someone in your life who encourages you and sparks that inner drive for you to be the best wife/mother you can be. I feel that way about Zorak, and it makes me grin from ear-to-ear to hear similar things from other women. Good stuff. Funny stories. Good examples for children to follow. We need more of that. We need to get out there and tell our encouraging stories to other women. They need to hear that more than they need to hear what a jackass your spouse can be. We can all be jackasses from time to time, but that's not what life is about (well, unless that is your life, I suppose.) It's about the good things, the balancing things, the walls you climb together and the things that make your home unique.

I'm feeling quite encouraged today, and hope that you find encouragement in your day, too. It's a good day for it.

Ah, and on that note, I'd best go wrangle the baby and let Zorak know it's safe to get up (aka - coffee's ready).

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Sunday, Muddy Sunday

(Apologies to any Irish readers.)

Today we awoke to what I am guessing is the extent of Dennis' effect on our little community. It was humid (shocker) and grey (ok, that was weird) - from the word go. The sun never came up today. The sky just went from black to light grey. Very pretty. Then it rained. Or it got so humid the air just... fell. Not sure which, but everything is covered in mud right now.

And since we're in a part of the world that is geographically foreign to our friends and families (seriously, like any of us pays attention to the rest of the map on the Weather Channel until we personally know somebody in those parts), I've been fielding questions today as to whether or not we'll be washed into the Gulf. Nope. We're good. We might as well be in Tennessee; we're that far out of the way. And I am thankful. If anyone we know does get washed into the Gulf, please know our door is open. We have little square footage, but we do have air mattresses, hot water, a dutch oven, and a Costco. The Mantis Hurricane Refugee Camp is open.

Zorak is reading the copy of Atlas Shrugged he got for his birthday. The first thing he did was remove the jacket cover. Yet another reason I love this man. I've never understood the attraction, the need, to converse with someone who is reading, but it's killing me not to talk to him while he's reading. This is new to me. Normally it's me reading, and him talking. Granted, I read a lot - just the other day he was mocking my burial plans and I threatened to come back and haunt him. He said, "No you won't. I'll just leave a book out and you'll forget why you came back." Oh. Well, yeah... good point. Well, NOW, I understand. I don't get it, but I know he isn't just trying to make me forget what page I'm on when I'm reading. What is it about someone's bowed head and utter absorption in a book that just begs to be interrupted? *sigh* I'm trying very hard to be good.

*he's laughing at me now*

Not sure what this next week will bring, and I have a horrible suspicion I have four or five specific things scheduled for this coming Friday - possibly all at the same time. So I need to put up a calendar and start using it or the rest of July is going to be a mess.

And that's about it. No big changes, here. Just enjoying the daily grind and whispering to one another in passing, "Man, this place is gonna to be gorgeous come fall." It keeps us sane. It's good.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Kim at Upward Call was asking about boys and long hair. This was such a timely discussion for me. James, being our oldest, gets to test the waters and wade through the swamps while Zorak and I decide which battles are worth picking, which hills worth dying on. It's not a picnic for us, so I know that can't be fun for him, either. We try to make the transition process as smooth as possible.

At James' last hair cut, it happened. He wanted it left longer in the back. Don't take so much off the top. Take a little more off the sides. Suddenly, he's a pro at hair design! I cringed. I'm not READY for that!!! I love his little Norman Rockwell haircut and appearance. (By the way, that site, rockwellprints.com, is not an affiliate link, but they do have a great collection of prints, good prices and no s&h on unframed prints.) Anyway, he wants it longer, now. He wants to have a say in it. I told him that he needed to respect my wishes at that moment (in the barber chair, the day before a wedding is just not the time to negotiate new waters), but promised him Zorak and I would discuss it and that we would deal with subsequent haircuts together. He was good with that.

So Zorak and I talked it over and have decided that it's one of those "give a little" issues. We'll set parameters, because he's six and that's our job, but we figure if he's old enough and mature enough to dialogue his preferences, then we want to encourage that approach with him. We took into consideration what it is he's wanting to do, and took stock of what's important to us, then we made the call as best we can:

1) He must keep himself well-groomed and clean. Obviously, at his age, we're still involved in that process, anyway.
2) No buzz cuts - he just can't pull that one off
3) No "dorothy hamill" cut - it gives us the willies to see that haircut on a boy.

Other than that, though, we're going to take a deep breath and give him some room.

On a reminiscent note, my junior year in high school I was invited to the movies with a young man I both worked with and went to school with. He was a wonderful, delightful, gentlmanly boy. He also had hair nearly to his beltline - think, bushy, curly, black hair. He came to the door to pick me up (nothing less would have been acceptable), made conversation with my parents, reaffirmed the time to bring me back, and off we went with friends to a movie.

All went well, other than my mother hiding in the kitchen (she wasn't ready for the "car date" concept). My Dad was awesome, which, since he had raised his first batch of children in the 40's, I wasn't so certain he would take a liking to this boy's appearance. When this boy dropped me off, he visited with Dad again and left.

The door shut. Dad flipped off the porch light, turned to me and said, "I like her. Think she'll join Rainbow?" Just as I opened my mouth to protest, my father smiled and winked at me. That was his way of letting me know that he liked the boy, but not the hair. That was his only point, and he didn't hound it. They got along famously, always. Even long after the boy and I lost touch, Dad would ask about him from time to time.

Not every parent is going to give our children that benefit of the doubt. Some claim that it's unfair or unjust, but truthfully a child's appearance (with regard to cleanliness, grooming and carriage) is indicative of his attitude toward authority, others, and life in general. It's not a bad indicator, as long as it's not the only indicator. So, while we hope James doesn't go for a full-blown Hendrix look, we also feel it's far more important to focus on his attitude toward others, toward his tasks and activities.

Our job is to guide him and help him learn to be more independent, to make good choices, and to accept the consequences of those decisions. Hopefully, the other indicators will shine through clearly enough that his hair won't be the most determinant thing to register with people. And if it is, well, that's also a consequence of dealing with society. Ideally, we will have equipped him well enough over the years so that he can decide to respond rather than react, to gauge how deeply his choices affect his opportunities and whether it's a worthwhile trade-off for him. He'll have to learn how to navigate the waters and pick his battles, too.

Oh, if only there was a manual for the details, eh? :-)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Television Parts (no relation to the movie!)

I have been hit three times recently with pleas to sign a petition, raise my voice in outrage, and join the chorus in begging our government to pay for entertainment with our tax dollars. Can you guess whether I’ve signed or called or written to do so? No. I haven’t. I’m not going to.

Nearly a month ago, I noticed that several of the PBS cartoons are “sponsored in part by The U.S. Department of Education and the No Child Left Behind Act”. I stopped in my tracks and stared hard at the logo to make sure I’d hear that right. Sure enough. I cannot believe, with all the hullabaloo over funding that has been raised over NCLB, that one single DIME was diverted to producing cartoons! But what is even more amazing to me is that since these programs have been given the fluffy and subjective title of “educational programming”, the very same folks who have complained so bitterly over the NCLB funding issues in the classrooms never raised an eyebrow about that allocation. Until now, when the funding for cartoons comes under threat. It’s mind boggling. Couldn’t our educational system (regardless of my personal feelings on the system itself) use an extra $100 MILLION dollars, you know, “in the classroom”, where that money is so needed?

Admittedly, I have a very different (although increasingly widespread) perspective of our government’s role. It’s not here to provide for our every whim, or procure our leisure time activity. The government, particularly on a Federal level, was instituted in order to provide for the People what they are not capable of doing on their own: national defense, international trade, foreign affairs, interstate commerce and communication.

Since this debate has resurfaced (it seems to come every few years, along with the accompanying fears and rhetoric), I’ve seen several arguments against cutting funding for these programs, but none yet that have made much sense. They all seem to be based on the assumption that our government - in addition to providing jobs, housing, education, and health care - is now also responsible for entertaining us. What is left for us to do for ourselves?

While I have not seen any reports citing direct sources to show this funding decision is a GOP retribution against “left-leaning news” on Public Broadcasting, the media continues to quote others (on the “left”) who allege just that. I’ve seen liberal cartoons jabbing the GOP for this assumption, quite clearly stating that there is no “leftist view” to the government-funded Public Broadcasting (to include NPR, NEA, PBS). Yet I’ve seen just that very argument made by liberals who have said that Public Broadcasting is a liberal view to balance Fox News. Which is it? Cake? Eat it? Imagining the whole thing?

Whether State funded news is liberal, conservative, communist or facist, I’m against it. There are countries around the world (most notably the former USSR & Iraq off the top of my head) who have fought long and hard to have a Free Press; one free of State authorization and scrutiny. Yet here some people are crying that we need more of that? If public television is such a great idea, why don’t we lobby to make all television public television? Why shouldn’t every station be held to the same high standards and goals of public broadcasting? If it is so very important to the quality of life and the essence of our integrity as a community, then why not?

Namely, history does not bear State-controlled mass media as a viable means to remaining a free and well-informed society. The State should not mandate our goals, our values, nor our ideals – and as the State maintains a larger hold on the dispensation of that information, it will continue to reflect less of the actual community and more of the agenda at the top – no matter which group is at the top.

John Lawson, the president of the Association of Public Television Stations says this funding cut (which accounts for less than 25% of the PBS budget) would “deprive tens of millions of American children of commercial-free educational programming." I guess he isn’t watching during the General Mills commercials?

According to the numbers provided by The Washington Post, the PBS series, “Ready to Learn”, which hosts such shows at Postcards from Buster, Arthur, and Dragon Tales, will lose 24.9 million dollars, from a budget of 333 million (as of FY ’04).

When we simple plebes, who seldom file gross income taxes of six digits, grapple with the concept of dealing in Federal Budget terms of millions and billions of dollars, it may feel like speaking to a five year-old about how many stars are in the sky. It can be easy to lose perspective. But the fact is, this is a good-sized chunk of change, even if it does break down to “only $1.12/year on your taxes”, as asserted by one letter I received. That money, collective has more power to be better applied elsewhere. Our government has overstepped its bounds in many ways, among which is its fiscal obligations. Stepping back from providing luxuries and entertainment is not a bad thing. Our money can be better spent by government, or given back to the people who earned it to be spent as seen fit by them.


This may come as unwelcome news to the folks who hold to the philosophy that if the government doesn’t do it, it can’t get done by the rest of us, but it really can. PBS, NPR, and the NEA can survive without feeding at the Federal trough. It might mean that if we value these programs, we might have to donate our own time, money and talents to them in order to see them succeed. But yes, it can be done. Let’s give it a try and spend our money on things we truly cannot do for ourselves, rather than will not.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Little Local Roundup

What a great week here in Huntsville, which I am learning to pronounce properly – HUNts-vul. We have a new Fire Chief who is causing quite a wave in our little pool. I’m not clear on the details, but it’ll be fun to figure them out. The big issue I was so concerned over (we missed the Council meeting for it while we were in NM) was actually tabled at that meeting, so we’ve got a little time on that front.

We did find a place for swim lessons! WOOHOO! They’ll give each boy a private lesson before the classes to place them in the appropriate class. It is taking every ounce of strength I’ve got not to “prep them for the test”. Admittedly, part of this is that everyone I spoke with last month, including this place, offers two beginner levels – those who are terrified of the water/have never had lessons, and those who can swim 20 feet by themselves. Uh... we’re somewhere just about smack in the middle of those two options. It would seem the best bet is to go with the easier class, but if they’re the only ones in the class who aren’t afraid to get in and go under, what use is that? Yet to put them in the more advanced class may well defeat the whole purpose and cause undue frustration and/or fear. Wow, I’d forgotten that individualized education is so hard to find sometimes! *wink* I’m counting on small class size in this case, and will leave it to the instructor’s discretion.


It’s been pretty hot ‘n sticky outside, but we’re having a great time indoors. Now that I’m not passing out every time I try to read aloud, books are re-emerging in our daily fare. We’ve even eased up on the rule about books at the table over breakfast. This morning we read some old favorites. James read some Richard Armour poems on insects. Jacob babbled incoherently and pointed at every letter in his ABC book. John read the back of the Parmesan cheese label. Eclectic, but good.

Oh! Smidge knows his colors! I had no idea! I don’t know when he picked them up or why he still won’t say them, but he knows them. He’s been lugging the Big-Book-of-Farm-and-Trucking-Equipment-For-Sale book around and can point to a vehicle of just about any color you ask. I think I had more fun with that today than he did.

James made a little green paper caterpillar for Smidge to play with while he reads The Very Hungry Caterpillar. It’s one of the most used toys in the house this week. The boys have run about in Aztec warrior garb (aka – tin foil, paper feathers, and cheap costume jewelry) the past few days. It is amazing what you can do with tin foil. They’ve also been big into making pretend movies lately, and will pretend to film one another cooking, me cleaning, Smidge running from them screaming, “NO!” You name it; it’s on imaginary film. They do this great running commentary, complete with close up shots of whatever project we’re working on. Since they only have one official pretend camera, they take turns, although it’s difficult to let go of directorial power and let someone else work on “your project”. But they are having a blast. I’m thinking of getting blank VCR tapes and turning them loose with the camcorder.

John is writing letters “for fun” this week! He’s been doing rhymes for a while, and has ending sounds down pat, but this week was something new – beginning sounds. It’s all clicking, and it’s beautiful. He’s also thoroughly enjoying math work. He finishes in a flash and can’t wait to show Zorak his work each day. Today he was strutting about the house, singing to himself, “Oh, yessssss. I’m learnin’! LEARNIN’! I’m learning in the summertiiiiiiiime!” I wish I could bottle that feeling and hoard it for the future.

James is zooming along with his Spalding work, and showing a much better grasp of the fundamentals of the program than I will ever hope to have. He’s in a bit of a rut with math, namely just that he gets distracted when it’s time to answer the bland drill-like questions. He’d rather draw contraptions, make up other word problems, write up a list of things for me to answer (or to ask Zorak), decorate all the numbers that have enclosed parts... From all the symptoms, it seems he’s a little bored. I know this, but I blew my creativity wad on the Aztec armbands and cloaks, so I’m dead in the water for a while.

Zorak gets to enjoy a day of learning about, then riding in, a really nifty helicopter tomorrow. The Mistress had better be cooperative in the morning, though, because the boys and I have GOT to get to Costco. We’re meatless, the fridge is barren of major protein groups, and in another 24 hours it won’t be a pretty sight. (Chris, Zorak asked for your email addy this week. I think he’s ready to talk. Thanks so much! I can listen, but that’s about all the help I can offer on this thing. At least until he’s ready to claim the insurance...)

I have been on hold with Bank of America for more hours today than I care to admit. And I still haven’t spoken with a single live being. They’ve botched something and I cannot for the life of me figure out where or what... or, obviously, how! We’d like to switch to a bank with a local branch, but are waiting until after we buy, just to prevent the untold number of crossed wires that process usually entails. It’ll be nice to put all our ducks in the same pen once more.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy Independence Day

See, Thom? I'm late again! *grin* I sat down last night to blog a bit about all that's going on, but you see, you should Never Give a Writer a Topic...

If you give a writer a topic, she'll develop an idea...
and then she'll want references to fill out her idea...
and when she has references, she'll just want more background...
and once she has additional background, she'll look for related themes...
and as those themes come together,
she'll get an idea...

It's a vicious cycle. I gave up around three this morning. Still never found the one quote I was looking for (blast this limbo-life, so bereft of books, and that creepy, spider-infested garage that holds them!)

Mainly, in thinking about the role of our government, the role of us citizens, the line between the two, and the flow of power, I found myself thinking hard about what the people on Edisto Island wanted - and fought for - after the Civil War. These men and women are my heroes. They knew their rights, and they stood their ground. They did not ask the government to give them everything to get started, or to carry them on. They looked to the Constitution and to citizenship, what it meant and what it could mean. Those were their goals. What these people wanted, worked for, and demanded from our government shines in my heart and mind as the ultimate in Citizenship today. We hold these men up to the boys as examples of true Citizenry and integrity. I would butcher the quote I wanted to share if I tried to reproduce it from memory, and no Google search has turned it up. When I find it, though, it's going on my banner at the top so I never lose it again.

Private Ownership of Property: the delineation between feudal serf and freeman. The ability to own property is one of the cornerstones of a free society. Bit by bit, this right, protected by our Constitution, and the power of the government to infringe on that right, limited by the same Constitution, are being mutilated and manipulated in an insidious manner. I am as amazed at this eminent domain proclamation as most people seem to be, and on so little sleep and a rapidly depleting iron level, there's not much I can say on the matter that hasn't been said more eloquently by others at this point. I am glad to see fervor on both sides of the fence, though. That gives me hope. When an issue, such as this one, or the McCain/Feingold gag order on the first amendment, actually comes to pass, it ignites bonfires of indignation in those who truly love the Constitution and we tend to see some strange bedfellows, indeed. Personally, I love it. Not the acts that bring it on, but that it can still happen.

Decisions like this draw the line between those who ultimately believe in self-government and those who actually do think we're all too stoopid to tend our own gardens (or, in this case, own our own gardens). The results generally surprise the few morons who honestly didn't see that coming (the five people in the United States who actually thought this one was a good idea). This is where I get so riled up I start stuttering and wondering just how the next few decades are going to play out for America. More foaming at the mouth. Total loss of eloquence. I do hope to actually have something new or unique to add to the discussion once I calm down. Right now, though...

Well, did anyone see Team America? The theme song (rated R - don't let your children Google this song!) keeps running through my mind. It's very, very sad when I fantasize about puppets saving the United States.

On a more positive note, however, I've just finished re-reading God, Guns & Rock 'n Roll, by Ted Nugent. While Ted and I differ (wildly) on a few particulars, there were many things in his book that struck home for me. One, in particular, I'm sharing here tonight. I think it bears repeating.

I cannot believe that any American citizen does not have a face-to-face, hands-on relationship with law enforcement leaders in his or her community and home regions. I cannot believe that any American citizen could accept having zero input into policymaking by not having a consistent ongoing communication with his or her elected representatives. In the absence of such communication, you in fact have no representation.

-Ted Nugent
God, Guns & Rock 'n Roll

Sing it, Brothah! We liberty-minded individuals often spend our time and energy talking amongst ourselves. Preachin' to the choir. Or arguing online - with people we aren't paying to represent us - attempting to convince them of our perspective. But how often do we sit down over coffee with local candidates for office? How often are we there, in person, at city council meetings or state level hearings? How many letters do we compose in our heads, and does that number match the number of letters we write up and mail to our representatives, newspapers and law enforcement agencies? Sadly, the results of such a quick, impersonal poll are dim. I'm guessing the margin of error is relatively small, since nobody has to 'fess up, but just be honest with yourself. It's okay. I don't have the technology to see you (yet).

We can't change it with our anger. But we have the law of the land on our side. We do have a voice in our Constitution, and raised high, that voice can be heard over the cacophony of crap the media and other outlets have plugged into the amp. It is never a lost cause. Freedom, and this beautiful land of opportunity, where the outcome is based on individual input and motivation, but the true playing field - the opportunity to use your input and motivation - are still alive and well; they are still ours. We are still free, and we cannot let things like this slide. America has made some great strides, perhaps greater than anyone imagined, but sometimes a big leap backward happens, as well. We cannot allow this to continue.

So, in honor of Independence Day, I'd like to issue a challenge. I don't care who you are or what it says on your voter registration card (but you must have one, otherwise we need to talk about much larger issues!) In the next month, write one letter, meet with one representative (of any kind, I don't care, just go), write a LTTE for your local/state paper, and take your family out together, to do something. Do something that means Citizenship. Do something that means something. I'll just ask for a show of hands on August 5th. But if you'd like to share what you've done, come brag away. Share your ideas. Don't be snarky, and don't be a jackass about it, ok? Just come and say, "I did xyz this week!" and we'll go "YAY YOU, Fellow Citizen!" OK?

Start by kissing those babies!
~Dy

The Power of Procrastination

Zorak and I were, quite literally, late for our own wedding. Two years late at first. Then, for the final attempt, only a few minutes. Still, late is late, and we are among the top performers in the Procrastination Hall of Fame (which will be built eventually).

So imagine our surprise today when we arrived to church not only on time, but early! As a matter of fact, we were so early, we were the first ones there! I managed to get my wires crossed and we showed up at 8:40 for the 9:30 service. (No, you don't really have to point out that we'd have been ten minutes late otherwsie, I noticed.) What to do for the next 45 minutes? Well, it's already hot 'n sticky out, so I'm not sitting on the steps or playing beside the pond. Besides, have you seen the size of those geese? No. So we took the boys to McDonald's to play while we had coffee and visited. McDonald's is beautifully bereft of other people at 8:45 on a Sunday morning. And... then we were only two minutes late getting back to the church.

I didn't realize just how late we normally are, until I saw several of James' classmates in John's classroom and asked if they had combined classes today. The adult in charge looked blankly at me for a second and then said, "Oh! No. *snicker* They start in here with songs and prayer and then go into their classrooms." Ohhhhhhhh. Never knew that. Sorry. Well, now that I know for a fact that we can get there before class starts, I plan to use that power for good.

We told the boys tonight about their up and coming new sibling. The naming games have begun already. If I thought Zorak's suggestions were bad the first three rounds, I evidently hadn't been through a "sibling naming brainstorm session" before. (Which, no, I hadn't... makes sense.) I'm glad we have six months left to convince the boys that they probably aren't going to have final veto power on that birth certificate. They are, however, absolutely thrilled! It was cute to watch them click on the clues we gave them over supper. Very cool.

Smidge didn't nap today, so he slipped into a Sleeping Beauty type trance during supper. Afterword, I put him down for the night and Zorak took the boys fishing. He called a bit later and said it was packed with people. The apartment complex sponsored a huge fireworks display, complete with bagpipes! They stayed for several hours and came home exhausted, but floating on air. I wish Smidge and I could have gone, but he needed his rest and it was nice to do a little laundry, watch a little Jurassic Park, and do my nails.

Oh, and on the house hunting expeditions. I apologize if I'm coming across whiney. I didn't mean to - I was shooting for humorous, but I don't always hit the mark. Since we got rid of the sociopath realtor, it's been a downright pleasant experience. It's not quite the same as strolling through a slew of model homes and picking colors, but by the same token, looking for just land means we aren't stepping over anyone's filthy laundry or embarrassing literature collections. So it's definitely going to have a whole different flavor to it than the majority of house hunting adventures. Like yesterday's adventure, for example: it really was great. I mean, it wasn't a stroll, and we didn't find "the pad", but we laughed and sweated like hogs, and spent time together as a family. The ice cream and milkshakes together were phenomenal. And in the end, we'll have stalked every acre in Northern Alabama to find just the right few for our little herd. And our little herd will have wonderful (or at least bonding) memories of how they helped to make "our home". I do, however, reserve the right to whine a bit when I'm out-to-here pregnant and spent the day laying concrete blocks in this ungodly heat, or when I have to beg Zorak to help me look for ticks because I can't see my legs anymore and I've spent the weekend knee-deep in brush clearing rocks to make a path... I may whine at some point. *grin*

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Extreme Sports: Househunting

We hiked 40 acres, straight up and down, today. It was lovely terrain. It was relatively dry (and I use that term excruciatingly loosely), but hot. There was no breath, no hint, no memory of a breeze today. It almost killed us.

John is, perhaps, the toughest child I've ever seen in my life. He was the only one of the five of us keeping up with the realtor. And that man was flying through the bushes and over ledges at a speed that made the Ewok chase scene look like a slow-motion play-by-play! Twice I saw John's little head dip into oblivion, only to pop back up again a split second later as he muttered, "I'm OOOkkkay!" Not a whine out of that kid, and when we hit the roadside again, he was bounding about, waving to tractors, happy as can be! Zorak says John reminds him a lot of his cousin, Todd - which is neat, because Todd is a neat guy. Todd used to ride his horse across the mountains to get to a rodeo, ride in the rodeo, and then ride home with his trophies. Come to think of it, Todd's horse was pretty tough, too. Anyway, he's an ag teacher in New Mexico now, and one heck of a neat guy. And John looks like he's shaping up much the same way.

Poor James - I felt like Capt. Aubrey, shouting, "Light along, there! There isn't a minute to lose!" While he played Maturin, stopping every three steps, sometimes two, regardless of whether we were all perched in line behind him, balanced precariously on a ledge. He was clueless about what was happening behind, or ahead of him; not oblivious out of indifference, but out of utter fascination and absorption in the phenomenal things you find under a canopy of trees. His one thought was to observe some kind of moss, or watch a spider, or identify some kind of creature. He was hooked. I thought, at first, that I might just leave him there if he didn't stopit, but when the parallel hit me, I just laughed to myself (between those sucking, rasping sounds I assume were breaths) and tried to be more patient.

By the time we returned to the Suburban, Zorak was 100% certain he wanted nothing to do with this property. At any point. Ever. Again. Meanwhile, I kept looking back wistfully, wondering just what size bulldozer we'd need to clear a pad and how difficult it would be to drop a well. Obviously, this wasn't "the" property. But it was good to see, and if nothing else it will bring us one step closer to finding the one.

The boys were exhausted when we got home. They had been so patient, and showed such fortitude on the whole excursion, that we just felt the occasion called for ice cream sundaes and milkshakes! Then we hosed them off and re-heated lunch leftovers, which they devoured while we watched a movie.

It was a great day. No ticks. (Still have the willies.) Met a really nice realtor, and one rather creepy one.

Oh, and I think I've found a place for the boys to take swim lessons. I will have to ring them on Tuesday and get the details, but it's at a Dive Shop, so I'm pretty enthusiastic about it. And if there is still room available, they'll both take a basic drawing session class at the Art Museum later in the month. Finally, it's starting to feel like summer, eh? *grin*

I'm off to de-crud from today's Extreme House Hunting (next week we're just going to parasail over the properties with the camera and make our own topo maps!) and visit with my Zorak.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Change in Venue

I'm going to have to recant on my previous decision to blog politics separately. I tried. I even set up a separate blog. Right now, though, I haven't the energy to set up another home, much less maintain two. Plus, what we believe is such an integral part of who we are that it doesn't quite work to try to separate the two.

There has been SO MUCH to comment on lately! I'm not certain where to start. Eminent Domain, Public Television funding, smoking bans in cities. I'll touch on each one this week, once I figure out where to start. ;-)

Sarah blogged today about personal improvement, about actually getting up and making those memories that mothers dream of attaining. I think that's a universal dream, and I am so excited for her and for her family. They're heading where they want to go. Finding True North is the first step to navigating your way through the wildnerness. While I still couldn't run a quarter mile without sounding like the stalker from Student Bodies, I can appreciate the sentiment she expressed. Days like that come more frequently when we keep our goals in sight. It took a while to get to that point, though, and occasionally we get waylaid by the unforseen events (I know, bad boy scout!). Today was one of those days for us, too. It was near-idyllic. The boys had a great time today, enjoying library books, playing with the easel (which we finally put paper in), and fishing in the evening. It was one of those days filled with an easy confidence that we haven't blown the whole shooting match, and that this just might turn out ok. Good stuff.

Tomorrow we head out to look at yet more land. I wish I'd started out tracking the mileage and walking we'd do while looking for a place. It'd be interesting to create a little ticker that showed us cruising along Lewis & Clark's path. I don't think I'd start to worry until we hit the end and had to backtrack...

And on a totally weird note, I am really thankful Zorak is nothing like Dale from King of the Hill (no reason to point this out, it just came to me.)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Leftovers

I was going to blog something truly witty. But I'm tired. So I'm serving leftovers - some thoughts on doctors and the medical community in the US. I wrote them in response to an MD who feels that I'm "anti-doctor" and is concerned over those of us who view the doctor/patient interaction as "just a service" rather than as "a relationship". So, here are my thoughts, with a few edits for clarification that wouldn't make sense without reading the entire thread otherwise.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

*****************************************************************
I am not anti-doctor, but I do view the exchange of services for pay that takes place in a doctor's office as a service. I have a sneaking suspicion that we aren't all working with the same definitions, as I've noticed some people take offense to offering a "service" - they want to be more, to be looked up to more, or needed more. I'm not sure. But to me, it's not "just a service" - a service has value, it has worth. It is not a derogatory thing to point out that doctors provide a service and they make a living from that service. That's an honest way to earn a living and there is no shame in it. Ok, on to my thoughts...

I have a relationship with my in-laws, with my children, my neighbors, and my pastor. I have relationships with many people, and some of the people I do business with are also ones with whom I have a relationship on more than a business level. But the two are not connected.

We do have a family physician. She has been my doctor for 15 years. She's seen the boys when we lived near her, and I told Zorak recently, after a scheduled consultation with her to hash out some questions I have about a therapy that's been recommended to us, that while I wouldn't follow her blindly off a bridge, I do trust her enough to know that she wouldn't lead me off one, either. Time and shared experience have developed a relationship on some levels beyond the original agreement, yet she still provides a service, and I still pay for that service. It has value - for both of us.

I used to see the general physician/patient interaction as a relationship, but now, for the most part, I don't. Relationships must go both ways in order to work, and relatively few practicing physicians in the US (I can t speak for outside the US) are currently willing - or able - to treat their patients as true partners in care (granted, the corollary of this is that few patients will step up to the plate and shoulder responsibility for their care - but that's another soapbox). Fewer still care to know their patients on a level required to have an actual relationship.

I don't begrudge them that, but I won't fool myself into thinking that the pediatrician or the OB with the assembly-line process and the five-minute visits is in it for the relationship. There's no way. I do spend more time than that with my mechanic to make sure he's competent before I'll let him touch my vehicle, and even then there isn't a personal relationship - there is a level of trust, certainly, or I wouldn't be willing to seek services there. But it's a trust in the person's abilities and competencies, not a trust in the person on an intimate level.

The climate of our medical care right now, increasing in size and regulation, heading toward nationalization, frivolous lawsuits, practitioners put against the wall, insurance loopholes, outrageous premiums for practitioners that are driving many of them out of practice, legislation that infringes on patient choices... b/c of those things (I definitely don't believe the negatives in the climate are all stemming from the doctors) the concerns have snowballed to a point where the doctor/patient relationship is painfully skewed. There's a power struggle in the medical community that has no place in medical care, and unfortunately, the quality of care and the degree of trust suffer on many levels because of it.

Yes, I know that patients aren't the only ones who can do the firing. It's a contract by mutual consent of all parties involved, and either party is perfectly free to sever that contract. I was fired by one physician because I refused to give my newborn child a *third* bottle of Nystatin for his thrush (which was not responding to the treatment), and suggested that we try a course of Gentian Violet instead. She said she could not see us if we were not going to be cooperative. We agreed that this was not a fitting arrangement and got a copy of our files. We left, picked up a bottle of GV and never looked back.

I don't mind that. Doctors have to practice the way they see fit, but I don't have to take orders from them if I disagree with what they want. I often hear that doctors are humans, too, and that we should "give them a break". That humanity includes fallibility, which is not bad, or horrible, but ultimately *I* am responsible for the health and well-being of my family, and I take that responsibility very highly. I won't abdicate it or permit treatments based on an unyielding trust in this utopian relationship. What I'm seeing the doctor for is the advice and the knowledge that I do not have so that I can make better decisions. The final decision is mine, and if a doctor is not comfortable with that, then by all means, kindly show me the door. No hard feelings.

I also know that it's not always over something the patient cannot work with, but something the physician isn't comfortable tackling. I've known doctors to fire patients for lying about medications they're taking, or for seeing other physicians and not permitting everyone involved to make informed recommendations. That's got to be scary. Doctors do have a right to protect themselves, too!

I was asked whether or not I feel that I have "an obligation to make it better for the next person", via letting the practitioner know why I'm taking my business elsewhere. No, I don't. I have never once seen a physician make any changes at all based on that kind of feedback, but I do think it's important to put it out there, anyway. It's rude, and it's bad business, to just jump ship. I wouldn't terminate a contract of any kind without specifying the reason (move/death/no need of services/poor service, etc.), and the doctor/patient agreement is the same thing, in my opinion. Anyhow, I tend not to bring up this point when putting in my .02 about whether to give a new doc some time, walk away, or run screaming from the office. Certainly, I think it's just the right thing to do to let a doctor know why you won't be seeing him or her. Communication, whether highlighting to your service provider the wonderful things you appreciate (also overlooked, but important!), or letting them know that something is not sitting right with you is important.

We had a FABULOUS pediatrician in MD. I love that man and would recommend him highly to anybody who wants to be involved, informed, and a true partner in their children's care. I'd also recommend Lazer Lube on 235 for oil changes. Again, because I feel they are a good value with highly competent folks who will do right by you. A relationship? No. They are services traded for pay - value added, honest exchange. There is no shame in that.

And now, *gingerly* I do wonder if some medical practitioners might be a bit sensitive to the idea that they aren't considered an indispensable part of the family. Perhaps a bit offended at being "lumped in" with mechanics and the grocer, which aren't "life saving callings". I'm generally leery when I hear that my philosophy is tantamount to being Anti-Doctor, particularly when I am not ranting and raving that all doctors kill patients or get them addicted to prescriptions, or any other such thing. (None of which I've done, or believe, or purport, but I can't think of why else the idea that a doctor provides a service and that you have the right to pick where you get your service is an anti-doctor thing.)

I think what some physicians may perceive as anti-doctor is actually nothing more than the repercussions of the power struggle the medical community is waging against the patients: doctors calling CPS for those who selectively vaccinate; innocent midwives facing prosecution by zealous DA's, when even the families refused to testify against them; the "what have you got to hide" mentality when patients feel doctors are asking questions they do not wish to answer (News Flash: sometimes we have nothing to hide, we just really don't think it's your business); anger over parents being held against their will and threatened with losing custody of their newborn if they do not permit certain procedures to be done to the child before leaving the hospital; concern over the kind of medical establishment that would seek custody of a pre-born child because a doctor wanted to do a c/s on a woman without any medical cause at all, which the woman refused - and fear toward the State that actually granted that custody to the hospital. This is a small sampling of what patients face in today's state-medical melee.

In this day of Big Brother as the Ultimate Benign Mentor, incompatible philosophies toward health care can signal red flags for those who don't tow the AMA-line. It's not the human doctors we aren't comfortable with, it's the machine that's behind them. I believe that we must seek out compatible physicians in all respects. Our families deserve no less. We cannot afford to stay on with physicians who do not offer the services we need, just for the sake of "the relationship".

Dy

Don't Blog With Your Mouth Full

Sometimes when I sit down to blog, it flows - it moves like cream swirls in coffee. (Which, to me, is a beautiful, beautiful thing.) It's good. Sometimes, however, it's like trying to communicate with an angry toddler. The words are there, but the meaning comes across only after great analysis. There's no flow, but more of a sobbing, hiccough-y blech.

I think I have figured out the problem, at least the problem for me. I've been trying to blog too early in the evening. The boys are in their room, listening to Zorak spin gypsy tales, and I've just switched out laundry, tidied the kitchen, read up on tractors and am sucking down coffee, still chewing on my day. You can't talk with your mouth full. You can't really share the highlights of the meal while you're still gnawing on the bone.

But lately, that's exactly what I've been doing. In an effort to get to the computer before Zorak gets sucked into the abyss that is steel buildings online, I hop on and start talking with my mouth full, spewing chunks of day all over the monitor.

But now, it's quiet. Zorak is in the garage, not looming over my shoulder asking me to look up concrete specs. The boys have been blissfully quiet for a couple of hours, and I have had a chance to digest a little of our day. It was far better than it sounded right after supper. Come with me, if you will, for an after dinner highlight:

Dessert:
Smidge's deep and abiding belief that the library book must go outside with him came from his newfound love of books. He hasn't been without one since we returned home. It's not just to eat the pages, or throw, or thwap people on the head, but to touch, talk to, and turn the pages one at a time, pointing out the interesting things that we who can read no longer notice. Couple that with his need to be in close proximity to his brothers - who were both outside - and that was one heckuva frustrating situation for the little guy. I'm still not letting the book outside, but a little perspective does help.

Coffee:
Today I pulled off one of my wifely fantasies: I had supper ready to serve within five minutes after Zorak came home. This isn't one of his fantasies. He's just happy to know I actually hit the planning stage before he got home. But today, I needed to do my job right. He called a little after one to say he finally had a break and was coming home for lunch. He called again, three hours later, to let me know his boss had asked him to go to a meeting and he'd been in that all afternoon. He said he was going to work for another half hour and then head home. He came home two hours later. I figured he would be ravenous, so I had goulash and tortillas ready to go, a beer chilled in ice, fresh coffee, and the a/c cranked. Today couldn't have been easy on him, but I figured coming home should be. That felt good all the way around. Someday I'll get the hang of this job. I'm thankful he puts up with my steep learning curve and splotchy performance in the meantime! :-)

Those pastel minty sugar things that make your mouth hurt if you eat too many:
The intuitive reader award goes to Hornblower and Jo, as a tie, for spotting the age-old symptom of which I've been suffering. We wanted to wait until after the wedding, and the trip, but yes, we're expecting WeeOne#4! And I can't tell you how difficult it was to blog about the past few weeks without blurting that out to everyone! "I'm not lazy, I'm pregnant! I'm not anemic - I'm making blood!" So there you have it, the reason I've been sleeping in the laundry piles lately.

Anyhow, I'm off to try that Yahoo album invite thing again and edit more pictures. Y'all have a GREAT Thursday (I cannot believe it's Thursday already! This is just wrong, wrong, wrong, but boy am I glad we homeschool year round!)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

So this is summer?

Wow. It's quite hot. And a little sticky. So it is officially hot 'n sticky. That's "summer", in the language of my people. Thankfully though, I was wide awake as we drove through Arkansas, where it was so muggy there was condensation on the inside and the outside of the windshield. It was unbearable even at midnight, and I can say that Alabama has nothing on Arkansas for humidity! Talk about small blessings.

I talked with my friend, Michelle, today and she filled me in on all the fires in Arizona. I hope and pray y'all get some rain (without lightning!) soon! If you're the praying type, please keep those smoke jumpers in your prayers. They work so hard, in such adverse conditions. It's really scary.

And, as if I needed further proof that summer is certainly here, my children checked out today. Mentally, that is. They were nowhere to be found. We tried to muddle through lessons, but in the end we settled on reading aloud and building things.

James spaced the difference between area and perimeter, and even the "P =" part on the answer line didn't ring any bells for him.

John could not identify a single letter of the alphabet. Not one. Or at least he wouldn't admit it.

And Smidge decided that, yes, actually, he DID have to take a library book outside today. I'm not one to deny a child a book, but library books at our house don't get outside unless under controlled circumstances. Smidge begged (well, screamed) to differ.

I am hoping today was some sort of child-oriented joke, because if we have to go back to square one right now, I might cry. Fortunately, the older two didn't seem to be bothered by this mild setback and had a splendid day together. I dropped a dollar into Smidge's therapy/college jar and called it a day. It may honestly have been nothing more than a day for re-calibration after all the travels and adventures of the past week. That's why I didn't push it, or send them in for shock therapy. When in doubt about what's causing a mental vacancy, Zorak and I opt to err on the side of snuggly. So far, that seems to work out well.

I will post more pictures. Right now I'm having trouble getting the Yahoo "share your album" feature to work. It'll let me get to the last page and then it gives me an error message that I just can't get around. So, if you're waiting for a link, don't give up - it'll be there soon!

Oh, and I have a Smidge climbing on my lap. Better go.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Big John

Anybody remember that song? "Big John. Big Johhhhhn. Big Bad John." We used to sing that to John when he was a baby and James, who was about two at the time, would get so mad and cry, "He's not bad! He's my brother!" So we changed it to "great big John". That made James happier, and John still laughed every time we sang to him. He's sure grown and changed a lot since then. Since we've done the Smidge-A-Palooza, we thought a montage for John's birthday would be fun (sing Big John while you scroll for the true montage feel) Our digital capabilities only began in '02, so here is one of him from shortly after his birthday that year.



And here, three years later, is our Big John, enjoying his bowling prowess...



... who'd have thought a bowling pin would elicit such a response?



Here's a picture from our stop over with Amy (I haven't had a chance to email her pics yet and ask about posting pictures of her children, so out of deference I edited this shot- it was a very sweet scene, though).



And a couple of cute pictures from the wedding dance. This boy is going to fit right in at Corona Days! The mother of the little girl in the first picture asked not to have her daughter's picture on the net, so I cropped this one. She's a little cousin, and these two danced for most of the evening. They had a great time.



This one is John dancing with T, another cousin. Who knew he could cut a rug like that? She is so good to him, and such fun to be around.



And just for fun, I saw this profile and thought, "Oh, this needs to be in black and white!" Wouldn't this shot make a great Wrangler ad?



Notice the boots. He picked them out himself, and if they're any indication of this boy's approach to life, we are in trouble! If you're familiar with the mojo of boots, you'll understand when I point out that the child picked out greentops with tan toes and an easy working heel. *sigh* Zorak couldn't stop grinning as we left the Justin outlet. Them're some good-lookin' boots, there, boy!

So there we are, almost up to date! But it's late, and so more will have to wait for tomorrow.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Home Again, Home Again

Wow, well I know I was going to blog again on Saturday, but the internet access subscription ended at noon (it's $10 to have in-room access) and we didn't get back from our in-town excursion until the afternoon. I'd planned to go ahead and subscribe for another day's worth, but then we had lunch... HOLY COW! Here's what we had:

John: a bare hamburger patty
James: 4 oz of trout on a bed of rice
Smidge: side order of french fries
Me: a CUP (not a bowl, a CUP) of tortilla soup
Zorak: Indian Fry Bread topped with beans, rice and avocado
Drinks all 'round: WATER

Grand Total: $60!!

Yikes! We'd have gone into town to eat, but the boys needed a nap before the wedding and they needed to eat, although not in that order, and we were short on time. SO, we *cough, cough* sucked it up and ate at the hotel. Oy vey. For the record, the soup was good, but you can get the same stuff at Chef Lupe's in town for about a buck fifty for a full bowl!

So the blogging had to wait until we returned home to our sweet highstream connection. I will upload photos from the wedding this afternoon, while Zorak takes the larvae to the lake for a little fishing, and will fill y'all in on the wonderful adventure.

We're on a high. It was nice all the way around. And while it was still difficult to leave the beautiful New Mexico terrain, it was more just a little bittersweet and not actually depressing this time. After all, we have our beautiful forever home to come back to. The boys even felt it, and Zorak is one Happy Daddy!

I'm going to go snuggle these little guys. They did so very well on this trip, and I want to tell them again. :-)

Kiss those babies, and we'll see you this afternoon!
Dy

Look: Spaces! :-)

Wow, well, I was going to critique some of the amenities here at the Inn of the Mountain Gods, but what can I can? How many hotels will send an IT guy to your room at one in the morning to fix your keyboard? Now, that's service!

We made it to New Mexico, a wee bit exhausted, but safe and sound. The trip over went surprisingly well, considering we drove during the day and stayed at hotels both nights (we normally drive through the night, thus eliminating the issue of fidgety boys). They had a pretty good time tormenting one another from Alabama to Texas. Then we stopped at a Cracker Barrel and bought some nifty gadgets to occupy busy little minds (and fingers). The last thousand miles were relatively fuss-free.

We got to meet Amy (of Good Soil fame) and her two awesome children! They were kind enough to meet us at a park in the middle of Texas somewhere. Zorak did the Uber-Dad thing, running herd on Smidge while the children ran from turret to turret.so Amy and I could visit (he is so sweet about things like that!) The boys have asked repeatedly if we're going to meet them on the way home.

From there, it was a hot and dusty day's travel to Las Cruces, where we stopped in to visit the family. I can't tell you how refreshing it was, or how much fun the boys had running amok with their cousins. They treated us to the traditional Nopalito's family meal (if we have many more additions to the family, it's going to take the entire restaurant to hold all of us!) I finally finished the lap blanket for Gram, and I think she liked it. It's nothing like the beautiful things she creates, but I do hope she enjoys it.

Although we weren't ready to leave, we had a room ready and waiting for us here, so we headed up the mountain. Tomorrow we'll enjoy the pool, do a little last minute shopping and then round everyone up for the wedding come evening.The weather shoul be beautiful, and the boys can't wait to wear their new boots and cowboy hats!

On that note, I'm typing this from a little remote thing in my lap and I can't see a thing on the screen. Please excuse any typos or sentences that don't make sense. The format/display is a bit different, so this is like typing with only half a screen. However, I did want to pop in and let y'all know we didn't slip into the Rio Grande. Will blog more tomorrow, when I'm rested and fed!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

BuenosDias

OKIwasgoingtoblogbutjustrealizedthereisnospacebaron
thiskeyboard.I'llbebackinabit.
Kissthosebabies!
Dy

Um... something is wrong!

John wanted to talk to his Granny today (since we so callously refused to drive him to New Mexico last night), so on the way home from our outing, I gave her a ring.

She sounded AWFUL when she answered the phone. I was stunned. Her speech was slurred, and she didn't seem to recognize me. Was she drinking? No. She doesn't drink like that. She sounded like my mom when the hospital upped her morphine doses, but I know she doesn't take medication like that...

"Hi, ______?" I asked.

"Ooo, Boff."

(Boff? What?)

"This is Dy. Is this _____?"

"Boff. Bum nod elink oo well ooday." She mumbled.

What?! Then my translator miraculously kicked in. She'd said, "Yes. I'm not feeling too well today,"

Huh. This is awkward. I'm thinking maybe in the future I'll just let Zorak call her. But, hey, I was already on the phone and she has call waiting, so it's not like I can just hang up and pretend that wasn't me.

"Hi _____, this is Dy! John wanted to talk to his Granny, so I thought we'd give you a call."
"Oh, I'm not feeling well today. I had another one of those attacks yesterday."

Alright, this is going from weird to worrisome.

"Attacks? What attacks?"

"Heart attacks."

"HEART attacks?! What? When did you start having heart attacks!?"

She's starting to get impatient with me, so she yells, "YES, heart attacks. Just like I've been having the past few months!"

What in the world?!?!?! I'm thinkin' Zorak's brother is SOOOOO in deep trouble for not mentioning that anything at all is wrong. And I'm really worried. When did she start having heart problems at all, let alone full-out heart attacks?

"And then I had another one of them things yesterday."

OK, whoa. There has to be something I'm not catching. Granny doesn't use dialect like that.

"This is _____ _____, isn't it?"

Suddenly, she can't understand a word I say. "What? I'm not feeling well."

"I am trying to reach ______'s home, and I have a suspicion I have the wrong number..."

"Well, I talked to my doctor, but I'm not going to the hospital. I won't do it."

"Yes. Well. Of course." (Awkward pause.) "Ma'am, I am very sorry to have disturbed you, but I'm trying to reach my mother-in-law, and I have the wrong number. I apologize."

Suddenly, her speech cleared up and she sounded just fine.

BUT, it wasn't my mother-in-law. And yes, it was a wrong number. I said my good-byes and hung up, breathing a huge sigh of relief.

And that's when I noticed Zorak, eyeballing me furiously while trying to navigate the Interstate, veins popping from his neck, eyebrows not only touching but actually overlapping. His head seemed to be leaning much farther from his body than physically possible.

And I looked back at him with that, "What? What are you doing?" expression... then it hit me - he'd only heard half that conversation. If I thought it was weird on my end, I can only imagine what ran through his mind! He didn't hear the last few bits about being a wrong number. Oops.

In the end, we did get through to Granny. She is fine. She got a chuckle out of the story, talked with John, and can't wait to see the boys soon.

*whew* And then I put her number in my speed dial, just to be on the safe side.

Will fill you in on John's adventures tomorrow. For now, however, I am one tired Mama.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy Mantis Day, Zorak!

I hope today was a beautiful day for all of you. It was, here. Zorak, Wonder Dad to three little mini-mantii (mantisses? mantae?) had an adventurous day with his little ones.

It started slow. He got up, then meandered back to bed. He's fighting off whatever we had, so we skipped church and let him sleep in. The boys made cards, played frisbee, snacked and hung out.

Around lunch time, they couldn't wait any longer. In they crept, to serenade him with coffee and song. When that didn't quite wake him up, they pounced (what kind of a holiday would it be without the pouncing?)

We made brunch, planned the day, and everyone was off. The boys helped Zorak work on the motorcycle. The neat part is that they actually helped. Not "helped", as in the way Smidge "helps" unload the dishwasher (bowls, cups, plates, and silverware all go into the silverware drawer), but they made good hands today. That feels good for a daddy, and for his boys. Zorak guided and they did most of the actual work of taking things on and off, comparing parts against the photos in the manual and had a blast figuring out what was wrong. They all worked together to change the oil, clean the plugs... beyond that my knowledge is fuzzy, but everyone agreed it was a great time. Once in a while, one of them would come running back to the house on an urgent errand, looking so very responsible and so very "big". The mama would help as needed, but she mostly just stood by and smiled from her heart to her eyebrows.

The evening called for a fishing trip. I went to the market, then came back to the house to prepare supper for the Expedition Crew. I guess it was quite the adventure. John caught a turtle. James caught the only fish big enough to keep. Smidge did not fall in the lake. That's a successful outing! Zorak usually props his pole while he helps the boys release a small fish or untangle the line from the tree tops. In ten years, he's never lost his pole, but today he lost it, and how! A catfish snagged that thing and *bloop*, in it went. I wish I'd taped John retelling the story, as he saw it wriggle loose and go in. The wonder in his voice was incredible. He tried to save the pole, but to no avail, and I guess he was pretty heartbroken for Zorak. (It's sad to lose your pole when you're four.) But Zorak has such a wonderful way of conveying his "it's all going to be okay" philosophy; John's sadness was soon replaced with the rather exciting knowledge that he has a really good "Daddy Story" to tell his children someday. As a matter of fact, when he came flying in the door, that was the main headline, rather than the turtle catching adventure.

Time and again, I am overcome with this pervasive sense of comfort when I stop and look around me. I know today was Zorak's special day, but it was beautiful for me and for the boys, each in different ways, but every way just as meaningful for all of us. Granted, every day should be a day we lift our families up and praise them, savor them, and cherish them; it's nice, though, to take advantage of these little mini-holidays amidst the daily things to stop and remember how much we cherish, savor, and adore them.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Getting Out Again

After having been pretty much homebound and sick as a dog for the past two weeks, today was refreshing for all of us. The boys scampered and skittered. They felt good and had a great time. Zorak seems to exude a very "happy place" sentiment lately, too, which only helped to brighten today's outing. I was just very, very happy. And it's not hot down in the caverns, which was lovely.

Cathedral Caverns is amazing! If anyone comes to visit us, they must be wholly prepared to be dragged down there. Period. It's exquisite, in so many ways. Visitors only go about 3500+ feet into the caverns, although it's an amazing trek that takes about an hour and a half. You must have a guide in order to enter, but after taking you through the high points, he leaves you on your own to meander back through the maze of limestone and absorb some of what you've witnessed. The path is wide enough for wheelchairs, strollers, and those who just don't want to get too close to the edge. The best part: we're only half an hour away!

I would show you pictures, but we discovered a different feature on our camera: it has no internal memory. I'd popped out the XD card to download pictures to the computer so we could have a clean card on our trip, then either got busy tying shoes or loading stuff in the car. Whatever happened, I spaced the card and left it in the printer. :-( But I can say with all certainty that we'll go back many times. Like a great museum or a truly good book, I think you almost have to go back time and again to soak it all in.

We drove past a few more parcels of land, one of which needs further investigation, then stopped at the Western Sizzlin for supper before heading home. Good call! Two out of three were out cold before we hit the Madison county line. James swiftly readied himself for bed and the three of us spent half an hour snuggled up, chatting. He is such a neat child, wow. Now Zorak and James are off to dreamland and I am contemplating whether I would rather sleep or read a bit more... and wondering if there's any way to do both. (Decisions, decisions!)

Oh! I read two great books this past week: The Parsifal Mosaic by Robert Ludlum (author of The Bourne Identity), and The Devil in the White City (a true telling of the man behind the 1893 World's Fair, Daniel Burnham, and the parallel life of a psychopathic killer on the loose in Chicago during that time, H.H. Holmes). Both were good reads, although each for very different reasons.

Tomorrow is Father's Day (like y'all didn't realize that, I know, but it crept up on me this year). I'm at a bit of a loss. I'd planned to treat Zorak to an afternoon of fishing with the boys, but tonight he said he needs to spend time with the mistress after church. I guess she got a little difficult last week. So now I'm not sure what we'll do tomorrow. If I can get up and get the boys up in time, perhaps we can make cards in the morning. I hate that we didn't get this taken care of before. It's been such an overwhelming week, and I haven't even made plans for John's birthday on Monday, either. Thankfully, Zorak knows that our lack of organization in no way reflects the depth of our love and appreciation for him. I'm glad for that. (And I've got 48 hours to get prepped for John!)

Anyhow, I think I've decided that if I fall asleep reading in bed, that counts for both. The strongest need will win, and that can't be bad, right? And so, to bed. G'nite!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Wowsa! It's the weekend! I'm legal, we're healthy, what are you doing?

For many people, this means two days of playing and relaxing, mowing the lawn and catching up on laundry.

For the boys, this means bed sores from sitting in their carseats for 48 hours straight, and some kind of fungal issue from wearing spilled Bug Juice for most of those hours.

And yet, Zorak is home, so they don't really mind. *he he* Childhood truly is a magical age...

I feel terrible for them, though, with every weekend offering such a wide variety of nothingness. So we decided that tomorrow we'd explore Cathedral Caverns - er, *ahem*, after we look at one more property. It's just down the road from the Caverns... Think they'll mutiny?

****

I officially have an Alabama driver's license! I'm official. I'm sittin' pretty. I'm also... somewhat stunned, and y'all are gonna get a kick out of this! The name on my Social Security card does not, oh, how to put this delicately? It does not match my driver's license name. Or the name by which the US Postal Service finds me. Or even Costco. I do have a letter from the SS Office - dated March of 2001 - stating that I should have a matching card in two or three weeks and have a nice day! BUT, no card. And they accepted that letter as back-up to my mismatching identification, never questioning why I don't have the promised matching card to go with the letter.

And do ya seriously think I'm going to complain or point out this little incongruity on DMV premises? *snort* I have a license. They can't stop me, now. But seriously, who would you think more likely to engage in civil disobedience (I mean, terrorism is out, but a little civil disobedience isn't always a bad thing): me, or the Smidge? Hee hee. Yeah, me, too.

Sadly, I lied about rounded-off my weight. It's a seasonal thing, so let's just go with the yearly mean, right? And I was seriously tempted to cross just one eye for the actual photo. But I didn't. And I even told the truth about my hair color, although I think she corrected that, thinking I wasn't clear on the abbreviations. Heck, I ought to go check - she might have corrected the weight, too!

I could not, however, get Alabama tags. Evidenly, Maryland registered the 'Burban to Zorak AND I - while the absence of any symbol, direct or derivative of, indicating "and" (as well as the affirmation of the clerk who did the registering) led us to believe it was registered to Zorak OR I (OR, which is what we requested, specifically because nobody with three children intentionally takes all available adults into the DMV, don't ya know!) So no go. Four plus hours of waiting in line, hungry enough to hit up the four year old next to me for just one bite of her shiny strawberry-scented lip gloss (which she refused to share!), plus a frenzied Herbie The Love Bug-type driving course around town to find an ATM, get cash, and return before they closed the window booth... and I was dead in the water at 4:35. Ah, well, there's always tomorrow, if the satellite thing is open. And if not, there's always Monday. Or Tuesday. Can't go beyond that, though. Nope. I want my partial refund from the thorough fiscal pillaging the State of Maryland committed on us with their vehicle registration fees.

Yeah *he he* But do ya wanna see my new license? ;-)

****

Thanks for the prayers. This nasty ick just won't let go. Smidge is a thousand times better today. John crashed around eleven and slept until three. Hmm, I think he was just a wee bit beat? He seems better, too. And even I, the queen of wussdom, am feeling significantly more human today. It helped to get out. It helped to be productive. It helped to know people were praying. Thanks. :-)

And now, I need to get off the computer so Zorak can do more Zoraky things that I'm way too tired to understand. I'm going to go read The Golden Ocean (this is O'Brian's first sea-based novel! I'm psyched!) and see if can barter for a foot rub (is that better, Patty? *big grin*)

Y'all have a great weekend - what are you up to this weekend?
And kiss those babies!
~Dy

AllllllllRIGHTY, then

OK. We're up. We're about. We're up 'n about. We probably shoulda bought stock in Puffs Plus. That is some magic stuff - just don't grab one to wipe the lens of your glasses. The magic doesn't come off so easily.

I have to give a big, hearty, healthy {{THANK YOU}} to Melissa for letting me talk her ear off this morning. She also shared all her wonderful children and hubby stories and helped raise me from this tremendously overwhelming funk. For that, I am indebited. Deeply. Humorously. Truly. Thank you!

Aside from the heat and the exhaustion (I've said it before, it's not going away, I am a weather wimp!), things are cruising along. In circles. We are in the general vicinity of the goal, but the goal itself it's clearly defined yet, so picture the Suburban whizzing around and around on one of those horrible round-about intersections, unable to take an exit and start getting somewhere because we don't know which exit to take. While we aren't getting anywhere, we are singin' plenty of obscure songs along the way and stopping for coffee when necessary. At this point, I figure we'll gather so much force that the centrifugal force is going to fling us off an exit pretty soon, and the path will be chosen for us, compliments of the Laws of Physics. So, that overwhelming fear has been settled. *whew*

Zorak and I aren't what you'd call "long distance runners". We're more, let's say, sprinters... OK, Zorak, he can sprint. I've gotta be honest with ya, folks, I'm the guy that stands under the awning and shoots the starting gun. By the time I've chambered a round and done all that counting and yelling and firing, I'm ready to hit the beer tent.

But Zorak, the Sprinter, is our motive power. He has great vision and the mind of an engineer (aka - a long distance runner). His plans spread out along the horizon and encompass the resources at our disposal. He's a cross between Frank Lloyd Wright and Jeremiah Johnson. It's amazing stuff. But it's all marathon stuff. If we could go out there and round up a crew of 12 highly-motivated (don't even have to be highly skilled, just enthusiastic will do nicely) workers, we'd have THE PAD in no time. And it would rock. It would blow your ever lovin' minds. Sadly, there are issues with funding for wages, lodging for the crew, and probably some immigration laws in there, to boot. That puts a bit of a kabosh on the marathon we need to run.

So, barring unexpected endowments from NAFTA, we have our team in place - a team of one highly emotive toddler; two highly enthusiastic, yet easily diverted small folk; the sprinter; and the bloated guy in the striped shirt. And with this team, we have to run a marathon... in 50 yard sprints.

I'm not complaining. It can be done. It won't be pretty. It should be fairly humorous, and once we get started, there will be blog grist galore. Look forward to some deeply self-depricating belly laughs from this blog in the months (or years) to come.

What's had me by the throat is knowing our genetic propensities, our heritage, our legacy with regard to momentum and project completion... this knowledge scares the living snot out of me. Do you remember the sheer elation (no exaggeration) I felt when we actually repaired the Suburban door handle the correct way - with the correct handle and all! Do you remember that? It was astounding. Not because we could not do it, but because it's reeeeely difficult to stay on track and get stuff done when bailing wire and duct tape will suffice.

It's not from a lack of know-how, technology, desire, or competence. We have all of those in abundance. It's just this... momentum issue. Stamina, if you will. I'm sure attention span comes into play somewhere.

In the end, we'll get there. The Suburban gets great gas mileage, we're all in it together, and I think Zorak can rig up some kind of thingy to carry the smaller ones when we really have to hoof it. I'll bring food and water. We'll blog.

Kiss those little team members!
~Dy

No Blog For You!

I am still sick.

I am not having a good week.

I am reeeeeeeelly grouchy at this point.

Many additional factors aren't helping, but my own rules prevent me from articulating them.

So.

HARUMPF.

That's about it.

The boys are fine. Smidge is improving.

I have nothing else to say, but didn't want y'all to think I'd been abducted by the Randy Weaver Fan Club (although our application is in... I don't know what's taking so long), or that I'd just suddenly dropped dead from lack of oxygen. O2 sat is still relatively high.

'Nite!
Dy

We're dot feelig tho well. I thidk we're thick.

I've been exhausted as of late anyway, but today I was downright narcoleptic. One minute I'm folding the wash and the next - *poof* - I'm face down in the sock pile. The last thing I remember before lunch, I was reading a book - the next thing I knew, I'd drooled all over the bit about anaphylaxis. Great. That was on the front porch. I really hope nobody walked by during that time.

At some point, I sat on the couch and that was a bad, bad idea. John curled up on the couch with me and we slipped into a blissful incoherent doze.

I slept so much today that Zorak took photos of the cute things the boys were doing so I could see them tonight. What a guy!

The boys are faring better. I don't think they've eaten a full meal all day, but they don't seem to care. They are drinking plenty of water and aren't lethargic, though, so it's not time to worry.

Zorak made little glider planes from egg cartons and the boys spent a couple of hours outside today, lost in boyish glee.

We *ahem* compared tractors and attachments. Ha. I laugh only because this, from a woman who ten years ago didn't understand why on earth anyone would want to own their own welding machine, really shows how much things can change.

I didn't put together lessons for this coming week. I didn't make it to Costco or to the library, and we definitely didn't go to church. All things we needed to get done, but not at the expense of making anyone else sick. Especially not with whatever this is.

I did try to do the Mommy Story thing tonight, but all I managed to do was make John cry - violently. I didn't expect James to ask if the dog was dead now... *sigh* SO I followed it up with a comic "The Most Horrible Dog in the World" story - a little redemption from that, but the sniffles that continued for a while anyway really made me feel bad. Stories from the imagination probably need to stay in Daddy's realm from now on.

Enjoy a beautiful week with your family and loved ones! Kiss those babies, and don't catch what we've got!

~Dy

Decisions, Decisions...

We looked at a property today that captured my imagination. It's a close run against the previously mentioned property (if we could get that one without the house) - similar in size, similar in features, similar in price. There are a few things that tip the scales heavily in its favor: it has creeks on two borders, a spring, and a non-nasty pond; James didn't explode - and we walked the entire thing; it's prettier. OK, so that last one is relatively subjective and not necessarily true for Zorak. But, oh, that was fun!

I think a big part of our utter indecision is that we aren't used to having options. Seriously. We used to dream of buying a badly damaged repo in a mildly dangerous neighborhood. That was dreaming BIG, baby! Well, if not "big", at least "realistic". And we did try to ebb away from the danger-factor. Now, here we are, wondering where we want to live until we die, to leave for generations, and how we can make it produce benefits for society and for ourselves. Ooooooo. That's a titilating sensation. Evidently, titilation also takes the edge off. Hence, we sit here and oooh and ahhh and can't commit.

And at that point, my parallels begin to go awry and converge in potentially embarrassing ways...

So on to the boys!

The boys found a turtle, many tree frogs, a toad, and myriad other critters while we walked the property today. James and John concurred that this is one neat property! It's a universal fact: critters capture little boys' imaginations.

John took his homemade whip on the property walk with us, to protect me from wild animals. Unfortunately, this consisted mainly of walking directly in front of me. It was like trying to hike with a 50-pound housecat, and I nearly took a header down the mountain several times for all the weaving and sudden stops he performed. True to his word, however, we did make it back to the Suburban safe from wild animals. He's a good cat-like bodyguard.

The tick head is still stuck in James' neck, but there's no swelling or rash. He says his neck feels "completely normal". Dr. Deb said his body will either force it out or absorb it. (Ew.) So far, so good.

Amy (rightly) laughs at me for my tick-related issues and their eminence in the lifestyle we're pursuing. I know. It's goofy. But ya know, when we dreamed of having a ranch, well, first off it was always located where people had ranches, not farms. The high desert plains, where you can live for a week out there and nary a tick will you see. We've stayed in the woods, slept in the grasses, went so long without showering that the goats avoided us... and still never had so much as the threat of a tick infestation. The West is a magical place.

Actually, though, if you saw me when we pulled the first tick off Jacob back in '03 (there was a lot of shrieking and limp-wristed hand flailing on my part), and could see my tick-deadly proficiency in performing a tick check today (it makes the lice check from the school nurse seem slow and awkward), you'd be proud. I only cringe on the inside now. And when the boys do have a tick, I don't squeak aloud anymore. Daily tick checks are normal when we've been out in the boonies, as they will be when we have our farm. But... on a HOUSE DOG? Oh, for Pete's sake, get a tick collar and call it good! That thing sits on your LAP! It climbs on your BED! Ewwww. A thousand times, EW.

Zorak is sitting here, drawing plans for the live-in barn, and all I can think is, "Wow, this is my favorite grown up in the world!" I'll scan the sketches when he's done. They're neat, and he's fun to watch. He's amazing. I hope the boys inherited his ability to see and make it so. He's also funny. So not only does he inspire me, but he makes me laugh, too. Our adventures seldom go as planned, but we have such fun planning them, and then adjusting to their realities. It's been a wild ride so far, but I can't think of a better way to live this life. Yes, I think I'm going to like building a house with this man and our boys.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Blech * Shiver * Cringe * Ack

Yesterday, Zorak, the three Terroristitos and I drove to Elkmont to see the inside of the Mystery House. Third time's a charm! I suppose, technically, the old realtor was right: no, we really don't want the house. Where she was wildly, painfully wrong was in her insistence that we'd pay for it without seeing it.

Yeah - we didn't want to buy it without knowing exactly how bad it is. It's nice to know, first hand, that the place is structurally unsound - as in, Zorak won't let us live there while we build - as in, we couldn't in good conscience allow the current tenants to live there if we owned it. It's bad. There are termite mounds IN the house. The trusses are loosely scabbed together pieces of wood just waiting for another Isabel type storm to come inland. There's no foundation under half of it. There is ONE flat-floored room; every other room veers downward from there. Most of the rooms reek of urine and mold. Both are visible in most rooms. Actually, the structure is a liability and the property would be better off without it. We might see if we can offer to buy just the land, minus the house and one acre surrounding it.

That, however, isn't the cause of the total ickiness that pervades me even today.

The tenant just got dogs. Cute little friendly puppies. Precious little things - they even convinced James that he'd sure like to have a dog. The boys sat in the kitchen (the flat room in the house) and played with the dogs while Zorak and I did recon on the rest of the place. (Hallelujah! The great cat debate has ended!) As we left, one of the precious little puppies got out. I tried to lead her back by her collar, but no luck, so I had to pick her up and carry her back into the house. I rubbed her head, then put my hands gently around her middle...

AND IT WAS LUMPY WITH TICKS!!!!!!!!!!!

*gag* BLAAACCHHHKKKKK! I haven't a strong enough command of the english phonetic system to reproduce the noises that came from my body. Many of them may have been Yiddish in nature, though - there was a lot of phlegmy gagging type sounds.

The drive home was the longest it's ever been. We did a quick tick check before getting in, but, well, we didn't figure stripping everyone down right there in Tick Country would be very wise. For an hour, I pictured ticks leaving the boys' bodies in droves to make nests (or whatever they do - burrows, hollows, covens) in our seats. Ugh.

We did another tick check last night before bed, and all was clear. ...Or so I thought. This morning I found a teeny-tiny tick on James' neck. It looked like lint, it was so tiny and all those legs sticking out looked like fuzz. I tried to get it off, and I beheaded it. DRAT! EW! *This would be a good place to picture a Steve Martin-type physical response.* Now, every stray hair, every string from clothing, feels like a menacing tick - the one I just know I missed, creeping up my body toward my hair. *shudder*

Oh yuck. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

Yuck.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Keeping the world safer, one stoopid directive at a time

The Social Security office informed us today that "due to his age" (19 mos) they cannot issue Smidge a social security card until they've verified our information. There is no mention of a policy like this on the SS card application. I did find one tucked under a Q&A page online tonight, though. On the actual application instructions, the only mention of anything similar is that if a minor over the age of 12 (or somewhere in there) applies for a first-time card, the SSA requires an interview with the child.

They cannot say how long this process will take, and they will not tell us exactly what the process entails. They did, however, print me out a nifty little ACLU-approved letter, the jist of which goes something like this:

"We aren't profiling you, but because of reasons of great national security we cannot issue you a card until we know you aren't a threat. Um, although we definitely aren't accusing you of being a threat at all. You know. We just need to, um, check and stuff. Thank you for your cooperation."

(Ok, side note- like I have other options than cooperation? Seriously, you now have my family flagged as a potential terrorist threat. I'm leery of undertipping, at this point. Like I'm going to nab the next social security number that pops up on the screen and run giggling down to the tax office brandishing our "new number"? *sigh* So weird.)

Evidently there is a rash of terrorists bringing their toddler-aged children into the country to be raised as tax write-offs and, in their off-time, indoctrinated to be threats to National Security. So scroll down to the Smidge-a-palooza pictures to get a good hard look at Our Nation's latest terrorist threat. Watch out, Secret Service, he may be well-documented, but toddlers are crafty that way...

This did not come about because I was unprepared. I had every document to trace our lineage all the way back to my great-grandfather, ready for inspection. Every name change verified. Every document an original with the little official seals on them. And every example came straight from "the list". The lady behind the desk was quiet. She checked his documents. She checked my documents. She frowned. She disappeared. She returned. I started to get a bit antsy. Finally, we dialogue.

SS lady: Why has it taken you until now to come in for this?
Me: (looking up from talking with the boys) What?
SS lady: Why have you not gotten him a social security number yet?
Me: Oh. Well, it wasn't a priority, to be truthful. He didn't need one.
SS lady: And why are you getting it now?
Me: Because we need it for taxes.
SS lady: And you didn't need it before then? You didn't need to claim him before?
Me: Um, ok, not sure you need this information, but no, we were a student family until '04. We had no money. We needed no deductions. As you can see, he was born in '03, still in what we call "The Broke Years". But we needed it for our '04 taxes, and since we didn't want a Maryland number, we waited until my husband's job moved us here.

She re-read all our documents. I'm starting to wonder if things are better in East Germany now... or what used to be East Germany, as it seems to have migrated West a wee bit. (For the record, yes, there was a really funny internal side-monologue going on, but none of it made it onto tape - and our whole conversation was taped.) She tittered (I kid you not, tittered nervously) and disappeared again. When she reappeared, she had the Monty Python version of National Security spiel and the printed letter.

So. Three hours in the Ministry of Silly Walks, er, Social Security Administration office and all I got was a lousy flag with Dept. of Homeland Security. I could've at least had a t-shirt.

I'm going to go beg Zorak for a foot rub, man. I'm tired.

Kiss those babies! ~Dy

Generations of Comfort

When your Perpetually Ravenous Son crawls into bed in the morning and rather than asking for food, he falls back to sleep, you sense that something's amiss. When the other two climb in with him, and they all stay there long after you're up and cooking in the kitchen, you know you're in for a day. Something's descended upon the house, and it isn't friendly.

After a day nursing three sick children, fending off the evil critter that's causing this illness (it attacked me at lunch), and trying to keep an even keel, I'm feeling particulary wistful tonight.

The boys are tucked safely, if sniffily, in bed, given "The Granny Treatment", 'nuggled and kissed. They're happy. They're not particularly healthy right now, but they are happy.

Zorak and I are sitting here, listening to Glen Campbell sing The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, which is such a beautiful song.

And in spite of a bone-weary exhaustion, I'm content and happy, myself.

Something I've pondered today, while rocking one child after another, all of various sizes and lengths, is the comfort of generations. The things that brought us comfort when we were children are often the first things we offer to comfort our own children. The things that make us smile are often the first we'll point out to make others smile. They usually came from somewhere before our parents and their parents, but have filtered down to us in soothing memories and reassurring images.

Through thousands of years, mothers have caressed fevered brows on small children, rocked them gently and spoken in soft tones as wee bodies succumbed to restful sleep. Good medicine? Not really. The wise among us, without medical degrees, have always recognized the healing power of touch, but it fades in and out of fashion among the medical world.

Intuition? Perhaps, although anecdotally I've known so many people who weren't offered those comforts, and don't have any intuitive sense to offer them to passing generations, that I doubt the intuitive nature of it.

Generations, though, may be the key. Scientists claim that having a healthy, strong, well-developed network of family helps fend off illnesses and brings about faster recovery from injuries. Elderly people tend to experience failing health more rapidly when they live separated from their families. There was a source posted on the WTM boards not too long ago citing a possible correlation between this inter-generational support system and lower rates of degenerative diseases. For all today's fast-paced, mostly-transient, uprooted lifestyles, there is comfort in generations. Comfort that goes where we go, and is at our disposal if we will open the stores and pull it out.

For us, it's Gram, Granny, Grandma, the Great-Aunts and Great-Uncles, cousins, neices and nephews. There are so many sources of comfort that we have inherited, and we are eternally indebited to the generations before us who taught and passed along the things that bring us comfort, strength and joy today.

The rocking chair we have was Gram's. She's Zorak's gram, the boys' great-grandma. Her husband bought it for her for their 25th anniversary. The boys never tire of hearing how he ordered it through the catalog and when Gram came back to the house from working, there was a rocking chair perched atop the mail boxes alongside the road. They're awed to think of that excitement, cheered to know their favorite chair was such a cherished gift when it began life in the family, and really think it's just the bestest thing in the world.

We rocked today, one after the other, and although we're thousands of miles from any family, blood or adopted, it was comforting to rock the babies in the same chair Gram rocked her babies in. It was a comfort to bring smiles with stories (even the unemployed gypsie stories come in handy in a pinch! *wink*), tender touches, and reassurring smiles. Yes, from my Mom to Zorak's Mom, and going back and back... those women were with me today, lifting my spirits, lending me words, showing me tricks and tips to soothe and heal.

Generational comfort, indeed.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy