Happy 7th Birthday, Sweet Baby James!

Well, not a baby anymore. He curled up in my lap this evening, and had to sort of fold, accordian-style, to fit. There's a lot of limb to that boy!

He Who Normally Sleeps Late awoke this morning before six-thirty and came bounding into our room, whispering, "I'm seven! I've been seven for almost seven hours! Want to sing to me?" We sang. We talked. We told stories. We stole the covers from Zorak. We giggled and made plans for the day.

He loves life. He loves learning and growing and loving and sharing. What more could we ask for?
He loves his brothers and adores his parents.
He thinks "family" is the ultimate God-ordained gift given to man to enjoy on this earth.





He's funny. I mean honest-to-goodness funny. His jokes make sense now, and his wit is pretty sharp. The twinkle in his eye is a dead giveaway that he's just laid out a good one, too, and knows it.

He still laughs with the abandon of childhood, ending with the gasping breath of exhaustion and a giggly comment about laughing so hard he's weak.
He appreciates beauty. Strength. Friends. Sunshine. Chemistry.

He believes in ends of rainbows and making wishes on any occasion.

He thinks relighting the candle will give it an extra wish for his brother to share.

He takes disappointments with the kind of grace I can only dream of having. But he still hurts with his whole Big-As-Texas heart. He forgives quickly, and seeks forgiveness when he's wronged someone. Little joys make him smile. Little losses make him cry.
He's there. He's in the game, and there's no stopping it.

He's still a little guy in so many ways. He still can't keep his hands to himself in the car, and he still would rather wear his pajamas and cowboy boots to church than have to wear clothes. He still tackles Zorak in the doorway at the end of each day and hangs on him as if he hasn't seen him in years. He questions everything, accepts very little for face value, and yet will gladly obey his parents simply because they've asked him to (but he would still kinda like to know what's up *grin*.)



I know it won't be long before he stops bringing his blanket to the couch to snuggle and watch a movie by my side. There may not be many more nights where he asks me to scale to the top bunk to read stories by the glow of his reading lamp. Someday he won't need my help opening a fresh jar of olives, or getting the laundry done so he has fresh clothes.


All the ways I have to show him how much I love him will someday be the ways he knows he was loved and can take care of himself. And I will have to find new ways to show him how much I love him. Well, no. I will get to find new ways to show him I love him. They will come as I get to know him in each new season of his life, as long as I take the time to get to know him in each new season.


In the meantime, words of encouragement, spontaneous laughter, time together, and shared joys will help bridge that gap. They might even fill the gap so there simply isn't one and we'll journey together even as he explores at his own pace. That's exciting. He's exciting.

And to think it all started just seven short years ago, with the birth of one tiny baby boy, and the birth of two new parents. He made us parents, and we will cherish that gift, always.

HAPPY SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, JAMES!

Love, Mom

Drawing With Children - some thoughts

I am not an artist.

I cannot draw realistically.

(Admittedly, there are times I cannot even draw recognizable stick figures.)

My family has "an artist".

I am not it.

So why bother?


These are the thoughts that implanted themselves in the dark recesses of my brain by the time I was an adult. Some of them had pretty much proven themselves as fact, if you go by observation and tangible evidence. I loved to draw as a child, and tried my best to continue to draw well into adolescence. But there was already an artist in the family who had "natural ability". We also had a Beauty Queen and The Smart One. I was The Smart One. That was my path, and those were the avenues made available to me (whether I took them or not is a different entry altogether.)

Now, did this scar me for life? Do I no longer consider drawing an enjoyable way to spend time? Am I incapable of enjoying art because of it? Will I end up flaying small animals and using their hides for decorative furnishings? Not really. No, I don't. No. Possibly, if it's a nice fur-bearer. In that order.

But... the point is that my attitude toward drawing, art, sketching, is affected by the influences of my life. The mere thought of "exploring art mediums" made me cringe. I just didn't really care until now. For people who love art and incorporate it into their daily existence, this may sound like sacrilege. If I were to switch out "art" for "reading", then yes, I'd be equally aghast. I cannot imagine a life without books! Egads! But art? Eh. No big loss.

So when I read the (painfully misleading) description for Drawing With Children in Veritas Press' catalog, I thought, "Oh, now this would be perfect for the boys!" (Translation: This is a no-brainer, step-by-step guide I can just throw together a couple days a week and satisfy that pesky niggling sensation that we must "do art". YAY!)

They lie.

Drawing With Children puts forth an entire philosophy toward art, drawing, creating, and ability. It will not permit you to proceed until you've convinced yourself that most of what the average person believes about art is, in fact, a myth. Then, and only then, can you proceed.

You work with your child.

You learn the tools to creating art.
You learn the process of creating art.
You learn that it's okay to say you really aren't satisfied with something you've done. It's no different than writing an essay and critiquing it when you've finished.
You learn that art is fluid, and creating art is an ongoing process.
You learn how to adapt.
Adjust.
Keep going.

One of the things I truly like about Ms. Brookes' philosophy is that is closely matches my philosophy about teaching reading, writing or math. (I'm going to paraphrase, here.) There is no magic lamp to rub in order to learn to create, whether it be art, writing, or mathematical models. There are tools and guidelines you must learn in order to be successful. We need structure and creativity in order to be successful. You can be as creative as ever, but without the proper structure and tools, you won't know where you want to take your creativity. Yet don't get so hung up on the technical aspects that you forget about the fluid, revealing and exciting nature of things. Remember, you need both.

Oh, how I love that. But I have never, ever, ever seen it applied to art. For some reason, everyone I've encountered treated art as though it was the one immaculate exception to this rule.

She does get a little Doe-Eyed Utopian-Liberal If-only-every-child-had-this-program-there-would-be-no-more-suffering-or-crime-or-shattered-children-bad-bad-feds-for-cutting-art-funding. I pretty much just take a sip of coffee, grab more bean dip, and move on. It's her book. If she wants to propagandize, well, that's between her and her publishers. I bought it for the art instruction, and it's in there.

I'm going to wait to begin using Drawing With Children. I want to be able to do it right, rather than just sling paper at the boys and call it good. They deserve better, and I can give it to them. It's going to take a lot more time, material and effort than I anticipated when I purchased it, but I'm very glad I did. And I look forward to exploring realistic drawing with the boys. Even Zorak said he might like to work through the book with us.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Sometimes You Just Don't Want To Know

We loaded up this morning: bikes, boys, backpacks, and heebie-jeebie masks (or, as some would say, HEPA filters). We opened up the Forever Home and set fans a-goin' in all the rooms. Zorak could not believe the difference. Neither could I, but for completely different reasons. He was astounded at what an improvement the Mold-Be-Gone made on "all the vertical surfaces". I was astounded at all the dead mold on all the... Well, EVERYWHERE. What did it look like yesterday? I don't want to know.

We searched for water problems (identified a few), rounded up the boys and headed out for lunch. Decatur has a little buffet place called Barnhill's that pretty much fries everything it serves. We had the fried ice to drink. I'm serious. It's good, although I'm pretty sure some Association of Cardiac Specialists Somewhere has a hit out on the owner's head. It also has a good variety of non wheat-slathered foods (penance? peace offering? I'm not sure...) Zorak and I always eat enough at a buffet to send ourselves into involuntary hibernation. I finally had to push myself from the trough with the pronouncement that "I have puppy belly" (Our term for being full - ever notice that small children get that same puffed out belly that puppies do when they've eaten their fill? After six years of having it in the house, it's become part of our regular vocabulary.) I leaned back and sighed the sigh of the truly stuffed, when James snickered and said, "Ya know, Mom, you have puppy belly all the time, whether you've eaten or not." Ahhh. The humor in that boy is sharp (and rightfully inherited). Good thing he was smilin'.

When we couldn't talk the boys into going home for a (nap) movie and (nap) popcorn, we headed out to Point Mallard State Park to check out their bike trail. That was fun. It's not nearly as nice as Monte Sano, as far as remote location, varying terrain, and scenery. But it's not chopped liver, either. The path is wide and level, which makes it perfect for beginners (or those *ahem* carrying the beginners). The boys rode for two and a half hours. They had a fantastic time. Zorak thinks *I* need a bike for Christmas. And a trailer.

John's abilities on his bike have far surpassed anything we could have hoped for, and the enjoyment he gets from riding now has more than made up for the frustrations and fears of pushing the issue. That boy is an excellent rider! He's a happy rider.

James stopped his bike once and called back to Zorak for the camera. He'd found a particularly lovely display of mushrooms growing on a fallen log and wanted a photo of it. My heart nearly burst inside my (heaving, oxygen deprived) chest! Just when you think it's *whisper* not working, they go and do something like that and you realize the gentle walks, the whimsical stories, the field guides scattered strategically about... It works, it really, really works!

Smidge and Zorak did a little impromptu study of "vines". Which ones are pokey, which are soft. Which are vines and which are actually long tree limbs. Smidge touched every. single. vine. on. the. path. (Might this have contributed to Zorak's Great Christmas Gift For Mommy Idea mentioned above?)

When we became concerned that we might die on the trail, leaving the boys to figure for themselves how to get our bodies back to the road (or not), we decided to turn back. The official reasoning: we had to close up the house before nightfall. (They bought it. We're still officially immortal to them. *happy sigh*)

The house has been wiped down and closed back up for inspection tomorrow. It's no longer under Eminent Threat of Mold. It will also photograph a wee bit better without the hairy surfaces, and if the Good Lord's willin' we'll have keys on Friday. Weee!

And on a completely different note:
Famous Men of Rome: WOW! Loving this book, and I haven't even shown it to the boys yet!
Drawing With Children: will have to do a full blog entry on this one. It has much, much more than I anticipated. I'm stunned.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

This just might work!

Mr. Newest Appraisal Guy gave the Forever Home an all-clear, except for... Mold. Well, yes. It has mold. It probably had mold when the previous owners lived in it, and we knew it had Mold, but planned to remove anything Moldy and improve (or create, as the case may be) proper drainage once we were in. However, Fannie Mae says we can't have it if it has Mold now. OK, this is a hurdle we can leap. We don't mind that. We imagined the mold had become worse since Katrina swept through, anyway (and as we cannot convince the listing agent to turn off the water to the leaking water heater!!!) We were told Friday that if we could treat for that problem, the appraiser would give a clean bill of health and we could maybe kinda sorta possibly make it for our scheduled closing on Friday. This coming Friday. (I probably don't need to tell you how exciting the mere prospect of closing on this place is to us!)

Zorak did the legwork, discovered that bleach is a serious no-no in treating mold, ran through a number of searches and phone calls that make folks nervous about The Patriot Act, and found The Chemical Guru who helped hammer out the details. Yay! He left on his hunt this morning and returned bearing large quantities of stuff I didn't know you could buy without some kind of Federal licensing. Very cool.

We were all going to trek out together, but Smidge has An Alien hatching from his nostrils and John's digestive system rebelled violently to some unknown aggressor. By the time I contained the various HazMat issues, we decided the boys and I would stay home and Zorak would venture forth to conquer and destroy The Mold.

While the boys and I stayed home battling various unseen contaminants, Zorak stealthily began his recon mission. The Mold is, well, yeah. We can't blame Mr. Appraiser for marking it down. Zorak called me four hours after he left and whispered into the phone, "It's gotten worse. Way worse. Every internal door is hairy, and they're nothing compared to the baseboards. This is gross!" Um. Ew. (It was at this point that I quit feeling a wee bit put out that domestic duties prevented me from going on the excursion.) Zorak was glad the boys and I weren't there. I can only imagine how bad it must be by now.

Anyhow, several hours and a gallon of Mold-Be-Gone later, the house is decontaminating overnight. Zorak disturbed some kind of legless reptile (aka - unidentified, but angry snake) that was nestled happily between the window panes in the kitchen (and he killed it quite valiently, with a cafe curtain rod!) He came down with two or three cases of The Willies from all the Mold (and the realization that the Jacob's Ladder bathroom in the master suite is actually in better condition than the main bathroom, which is funny because I will. not. set foot in that back bathroom, and I now doubt my ability to accurately assess a situation for potential dangers. Do you take the back alley at midnight or cut through the biker bar? Normally, I'd take my chances in the biker bar... now, I don't know...) The high point of his trip came after he had the fans going. He stepped outside and said, "Oh, good. It smells like Mold outside the house now. I hope that means it's working." Poor guy. It was a noble mission, but probably rather nasty, as well.

Sorry, I ramble.

We'll go out tomorrow to open windows, put fans in all the rooms, and let it air out all day. (Please, please don't let it rain tomorrow.) We'll go back and vacuum/sweep out the ickies in the evening, and then meet the appraiser Monday morning for a final perspective check. WOOHOO! Now why couldn't it have been this easy from the beginning, eh? *snicker*

Lots of other stuff to write about, but I need to go do laundry, so it'll have to wait.

Kiss those babies,
~Dy

And It's Outta Here!!!

What a milestone! And here he is, on the phone with Dad, absolutely bubbling over with the good news - and showing me the gap at the same time. Too funny.

Where did my baby go? *sniff, sniff*
Congratulations, Big Boy! I love you.

Kiss those babies - they aren't babies for long!
~Dy

Frustrated Little Sponge

Poor James. He really needed a different mother. This morning he came up to me and asked me, "What is the classification of the word 'can'?"

"Well," I said, donning my best mentor voice, "how is the word being used, sweetheart?"

*pause* "Um, no. Not like that. I just want to know how the word is classified. The word itself."

"Yes, but before we can determine that, we need to know if we're talking about "a 'can' of tuna" or whether you 'can' wiggle your tooth.

*sigh* "That's not what I mean."

*sigh* "Of course it is." (Because, really, what the heck else can he be talking about?!?)

So we go several volleys like this, back and forth. Nouns. Verbs. NO. Context... no. His frustration is mounting. Mine is matching his, step for step. We are obviously not communicating well, here. We do this. Thankfully, we know we do this, so we don't take it personally, and we're both going. to. figure. this. out. (Even if it gives us aneurysms! WEEE!)

Finally he says, "OK! Wait! I think I figured out how to ask this."

Yay! (on the inside - on the outside, I said...) "OK, shoot."

"What do you call a word that is two words which are spelled the same AND pronounced the same, BUT have different meanings?" And then he smiled a big, BIG smile.

"OHHHHHH!" *smacks self in the forehead* "OKAY, *now* I get it!"

So we discuss homographs and homophones and homographic homonyms. He is satisfied. His sponginess has absorbed the nectar it sought, and off he goes to think of something else to ask.

I turn, slowly, back to my coffee, and wonder at how I was given such an inquisitive, wonderful (have I mentioned "patient" lately?) child. He's wonderful. He's growing. And he's rapidly gaining on me.

I think I need to go read something!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Good Morning

Mm, fresh coffee, and a chilly morning. I. Am. In. Heaven.

The boys are finishing up a snack after riding for an HOUR already. Then they plan to head back out. If I could come up with some way to help Smidge keep up a bit better, I'd love to take them on the trail around the lake. I'll bet it's gorgeous in the mornings!

Mmm, yes. Fall can turn me into a morning person.

Yesterday the boys rode and rode and rode. John, Smidge (and I) were about to fall asleep at the dinner table. Yet at night James is up until we insist on lights out. I don't know how he does it, but there he is - the other two have long since passed out and James is curled up with his reading lamp, holding his head up off his chest, eyes watering, and he's reading-reading-reading. He's a funny kid. We're trying to teach him to turn off the light and get some sleep. Gauge when you're tired and just bookmark your spot. It's okay. But he just can't seem to do it. If he hears the timer beep, he'll flip off the light and curl up, no problem. That would work great if Zorak or I could remember to set the timer. Instead, unfortunately, we get them all read to, tucked in, kissed goodnight, and then collapse on the couch with good books and hot coffee... And an hour later, here comes a bleary-eyed James,

"Is my thirteen minutes up yet?"

ACK! Oh, Honey! Yes. Yes. Go to bed, Sweetheart.

"Oh, good, I'm really tired."

He stumbles off to bed. (And we're sitting there, thinking two things: we have got to remember to set the timer, and why won't this child just lay down and go to sleep???)

James' loose tooth is... Still loose... And still there. He is the only child I've ever seen who just has no desire to play with it and get it out. (This was an obsession with me, as I was the only child in my class not to have lost a tooth yet. Ahhh, but he doesn't have that pressure. Think that plays a part?) Anyhow, the tooth is still there. The new tooth is coming up behind it. So Zorak and I have upped the pressure ourselves, but you know, in a positive way.

"Hey! Did you know your tongue is the strongest muscle in your body? It can even push your teeth out! Try it!"
and
"How much can it wiggle today? Oh yeah? Cool! Lemme see! Ooooo, can you twist it?"

This being my first child losing his first tooth, I have to point out that the one coming in looks like a ROW OF SHARK'S TEETH! The little bumps look like individual teeth, and it looks like there are a thousand of them sticking up! All I can think is, "That tooth is HUGE!!!" (And I think this in a "I Married an Axe Murderer" accent, too.) Yes, you'd think I know better, having lost all my teeth and examined each and every one. Even an adult molar isn't very big. But in a tiny little mouth... Wow. It's kinda cool!

We're still moving along in a state of utter confusion with the Forever Home. It's like swimming in a mud pond. With tidal waves. I don't know which end is up, but I've just quit struggling and figure I'll float to the top, right? We've come up with some good ideas in the past couple of days, so that was also encouraging.

The thing is, this isn't a situation where reasonable people are being unreasonable, or asking for unreasonable things. It's The System, and as with the institutionalization of anything, the first thing to go is common sense, along with the ability to make a judgment call on an individual basis. Sad, but true. What we are trying to do doesn't put all the little check marks in all the right places. We're not really check mark people. If we give up and just go with something that will fill in all the blanks for the folks behind the smoke and mirrors, we'll end up in a place we not only don't want to own, but don't want to live in for the rest of our lives. So I guess it's a judgment call on our part: press on, or roll over. We don't want to live rolled over, and so I guess, in some bizarre perspective check, that makes it worth it to keep working on it. (The logic behind that scares me more than just a little, but I'm gonna run with it.)

Well, the boys are done snacking and they're itching to hit the trail. I'd better top off my cup and find my shoes. These lazy days of early Autumn (you know, since we hibernate in summer) must be savored!

Have a great Wednesday, everyone!
Kiss those babies,
~Dy

Hodgepodge: House, Bikes, General Stuff

KathyJo kindly inquired as to the status of closing on our Forever Home. The last I'd blogged about it was my He Said/She Said post. At the time, Houdini was adamant that he could get it done, (I cringe even using this phrase now) as-is. Of course, he also said we'd be closing by the 13th (aka- tomorrow) "at the latest". Yeah. *breathe in... breathe out...*

Houdini called this morning to have us come sign the disclosure papers again. Said he needed driver's licenses, but had "everything else". Scheduled for eleven. We arrived. He was nowhere in sight. We met Jill. Jill is very hip. Very nice. Very unaware of what Houdini is going around telling his customers. *sigh* Turns out there is a new appraisal being done (but not done yet). Turns out they won't do it as-is, "if there are any major repairs that need to be done". Um... like HVAC, perhaps? "Right. We'll just get it fixed as cheaply as possible before we can close. Oh, and I need your most recent two months' bank statements" (you know, because this has been going on so long that the old ones are obsolete). Jill smiles. She has no idea why we are alternately wilting and seething under our pasted on smiles. It's not her fault.

But... *sigh* Of course.

I don't think this is going to happen. And I'm not sure how I feel about that. If it was a normal seller we were dealing with, it would be no problem to just meet with them and say, "Hey, here's what's going on," and work something out. But with the company that owns the property, it's not that simple. And if this broker insists that we have the same repairs made before going to closing, it's not going to happen. I hate to put that out there, but I just don't see any other way to make it a go. I did, but now this... We'll see, I suppose. I'm known for my pessimism, but I tend to see it as "justifiable realism" most of the time. It'd be really nice to be dead wrong this time around.

Today's theme at home: Boys on Bikes. All day long! Now that John's training wheels are off, he's a whole new critter. He's a mobile critter! And he really is doing great. He was up, dressed, fed and out the door by seven thirty. When James and Smidge finally got out there, he'd mastered a lot of his demons and was ready to explore. I let the boys drive "the loop" (around a block of garages in the middle of the parking lot). While the boys did lap after lap, Smidge hopped on his Big Wheels trike and made one very long, very strenuous, very diligent lap (mind you, his feet don't reach the pedals, so this was an inch-at-a-time process). Then it was time for snacks, because that took about an hour. He's like the world's most determined land tortoise! It's amazing. After we ran errands, got stranded (turned out we just needed a new battery for the Suburban, yippee!! Nothing big!), and then got home, the boys swarmed the front porch, strapped on their helmets and headed back out for another two hours' riding fun! I had to drag them in to eat supper. I had to bribe them with stories and munchy foods during the after work inundation of vehilces. (Well, okay, that was just for fun, but they kept eyeing the parking lot wistfully and making offhand comments about how the traffic was slowing and how it looked like everyone was already home...) I am terrified to think what time they'll be up in the morning, helmets and shoes over jammies, ready to ride!

However, we wanted them outside more. We got what we wished! I'm thankful they shrugged off the multi-media addiction so quickly. It's good to see how resilient kids are.

****

And for the rest of the stuff, well, it's pretty mundane today. I was wondering if my VP order might be in today... yeah, then I did the math. It's fun, though, to have something to look forward to which might actually arrive!

The boys enjoyed reading poems from Side-by-Side: Poems to Read Aloud - it's a delightful anthology of fun poetry from all manner of sources. The ever endearing Edward Lear, Rudyard Kipling, and James' favorite, A. Nonymous. LOL. He's convinced there's a story there somewhere.

The house is tidy. The boys are fed. The nights are cool, and the beds are warm. Really, what more can we ask for?

Oh, I know. Another day like that. Another day that ends with us all together, under one roof, fed and warm. With another morning to anticipate and savor all over again. Yep, we've got a lot.

Well, Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Semi-Intentional Education

Limbo has been good for the boys in some ways. I don't know what they are just yet, but that's okay. Someday, one of them will stun us all with some characteristic that's quite unique and handy, and we will be able to trace it to this time. Then, it will be good. For now, however, enough, already!

It started out innocently enough. We kept up the basic three: math, Latin, language arts. During the move, over the summer, we didn't stop. But when I needed the math blocks and couldn't find them, I thought, "Well, we'll pull them out when we get moved into the big house. A short break won't hurt, really."

What I didn't realize at the time was that math is the foundation to beginning our school day. The boys would dive into their math while I fixed breakfast, and that set the tone for the rest of the morning: Latin, reading, snack time follow math. When math stops, it all comes to a grinding, screeching, train-wreck like halt. Zorak of the Hunting & Engineering Tribesmen may think it is a grand thing to have all learning tied directly to math, of course. I (of the Reading & Baking Tribe) am not entirely convinced. (Next Blog: tribal intermarriage and the priorities it confuses.)

Each week, for the past four or five weeks, I've been thinking, "We'll be moving soon, so I don't really want to pull out more things... we can hold off a little longer... well, then we'll be remodeling..." From there, it became a little pathetic, and while I had convinced myself I was OKAY with the lack of structure and aim to our days, it's not working out so well for the boys. That structure and aim is our lifestyle. It's who we are, and we feel a wee bit adrift without its comforting, guiding presence in our daily rituals.

*dum-da-daaaa!* (This is where we stand erect, with our hands on our hips and our chins thrust forward.) WE CAN CHANGE THIS!

Ahhh, see? That felt good, didn't it? I know it did for me, although it also reminded me that my posture has gone the way of Quasimodo. It hurts to stand too erect.

Uh, *ahem.* OK, so. ANYway...

Following some pretty great talks with the boys about hurricanes and dikes and levees and such, I ran smack into a wonderful spark of serendipity when I found Of Dikes and Windmills, by Peter Spier, at the library last week. Oooooo. This is neat. So, I thought to myself, I'll read it first, then read aloud with the boys and we can learn about the process of protecting the land. This is good stuff to know. (This is not a unit study. This is not a unit study.)

And then I found The Story of Numbers, by Patricia Lauber. Oh, what a delightful book! Oh what fun! We need to take the time to read this a chapter a day and explore it more fully. (This is not a unit study!) Yes, we'll do this, too.

Then I managed, through truly poor financial estimation on my part, end up with a little left over cash...

and an internet connection...

and we now have our first ever order from Veritas Press winging its wild little way to our doorstep! I've never ordered like that before. It was exhilerating. It was addicting. First, I ordered Famous Men of Rome, but then noticed that they have a hardback edition of Henty's The Cat of Bubastes and I really didn't want to skip a good Henty read aloud... Oh! And Jill has mentioned Ancient Rhymes so many times! And look, it's right there! That'll be fun! Oh, hey! While I've got it all going in (presumably) one box, they also have Drawing With Children! And... and...AND...

*muffled voice wafts in from the other room* "Honey, what are you doing?"

*stifling my manaical laughter* Uhhh... *clears throat* Ordering books?

*sighs from other room* "Ok." *then, more quietly* "You are so weird sometimes."

And so it is, that with renewed enthusiasm (although I've still gotta go dig up the blocks, but somehow the issue of bringing in two small math boxes seems pretty silly compared to the package en route, doesn't it?) We will begin our schooling for the year. James begins second grade officially tomorrow. John begins Kindergarten. And I'm so excited! What FUN! What fun we'll have together, doing the things we love, instead of living in a self-imposed limbo, waiting for some intangible (and increasingly questionable) "when" to arrive.

If it gets interrupted, so be it. We'll modify. The boys can take their sketch pads to the property and practice their newfound drawing skills. We might need to add binoculars and a good classification text, too. (But none of these are unit studies! I swear it!) It's all good.

And on that note, I must get to bed. John has the training wheels off his bike now, and we need to get out there in the morning to ride - before it gets warm and all we want to do is sip tea and read books (because, let's face it, like I need a lot of arm twisting to sit down and read!)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy, Happy Birthday, Baby!

Wow. Two years. It was a good day, and it's been a good two years. When Baby Jacob arrived, he came at a pretty uncertain time for us - but his place in our home, in our family, has never been uncertain. He was exactly what we needed, and he came exactly when we needed him.

The initial serenade of the traditional birthday song didn't go over too well, as he'd just awoken from his nap. Well, it may have been the nap. It may also have been our singing: he plugged his ears and ran screaming from the room. So we skipped straight to the presents, which were a huge hit. The boys were more excited than he was, at first. Then it clicked. Ohhhhh. This is fun!

The second time around, we bribed him with fire and cake as we sang: what man wouldn't sit through an opera for that, right? Worked like a charm.

And it was, oh, so worth it! Yum!

His absolute favorite new acquisition is his "Thom-thom", or, as it's known by the rest of the world, Thomas the Tank Engine. This thing has been his constant companion for the past 24 hours, minus meals (which he has eaten at breakneck speed so he can once again be reunited with his beloved Thom-thom), and bath time (banshees have nothing on this child). He really loves this little toy train. And joy of joys, it fits on the tracks we bought from IKEA! Yay!

Smidge's second year has been a good one. It's been filled with adventures of the greatest magnitude, and with the joys of the mundane.

And it's all done with us, which is a lot of fun for the rest of us, too!!


Happy Second Birthday, Smidge! You've had a great year, and we can't wait to see what you'll share with us this year! Keep looking ahead, Sweetheart, and we will keep kissing our baby.

Overheard & A Day of Joy

The boys are fascinated with my maternity clothes. They think someone was just an absolute genius to design clothing that stretches only in the tummy, or is cut to hang properly when filled out with a big ol' belly. Maternity wear is a highly prized invention in our home.

This morning, I lumbered out of the closet, fastening the straps to my Old Navy overalls, and both boys looked a little confused (they both stopped talking and struck the RCA puppy pose). Shortly, James asked, "Those aren't maternity... are they?"

"No," I laughed, "they're just overalls, but they still fit and I thought they'd be comfy today."

"WOOOOOOOW!" Says James, his voice filled with awe, "Those must be HUGE!"

****

Today we ran like the wind. Not actually r-a-n, you know. I leave that for things like fleeing burning buildings or evading angry dogs. But we ran errands and accomplished so much. We hit the market to get the pregnancy tea herbs, some yogurt and wf granola. Evidently, I didn't eat enough at breakfast, though, because on the way to check out, I felt a little queasy. I grabbed a smoothie from the impulse-buy rack and threw it in the basket. By the time I'd written out the check, I was sweating, dizzy, and trembling. Then I couldn't stand up! ACK! The cashier wasn't terribly observant, and she got a little testy with me when I handed her the check without my driver's license. "Ok, ok, hang on. I just. Have. To. Sit. Forasecond." *I slid down the wall to crouch near the floor (it's a concrete floor and I didn't want to have far to fall if I did pass out.)* The nice lady behind me noticed the sweat pouring down my face and that I was trembling so badly I couldn't get my license out of its completely impenetrable hiding place in my wallet. Bless her heart, she loaded the bags in the basket and called the manager over. I was able to explain that I was just very hot and needed to get outside, sit down, and have a drink and I'd be fine. Then the cashier took her hands off her hips and realized I wasn't being a pain in the butt, here. LOL. The manager tried to get a stockboy to push the cart out, but the boys said they would do it and would take good care of their mama.

The stockboy followed me out, anyway, fawning over the boys the whole way. He helped load the boys and the bags into the Suburban while I sucked down the smoothie and ate a ginger snap. He lectured me for parking "so far away", and made it quite clear that "with all you have to haul, people can just get used to you parking wherever you need to, okay?" That gave me a good chuckle. He stayed until I could show him I was okay. Just a little case of poor judgement on my part, but we'll be fine. *sigh* How embarrassing. But also, what a great, wonderful gift to have a market where the folks are so kind and helpful. Even the cashier was nice once she realized what was going on. I am really thankful for where we live!

****

Once the soy protein and fructose rush kicked in, I felt much better, so we headed off to the library, where I made my monthly depost to the Fund for Wayward Books, renewed the few that had somehow avoided our big recon plan back at the house, and then we...

Trekked to the third floor!

There is nothing on the third floor, really. It's where they store the historical archives (OK, I'd love to be given an afternoon of free reading up there, but this wasn't the boys' main goal)... No. They just wanted to stand on the balcony of the third floor and look down at the circulation desk from Way. Up. High. That was kinda fun, really.

After that, we got down to business, rounded up the next batch of books to mysteriously disappear somewhere in the boys' room, and spent a few hours reading books there at the library. We love the library. :-)

****

The rest of the day was quiet. Nice. Cool and breezy. Fresh summer watermelon and silly stories. Relay races in the living room and dancing to Freddy Fender. More dreaming on the house. More great Daddy stories.

And now, more quiet. I can hear the rustle of pages floating from James' bed. Zorak is immersed in the Home Depot book and the Wolf ranges and ovens catalogs. I hear my latest edition of America's First Freedom calling to me. And fresh coffee brewing.

Have a truly beautiful evening with your loved ones, and as always,
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

No Title To Make Zorak Laugh

Eh, I can't win 'em all.

Anyhow, we made the drive to our midwife's mid-way office for our initial consultation/prenatal visit. It's a good sign when the front door is open and there are children everywhere! The boys were absorbed into the roving mass of happy children while we retired to your traditional midwife's office: a bedroom-style room with comfy pillows, writing desk, and private bathroom.

We like them. We really, really like them. We may have freaked them out a bit, but on our end, we truly like them. The primary midwife has nine children of her own, all homebirths. She has "mojo", which no amount of certification or training can emulate, and she also has a wonderful midwifery education to back up the mojo. She laughs readily, has a stockpile of herbs to make an Navajo shaman jealous, and we felt very comfortable with her expertise and philosophy. Her partner, who has been practicing with her for years, also has good mojo and a comfortable manner. She has six children, all homebirthed, and her first child was a breech birth. They get it. I'm glad.

We agreed to having the apprentice midwives available and involved. There's no better way to learn than to be there, and we feel that we owe it to the midwifery community, and the future of birthing options, to be an active part of the process. Both of the ladies today were just great: enthusiastic, comfortable with their own skin and the situation, and happy to be doing what they are doing. We could not have asked for a better situation! Well, a better attitude from The State toward midwifery would be nice, but that we will work on now that we are here. *grin*

The apprentices both had their children there, and they were absolutely adorable. One of the little girls likes to play midwife. She's about two. She came up to me with the tape measure, wanting to measure my fundal height. It was so sweet. What could I do but lay back down and cheer her on. She laid the tape from my pelvis to my eyebrows, then poked around my tummy until she found the baby. She smiled and said, "Yup! Looks good!" What a cutie pie, and what a positive attitude toward pregnancy already. My heart absolutely melted into a warm, fuzzy puddle. I wish more people were that comfortable with it. Another little one who wormed his way into our hearts was this precious little roaming, rambling ball of giggling fat. He's nine months old, into everything, and thought Zorak was the funniest, greatest thing since dry diapers! They had a blast playing together. Smidge stayed with me until he hit his comfort level, then he was off to "find the brothers", and he never looked back. *sniff, sniff* Bittersweet, but good.

General health is all good. Measuring right on target, blood pressure good, proteins good. You know, normal prenatal stuff. She does want me to increase my Vitamin C intake, as well as overall greens and... alfalfa. (Am I the only one who didn't see that last one coming???) Anyhow, they also gave me a recipe for a tea to drink daily. I've got to order some of the herbs for it, but I think I can get most of them at our local crunchy shop.

In all, exciting, yet not-so-much in a blogging sort of way.

On the House Front:
Houdini didn't call today with a closing date. So I called him to find out why the blazes not. He said, "If the appraiser gets the new form to me in the morning, it'll be Friday, but most likely Monday or Tuesday." I freaked! "WHAT?!?!? We won't know anything for another week?!?!?" Oh! No. We should close by then. *pause, breathe, pause again* Close, you say? By Tuesday, you say? Are you toying with my hormones? No, he is serious. Or at least he thinks he is, and right now that's about all I've got to go on. So I'm going to cling to for now.

Tomorrow? The library! And perhaps, the market! Oh, 'twill be a decadent day for our home! Ahhhhhh.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Joy

That's such a great word, and one we just don't use too often. I think the only times I hear it regularly are in church or when someone is being sarcastic. I like the way it's used in the Aubrey-Maturin novels: "give you joy," as in, "I give you joy of the victory." That always made me smile a little when I'd read it. Such a small phrase conveyed so much.

Tonight, we have joy. We still have no house, but I think Zorak killed The Gremlin that has haunted The Mistress and made her a poor, wretched wench for so long. This news brings me joy. It brings us the freedom to schedule library visits, museum trips, runs to the grocery store when we are out of food (a mere convenience, I know, but one for which I will be happy for months!). It brings us the ability to take trips to the park, go hiking on the mountain, and the see the doctor during regular business hours.

Joy. Give you joy of the kill, Zorak. You have bested the evil gremlin*, and I, for one, am filled with joy.

On other fronts, no news on the mortgage thing. Amazing Realtor was sick and sound asleep for the past four days. She sounds astoundingly happy to be up and about again, and was even a wee bit feisty with regard to He-Who-Makes-Customers-Cry. Go, Amazing Realtor! She was touching base with folks today, and we hope to hear an actual, honest-to-goodness closing date tomorrow! *adolescent squeal*

Smidge didn't nap today. He nearly fell off his chair at supper, and happily went to bed tonight. Aside from the semi-narcoleptic episodes at the table, I'm thinkin' this might not be a bad routine, eh? He's pleasant even when he's tired and... Oh. Wait. No he isn't. He very calmly, and without any sign of rancor, proceeded to beat John (sound asleep on the couch at the time) about the head with a pillow. He might as well have been waving away fumes or weaving cloth for all the energy he put into it, but I guess it was just too tempting to pass up... Well, he was pleasant to the rest of us, and John probably won't remember it. Sometimes it's not so bad to be the little guy, just a little strange.

And did I mention we've a midwife appointment tomorrow? I am quite excited about it - it means we're getting closer to holding our Little One, and that's a great sensation!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

*Officially, Zorak believes "exorcised" is the appropriate term. I'm good with that. The thing runs, though, whether The Gremlin was killed or run off the cliff in a herd of pigs, I don't care. It's gone!! WOOHOO!*

House Update - He Says, She Says

I talked to Houdini, The Mortgage Man, today. He says everything is good. He says they are waiting for the Title Co. to retype the paperwork with the New Mortgage Co. Name in all the right spots. He said he may have a closing date for us as early as this evening. He says there will be no more surprises. He says it's just a time-consuming paperwork task at this point.

You probably don't want to know what She said... We'll just say she's, erm, skeptical.

But perhaps we'll know more by this evening! Wouldn't that be great?! :-) In the meantime, the bruises are healing nicely, and yes, the apartment looks very nice.

Thanks for hangin' in there with us, guys. It's been an adventure!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Me and My Bright Ideas

Our carpet cleaner, after limping along for several years and surviving one painful encounter with some not-so-great neighbors, died earlier in the year. It was beyond repair (and we were out of room on the moving van), so we decided not to bring it with us. In June, I picked up a Little Green (from Bissell), thinking that it would be perfect for cleaning the Suburban and the three small bedrooms of carpet we would have by now...

But we still have a full apartment covered in white carpet.

And it's pretty nasty by now. (I had thought we'd have paid a professional to clean it by now and been long gone, now leaving small child particles on a laminate floor which could be mopped clean.)

And so yesterday Zorak took the boys fishing and exploring while I stayed home to clean. It was nice. I washed walls and doors, windows and mirrors. I did all the laundry and balanced the checkbook.

And I spent

Six

Hours

Cleaning the carpet.

On my hands and knees,

with my Little Green.

It looked so pretty when I went to bed this morning.

It felt so good.

Then I arose from a few hours sleep and OH. My. Word! My palms are bruised! My knees hurt when I sit or stand. My netheregions ache if I so much as turn upwind. And I never saw it coming. Wow.

The carpet still looks good, but in retrospect, I should have splurged on the upright. Definitely.

~Dy

Trouble in the Hidey Hole Again

Boy, ya put a few thousand women in the same virtual room for long enough and they're sure to make things rough on everyone. Feminists like to rail on men for being so "warlike" and "dogmatic" and then scoff at how "they still managed to rule the world for so long". Yeah. Well, catfights can hinder one's desire for world-wide domination. Too much energy, too many civilian casualties, and absolutely no good in the end. Way to run an empire, huh?

So far this week on one of the few boards I frequent, ladies have been attacked for some astounding things: for not agreeing with the Borg (and I don't mean that in the kind way, either); for sharing information; for not wanting to play the blame game in Louisianna; even, *gasp* for telling about a lovely Labor Day With The Family in response to the question, "What're you doing today?"

Esh. I think I'm going to stay away for a while and let them hash it out among themselves. It's not a big deal in the Grand Scheme of Things. I just hate to see it happen. Personal accountability is a rapidly fading thing in all aspects of our society, I fear, and this is but one more example. It's a shame. It really is.

Anyhow, if you're here and looking for some good blog reading, here are a couple I enjoy but just haven't put in my sidebar yet because I'm slightly allergic to messing with my template:
* Check out Cyber Ecology, which you can get to via School @ Home
* Crib Chick, AKA Jill, has great reading, fun discussions, and a wonderful focus on the good things about being a Crib Chick (aka - a hip stay-at-home-mom)

~Dy

Oh, no, Mom. Not like that!

I sat down to read with the boys. We snuggled in, piled up the books, picked a story, and I began to read...

That's when James stopped me, saying, "Oh, no! Don't use your Narrator Voice. Just read like a normal person."

*blink, blink*

Okay.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Post-Apocalyptic Freak in All of Us

Well, maybe not all of us. But those few... you know who you are. I was out running around, getting caught up on blogs I love (yes, it's one in the morning and I have church tomorrow, I know. Shush.) I came to SCHOLA, and L has posted some great emergency preparedness links, ideas, and such. Gracious commenters have also added their favorites, and it's just a fun, fun way to blow an hour and a half in the middle of the night!

I'm sure it's obvious to regular readers where Zorak and I stand on the government reliance aspect of life, and the importance of being ready and willing to do what you can for yourself when called upon to do so. We also believe in the importance of being prepared to help your neighbors when they need it ("neighbor" being a pretty all-encompassing term for us). When Zorak made a Wal-Mart run for creamer and fresh ammo and came home with his and hers ammo, my heart fluttered in a way that only fellow PAF folks can understand. So, yeah, the whole preparedness thing rates pretty high for us, and it played a large role in our search for our Forever Home.

I had to come back and blog, though, because L's post reminded me of one of the things I learned about my mother after she passed away. As Zorak and I ploughed through the eighty bazillion books she'd collected over the years, we noticed a pretty interesting trend. My mother -- the woman whose happiest moment that I can recall was the day she found shoes and earrings in *celery green* that coordinated perfectly with her favorite pant suit -- owned more Self-Reliance and Preparedness books than a good Mormon bookstore! It was an astounding realization as we found book after book on methane gas conversion for the home, living off the grid, and canning-for-the-future themed books. Wow. My mother, my civilized, slightly ecentric, happily pampered mother... of all people... fostered dreams of self-reliance.

Pages are dog-eared from years of being thumbed through again and again, notes are in many of the margins, and some of the books have little notes tucked in them with things like her favorite canning recipes, or tips on how to make jerky in the oven and how to store potatoes.

Of course we kept them. And we cherish them. Not just for the information they were printed to share, but also for the information about my mother that they shared. You just never know all there is to know about a person, even if you live with her for twenty years. Even if you think you know so much. It's a pretty cool reminder of just how diverse and interesting each person really is, and what each of us has to offer the world that we may never bother sharing. It's reminded me to get to know people on different levels of themselves, and also that I should dig deep from time to time and share whatever there may be inside worth sharing. What a rich, complete, and wonderful world that could create!

Anyhow, no real point to blogging this. But the thought made me smile, and maybe that was worth sharing.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Tap, tap, tap... Impatience!

We aren't Instant Gratification People, for the most part. Zorak and I both are willing to work toward a goal, sacrifice the present for the future, invest in long-term payoffs, and even simply to wait... wait... wait.

But this is getting ridiculous. I want to report that we have a house, that the new Hounds are willing to sign off on the house as-is, and that we will soon be up to our armpits in pipe dope and PEX tubing!

Yet, I can't... and that, to be truthful, makes blogging difficult. I'd planned to have entertaining stories about the families of mole rats living in the oven, or how the boys decided to use the old insulation as padding for their bobsled track down the hill... I don't know. Something. Something other than, "No word yet." Which leaves me with... um, well, "No word yet." Pretty boring, I know.

Today we found a Very Cool Barber. We thought at first he would be something like a slightly younger version of Geri (from Pixar's Geri's Game). Turns out he is absolutely delightful and is a fantastic barber. He's had his shop in its current place for a little over 30 years, and has been a barber for coming up on 50 years! One gentleman who came in while we were there got a good laugh out of Smidge (who was hungry and sleepy by the time his turn came): he and the barber laughed about how Smidge is just like this guy's boy was all those years ago. He treated the boys like Young Men. He called me Ma'am. He did a really nice job, and of course, there were lollipops after all was said and done! If you're in need of a good barber in the Huntsville area, check out Joe's over by Memorial Parkway and Oakwood Drive!

The guys went fishing this evening, leaving me to enjoy a leisurely conversation with LB in Seattle - in which we spoke in complete sentences, which was a wonderful thing for me! The boys didn't catch any fish. James swears he caught a stingray, and we haven't been able to convince him that the freshwater lake here in the complex probably doesn't have ocean life. So far, no go. Zorak has no idea what it was - he didn't see it. And so, the story will go, of the time Uncle James caught a stingray in a lake in Alabama. Sounds like fodder for fanciful short stories for the next generation, to me.

Tomorrow we will head off to church, and then to the library to return our books and make our monthly donation to the Library Fund for Wayward Books (aka - late fees). We'll check out more Wayward Books and then come home to settle in and enjoy them.

Monday, we will probably stare at the phone and curse three-day weekends that arrive before we have a closing date. But it'll all be good. It always is.

There will be more fishing, I'm sure.

And tonight, it is cooler outside than it is in the apartment! It is beautiful! So I'm going to open all the doors, turn on all the fans, and bask in the coolness of the nighttime breezes!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Tidbits from September

It cannot be September already! Weren't we supposed to be... and doing... and going... ah, well, as we all know, life doesn't work that way. Not having a home to open up to a family or two right now is making me twitchy and irritable. Having a home for the boys, though, is keeping me thankful. And regardless, it's still September, whether I'm ready for it or not.

Smidge turns two in a week. That's difficult to believe - not that he's "two already", but that he's only been with us two years. He's such a seamless, integral part of our home and our family. Wow. Zorak and I didn't have that kind of seamless, integral cohesion going on two years into our marriage - yet here come the little guys who can't talk, can't read, can't drive, and they just work themselves right into the whole "necessary part of the whole" right off the bat! Gotta love that. We could learn a lot from children. Or rather, a lot more than we already do.

Found another volunteer match up site: Share Your Home. This was begun by folks in Shreveport, LA. They also have an on-site volunteer base, but they are not limiting donations or open houses to just the area. If you've got the room and the heart for it, please take a look and sign up. And pass it on. The more avenues of communication we can open around the disaster area, the better.

On the more useless notes, the Suburban has developed a musty smell from wet swim towels and warm weather. Ew. Time to put the Little Green to work tomorrow!

The boys finished their swim classes and had a fantastic time with the families in the water. James still won't jump into the 12' end, but he did swim across it - twice. He hasn't quite clicked on the impact of that, yet, but it'll be a riot when he does. We're going to check and see if Southern Adventures is open and whether it's going to be packed this weekend (among all the other goings on, I forgot that this is Labor Day weekend!)

Zorak and I have been oogling ranges and ovens. It's getting funny. Probably closer to sad-funny than ha-ha-funny. You see, since we don't own digital televisions, whomperdine stereo systems, flat-screen anythings, new cars, or even furniture made in the last 20 years... we figured we could splurge on one area of the home: the kitchen. This is where we live, hang out, live, eat, read, visit, entertain, live... and, that's where the coffee pot stays. It's a very important room in our house. So we think we're going to splurge on the range. *maniacal laughter* We are SO in over our heads. The very fact that I am only now referring to it as a "range" rather than a "stove" is one indication of just how deeply imbedded in Square One I am when it comes to appliances. It's a pretty amazing realm out there...

The boys just turned the lights out, so I'm going to slip off to the patio (they can sleep through anything once they're asleep, but the tappity-tap of the keyboard can lure them clear across the house. Go figure.) I'm reading Understanding the Arab World and am about halfway through. I'd like to finish that this weekend so I can try to get it back to church before I owe them late fees, too.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Wow.

There is so much going on. So many thoughts. I'd like to start by asking for prayer requests tonight, actually.

First, Hillary had her surgery today. Please keep her and her family in your prayers as she heals and they receive the results over the next few weeks.

Second, Laney's hubby is needing a hedge of protection and Laney's needin' a good dose of "old fashioned Proverbs 31-type strength" to keep from pulling her hair out. That'd sure be appreciated.

Third, two ladies from the WTM boards have made contact w/ missing family members in the New Orleans area. That's a huge praise, there.

Please pray for the rescue efforts on the Gulf Coast, and if you feel led to do something, don't hesitate. Donations of goods, money, time and housing are all needed and welcomed. If you don't know who to contact, ask someone. I'm trying to round up some ideas other than what's been posted all over already, and will share them.

I honestly hope the propagandists who have gone nuts today will mellow the heck out. This is the time go come together and work together, regardless of political/religious/skivvy color preferences, people. There are enough idiots out there making the wrong choices and hindering the progress. Let's do the right thing. Please.

I'm too tired to keep my eyes open, so that's it tonight.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Cool Kids and Pregnancy Updates

Guess what? I'm 21 weeks pregnant! The sad thing is that I know this only because I am three weeks behind Jess and I just checked her ticker on her blog. 21 weeks. More than halfway. Wow. Normally pregnancies only go quickly when it's someone else who's pregnant, but this one is really flying!

I finally managed to make contact with our midwife so we can have a consultation. It's scheduled for next Wednesday. Um, yes, I know. Well, let's see... what goes on in the first few months of a pregnancy? They remind you to drink water, eat right, get rest, and not exert yourself. Well, ok. This is my fourth child. I'm not too concerned about the water and the food. I've never rested well, although I do pass out on the couch when I need it, so no worries there. And not exert myself? *snort* Reference the part about this being my fourth child. Moot point, if ever there was one. Um, take prenatals? Check. Had our Wonderful Family Doctor send me some of her Bunny-Hugging-Uber-Digestible-Iron-Vegetarian-Vitamins as soon as we found out. Check.

AFP test? Declined, thanks. Iron? That can be tested non-invasively. Really, the only thing a medical practitioner can do for us that we haven't done for ourselves is the protein check. So I don't feel too badly about not having formal prenatal care the first few months of this pregnancy. However, it will sure be nice to know that when it's time, we'll have backup. I'll let y'all know how it goes.

The boys still kiss the baby good morning. And call it Jorge. They've been so snuggly lately, even James, who is normally not quite as ready to snuggle.

We ate at the Waffle House yesterday after meeting with Cool HVAC Guy, and we had the best time. (Don't laugh, it's true.) The boys wondered if the ladies working at the Waffle House had Stay-At-Home Daddies taking care of the children. We talked about how Mommy worked before she was a Mommy. They thought that was a pretty neat concept, and they asked all kinds of questions about what I did. Then John said, "But now you have a new job, right?" Right. And James said, "And do you know how you get paid?" I smiled, "Well, I have an idea..." He leaned into me and giggled, "With happy children!" Oh! What a wonderful pay scale!!

The boys told jokes, sang songs, and visited with the amazing waitress we had. Smidge laughed hard and came very near giving himself the obligatory head-slam into the edge of the Waffle House table. Every child of ours has spent at least a week with that linear bruise on his forehead from doing that. Smidge's time will come, I'm sure.

Zorak has moved our loan packet. We'll see if this works.

Share some humor today, enjoy your family, and kiss those babies!
~Dy

Time Waster

Because I am pretty brain-dead after the day, I'll just share a few quick Thanksgivings for the Day and then share how I blew my evening. :-)

I am thankful for three small boys who will sit patiently for two hours in various County Offices while I dig through archives, then be thrilled with cold water and peppermint candies at the realtor's office as a treat.

I am thankful for the thoughtful County Employees who said nice things to the boys about how well they've behaved - a little positive external reinforcement is always appreciated.

I am thankful for Zorak, who dealt with the Competent-But-Painfully-Abrupt Mortgage Guy today instead of making me do it.

I am thankful for the way folks are pulling together here in Alabama to help our neighbors on the Gulf Coast. We really love our New Home.

I am thankful for maternity pants and long distance phone service and afternoon breezes.

And then, there's this completely fun way to blow an evening:

Bob Vila's Virtual Room Builder

I'm guessing this little program works better with a faster connection - we ended up with fifteen wall oven cabinets against one wall and a pile of range hoods by the front door (we'd wondered where they'd gone!)

Tomorrow is Family Night at the swim lesson place. The boys actually opted to stay in lessons just to get to this night. I can't wait to spend some time in the pool there with them and let them show off the things they're proud of accomplishing.

As always, Kiss those Babies!
~Dy

House Update!

Well, there's good news and there's.. not-so-good news.

The good news is that late this morning the Sellers faxed "closing instructions" to Amazing Realtor. She said that's the same thing as a signed contract - they just send the signed contract to the title company (or someone in Birmingham with some authority to receive such precious documents, I assume) and from there, it's a go.

A go. That's -- that's good. Right? So... why doesn't she sound happy? (I ask through gritted teeth, using my best Special Ed Teacher Voice.)

WELL, yeah. Let's back up, first. Yesterday, Amazing Realtor and Nice Mortgage Man had to draw lots to see who would call with news from the underwriters (hereafter known as The Hounds.) The Hounds have decided, after reviewing the paperwork, that while the contract states that we'll buy the house "as-is", and the property appraisal was for the property "as-is", and it appraises above the loan value "as-is", they... how you say? Well, they have just a few things to request before they will accept said "as-is" property as security for the loan.

Namely, that it's not "as-is". Isn't that handy? They want the HVAC system repaired before closing (the one that needs to be redone entirely and was going to wait until Spring, you know, when we had extra cash to do it right), they want gravel put on the driveway (the one they don't think exists) before closing, and they want a fresh, spiffy new survey just to prove that the driveway they're making us put gravel on actually does, in fact exist (surveys, I discovered after speaking with 17 different County offices today, aren't part of the recorded material in Alabama, so while there may be a Santa Claus, there is no recorded proof of it - you have to get new proof each time).

We can't get in there to make the repairs on a property we don't own, and the Sellers won't give us access to the property before closing. We're not particularly keen on putting money into making such large-scale repairs to a property we don't have a guarantee that we'll own when all is said and done. But our agreement with The Sellers was that we would buy the house "as-is", and we let the Mortgage Company know that upfront. Now we have your quintissential Catch-22: we can't close on the house without the loan; we can't get the loan without making the repairs; we can't make the repairs without closing on the house.

Sooooo, taking yesterday's news into consideration, I could not for the life of me figure out this morning, when Amazing Realtor sounded so down, what could have gone wrong in addition to yesterday's news? Well, as it turns out, when Amazing Realtor called Nice Mortgage Man this morning to figure out the next step, she was informed that he no longer works there. Yep, just like that. As of yesterday at five-thirty, he hadn't mentioned anything about this. This morning, aliens might as well have taken him, for all the good it'll do us. (I tracked him down - he got a job as branch manager of another mortgage company in Fayetteville, TN! Isn't that great? I'll have to remember to be happy for him someday.) The Mortgage Man we inherited, while I am assuming is competent and capable, is also just abrupt and abrasive and mean enough to push this pregnant lady

RIGHT

OVER

THE

EDGE.

I have to say I'm proud of myself. This is the first time I've cried in the process of buying this particular home. Considering the pregnancy hormones and the exhaustion and being trapped like a little rat in a cage with small rat-babies gnawing at my ankles, I've held up ok. But this afternoon, the floodgates opened and I just sobbed.

Poor Zorak called while I was mid-sob. Men don't like that sound - it makes them uneasy, as if they should do something about it. Thankfully, at that point, both cell phone and land line died. That was my cue to just go sit with the boys for a while and remember how good we truly have it. It helped that later on, Aunt B also called and talked me down a bit.

Tomorrow I will try to track down a surveyor who can do it immediately, for only the cost of one or two of our children. Then I meet with the HVAC Guy at the property to see if he can just slap a band-aid onto the HVAC system that'll last long enough to get the appraisal through, and not kill us financially, since the Surveyor deal will leave us with only one starter child and that's cutting it a mite-bit-short. Then I am off to the Realtor's office to arrange the rest of the whatever-it-is-that-needs-arranging. The boys will be thrilled, I'm sure. The upside? I get to drive around in the car like one of the Big People. That part will be fun, at least.

So there ya have it - the latest on our Forever Home. It should be very, very worth it in the end. Because if I have anything to say about it, I will never buy another home as long as I live. This is plenty, thanks.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Science for Boys

Fire is a huge attraction for young men. The idea of having their own fire circle around which to gather and, well, make fire, appeals to them on a deep and intrinsically male level.

When Zorak was a young man, he and his cousins were permitted to have such a circle at Granny's. It was composed of carefully chosen rocks (it's all sandstone all the time - take your pick), laid out in a special place (far enough from the house not to arouse concern)... and they tended to this fire in the evenings, summer and winter. They watched it, sometimes for no other reason than just because they could. Eventually, the immediate area failed to profer more fuel and with the extra work of gathering wood came the extra ambition to do stuff with the fire. You know, science. Sort of.

So they started by finding an old tin can to hold... things. Then they went in search of things to burn, erm, test. Yes, test. The, um, experiments, went something like this:

*put turkey droppings in can, and place on the fire*
"Ew. That smells bad!"
*put pine sap in can, place on fire*
"Whoa! Did you see that? Wow, when it gets hot enough, it just bursts into flames!"
*repeat pine sap experiment for a while with similar results*
"Hey, how about pine sap and turkey poop?"
*in go the droppings and more sap*
"Wow! That burns fast AND it smells bad!"
*someone throws plastic into the mix*
"Oooooo, look at the smoke!"
*yes, now it's turkey droppings, pine sap and plastic - the ultimate concoction of smoke, smell and violent flames*
"Oooooooo! Ahhhhhhh! Ewwwwwww!"
*what about (pause for drama) urine? With that many boys in a field at night, there were no lack of volunteers...*
"Oh, GROSS! That just smells bad! EW!"
(I have to interject here, I have no idea what they were expecting at that point.)

Eventually, the contents of the tin can evaporated, the smells subsided, and the evening wore into a quiet companionable silence. Of sorts. This was a group of young men, after all...

And people say there are no rites of passage any longer? P'shaw! There's always the fire circle on a quiet summer night...

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Killing Sacred Cows

Warning: This post covers mature material. It's not vulgar, but topics are mentioned which you may or may not want to have up when your little ones can view the screen.


....


....


....


....


....


OK, so if you're here now, read on. I'm going to kill a few sacred cows, and if anyone from the Women's Missionary Society reads this, I'll be on the hell-bound list and/or the lost-souls-to-pray-for list, depending on denomination. But this has been on my heart all day, so I'm going to just say it.

We walked into church this morning and saw flags of various countries displayed, world globes on all the tables in the fellowship hall, and guest speakers roaming the halls. Oh. This is World Mission Conference week. The boys went to Sunday School and we settled in for the guest speaker.

The speaker today is going to Romania to hold a three-day seminar for 25 hand-picked women from a Gypsy tribe. She spoke eloquently about the plight of these people, particularly these woman, and the lifestyle they are condemned to live. While they are known as Gypsies by the general populace, they call themselves Romans. They are considered by the ruling majority to be on par with the untouchables of the old caste system of India - uneducable, unemployable, and unworthy of basic human rights. She profiled several specific cases which their mission house has reported, and it was heartbreaking. This isn't a case of indigenous peoples pursuing their heritage and traditions: this is a group of people forced into abject poverty and isolated from the rest of society as a whole.

The speaker went on to cite statistics which are mindblowing, to say the least. According to the speaker, these women have no rights. None at all. Their husbands can beat them, rape them, prostitute them out. They have no recourse. To resist or stand against it most likely means death. The speaker's own husband is worried that she may not return because of speaking out. Most of the women are employed in prostitution, and end up with multiple pregnancies. Since a woman cannot afford to feed too many children, and cannot work (or isn't going to earn much) while she's pregnant, most women have abortions. The average Gypsy woman has 20-30 abortions in her lifetime. TWENTY to THIRTY! The Romanian government pays for all abortions after the first two.

They have no sanitation, no schools available to them, no means of their own, and no visible way out. They are no longer nomadic, but have settled in a valley region near the base of the Carpathian Mountains. They have built mud huts and are flooded out of their homes regularly. It is a constant cycle of poverty and obstacles.

The speaker did not touch on the diseases affecting these people, other than to mention an astronomically high proportion of AIDS cases in Romania compared with all of Europe.

These are horrible circumstances for anyone to live in, for any child to be raised in. It breaks my heart, and I do believe it is the responsibility of the church to step in and help people learn to better their situation. I believe mission work has a deeply needed place in this world, and that missionaries can be a vital part of the work of a church body.

So what is this group doing while they are there?
* Are they teaching these women basic skills with which to improve their lot? No.
* Are they providing the tools these women will need in order to start schools in their communities? No.
* Are they teaching them how to dig a well, build a septic system, reinforce the mud homes that are washed away year after year in the rains? No.

They will, however, teach the women how to make crafts (some items mentioned are the "flipper flapper" and the "god's eye") so that they can "sell those items rather than continuing a life in prostitution".

Oh. Yeah.

* Are they teaching these women about barrier-method birth control to help slow the spread of AIDS? No.
* Are they teaching these women about other methods of birth control to help prevent unwanted pregnancies? (Yes, I know that many religions do not condone birth control - this is a non-denominational protestant organization, however, which does not have a strong stance on birth control use and options - and let's face it, Depo Provera has far fewer health risks and emotional turmoil than repeated abortions.) But, no, they aren't covering that, either.
* Are they lobbying the Romanian government to cover birth control for these woman rather than paying for unlimited abortions? No.
* Are they sending medication or training these women in basic nursing care? No.
* Are they going to do anything that will actually help these women in the long run? The short run? At a mild jog? No.

But they will, as the speaker put it, "sit on the floor together and share the gospel of Christ".

Uh-huh. Well, there are other ways to help turn the situation around...

* Are there any men going on this mission? No.
* Is there a mission program that is helping the men in these tribes to learn new ways of viewing their womenfolk? No.
* Have you given any thought to what is going to happen to these "chosen 25" when they return to their tribe with a whole new vocabulary, like, "No," and "respect" and "rights"... which are still wholly foreign to the culture in which they live? Well, no.

So. Basically, these missionary women are leaving their husbands and children at home to fly across the world and preach the gospel of Christ in the same manner they do down at the local Pregnancy Crisis Shelter - here, in America, where the young girls who walk in do have choices; places to go; long-term help, support, education, and a future. Here, in a free and equitable society, in a culture which doesn't look askance when we say, "no means no". And these women are heading over there to give these oppressed, beaten women this vocabulary to use in a void - in a violent, tumultuous society where "no" means these women will be beaten into submission. Where life - theirs or their children's - holds no value. Where the only place they will have to proffer their new trinket making skills is to the men who patronize their beds.

And I am angry at this. I am angry knowing that there will be many additional beatings and probably several deaths that come from the newfound "liberation" of these gypsy women, when they try to claim the rights we take for granted. And we will never hear of it. How many of these women are beaten and die every day, and how often does it make the news?

If a woman or a man is going to be martyred, it had better well be with full informed consent, and not because one innocently traipsed back to her village, high on the spiritual rush of a religious encounter. It's warm and fuzzy while you're at the retreat and everyone is crying and hugging, but unless someone has clued-in the men in the village on this New Way Of Doing Things, as well, it's not going to end well.

Does this mean I believe there should not be a mission program? Of course not. I would love to see one that is going to make things better.

I would love to see a mission program that sends men into the field, particularly into the societies where the men of the cultures hold the keys to transformation. I would love to see one that offers not only the spiritual understanding of the value and worth of human life, but that we, as humans, hold the tools to improve it. I would wholly support a mission program that teaches skills, trades, and dignity to the culture as a whole, and not to an isolated few who have no voice to raise without facing certain retribution.

Rather than simply standing in awe of how these women "just rebuild their huts year after year" (as the speaker did), show them how to reinforce their homes, to make them more resilient using the materials available.

Rather than teaching them to make crafts they cannot sell because the market will not allow them a stall, teach them to read and write and basic math, and teach them how to teach their children. Or teach them to make things that have export value - cloths, clothing, weaving, pottery... things of their heritage that can be exported and can bring in wealth and commodities.

I just cannot help but see that this is the feel-good, warm-n-fuzzy mentality of those who like to think they're doing good, who get to enjoy the sense of Good Works from the warmth of their own homes while the aftermath of their actions plays itself out far, far from view. There are so many better ways to serve than the feel-good trip this woman is going on. I cannot support this. I will not support an endeavor that will end in death, will not improve anyone's lot, and will most likely bring about unknowing martyrs for a cause they may or may not have understood they were taking on. There is too much fluff, not enough meat, not nearly enough research and legwork, for this to be a good thing. The ramifications will be beautiful for the first 24 hours, until the aftermath kicks in. Then it's going to be a tragedy of greater magnitude than the tragedy of the current situation - because this one could have been - and should have been - avoided.

God be with the women in Romania.

~Dy

On Letting Go

Letting go of your children isn't so tough if you let it happen incrementally, as it's meant to happen. It isn't so tough if you don't shove them out of the nest before they're ready to handle the wide, wide world. It isn't so tough when you say kind things to and about them, in front of them, and they know that they're welcome to put their hand in yours any time they need it; they will do it longer, and the instances will taper off gradually rather than awkwardly, but they won't ever stop. Completely.

It's still tough, and there are still the spontaneous knee-jerk desires to reach out and hold the back of the bike "just in case", or to call ahead and see if they've made it yet, or to send care packages filled with things you know they're perfectly capable of purchasing themselves, "but..." Yeah. It's still tough, but not in the same way as realizing, a few years too late, that letting go was not the same as shoving away. If you can keep that clarity, if you can nestle them in and let them grow, then you can smile when you catch yourself as they ride away. You can trust that they will call when they get there - you'll still worry, but not for the same reasons. You can go ahead and send the care packages, knowing they'll be received with a smile and the warmth with which they were sent.

It's tough to let go, but it's not so tough.

Zorak and I watched James and John take off down a brand new trail today. They stayed together. They blazed their own trail. They never looked back. We both stalled the desire to call them back. Then we both looked at each other and laughed. The boys are expanding their perimeters. They are exploring more of their world. They know they are safe, and that we're here if and when they need us. They know we'll come running if they call. We know they aren't going to ram anyone off the trail. Or chase stray dogs. Or eat unidentified plants. So yeah... It's okay to let go. Little by little.

We linked arms, we talked with Smidge, who, not entirely thrilled with letting his brothers go, sat hunched over in the wagon, looking every bit like my Grandmother when she was in a truly foul mood. We enjoyed being deeply in love with one another in this new stage of independence and growth. And we realized it's good like this. In their time. On our (cumulatively - all of ours, as a family) own terms. This is how it's meant to be.

For some uplifting, wonderful peeks onto the front porches of families who are farther along this path, check out some of these blogs. They have older children whom they enjoy and like. Their children are growing and spreading their wings, but they don't feel the need to take out everyone within their wingspan. It's encouraging to me, and I hope it will be encouraging to you, as well.

Schola - "We Have A Teenager In The House"
Quiet Life - "We Let Go Pretty Well"
Shades of White - "She Will Be Ready"
Mental Multivitamin - "What I Live For"
Complete Chaos 4 Us - I couldn't think of a snifty title- just read it. She enjoys her children and she's hilarious.

Kiss those babies, and young men and women.
~Dy

The Habits of Limbo

We did nothing today. Absolutely nothing. It was kind of nice, but it was also gorgeous outside and I feel awful that we are so accustomed to staying indoors now that we just don't want to go outside when it's lovely. Fortunately, that habit will be broken (even if by force) when we move into our Forever Home. We're hauling appliances outside, boys, head on out! Let's see if there are any more fruit trees buried under this grass, boys, c'mon! It's time for lunch and the only eating surface on the property is the picnic table out front, so let's go! My hope is that by the time we are moved in and finished with the First Big Push in the remodeling, we'll be firmly broken of the Indoor Habit. It's a nasty habit, really.

Zorak and I spent a good few hours tonight revisiting our goals and plans. They're still about on track, although he's not thrilled with the lack of music, art, history and science in lessons. I'm not either, but, well, this is Limbo Hell, and that is part and parcel of it. The boys aren't losing ground, and I haven't given up, so I'm okay with the fact that we're in a holding pattern Until Further Notice. I think, however, that it's easier for me to be in that spot because I'm naturally immersed in the process on a daily basis. I have that constant recalibration going on. I wake in the middle of the night, thinking, "I really need to order Famous Men of Rome soon!" Then I realize if I order it now, it's only going to go into a box and not get used until after Christmas, anyway. Why not wait and have it shipped to the place it will be used? Let someone else haul it over there for me. He doesn't have that constant conflict in his face, and so when he's home and he sees the effect of Limbo Hell, it hits him as a little disturbing to think, "THIS is the boys' life?" I am glad he cares, glad he sees, and glad he is willing to come to me with his concerns. I know I'd go nuts if I didn't have friends with whom to stress out over the fact that we haven't even started ROME yet - who can let me get it all out, and then talk me back off the ceiling. That way, when he looks around and thinks, "You haven't even TOUCHED the recorders in months!" I already know the path down from the ceiling and can guide him off it, too. Then we're both on firm ground, able to look around, kick a path. It's good. And we are actually heading in the right direction, overall. Together, no less! WOOHOO!

Then there is the limbo-lack-o-bookshelves. If I'd known we'd be in this apartment four or more months, I'd have brought in more bookshelves. We normally have eleven. We have subsisted off one and a half since we've been here. I cannot convey in mere words the impact this has had on the flow of our home. It hasn't been good. So, it will be wonderful to have our beloved bookshelves out, unpacked, and filled with daily fare once again! No more limbo.

Honestly, in looking around, this has all been good, and there is very little permanent damage done. Some of it has been inconvenient, but none of that has come near outweighing the positives or the progress we've made. Music, art and science await, and when we have the space and the time and the flexibility, it will be oh-so-sweet. Yes, it will.

Roots go down. Limbo goes away. There will still be days with grouchy children, grumpy mommy, out-of-sorts Daddy. There will still be mornings when the laundry must take precedence over a trip to the library. There will still be afternoons that will fade with unfinished worksheets and abandoned lesson plans. But they will be fewer and far less dominant than the limbo of now. And in the meantime, we've enjoyed William Joyce and Mozart. We've gathered and sketched and read about all manner of bugs. We've learned to swim and we've settled into our church home. So it's not all bad. Just little habits have sprung up here and there, and those can be broken.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Three Little Fishes

...and they swam, and they swam, all over the dam!

Another great day today, playing, swimming, crafting. John made me a nursing bead necklace for the baby to play with, and every morning he makes sure I've got it on. Nice summer accessorizing!

We think Smidge has officially been promoted to Boy. His vocabulary has begun to... well, it's begun, which is huge. He's more aware of and involved in the daily process of being boys and all that goes with it. But also, the boys have completely taken him into the Big Boy circle. This means he's a part of the gang now, gets a say in what they do; there's an equality in it all. It's neat to see. Of course, while they're still beautifully protective of him, they don't cut him nearly as much slack as they did before, either. That part, he's not so thrilled about, but the rest drips with the sweet nectar of success. It's cute.

Zorak watched the boys for a bit today while I slipped down to the thrift store. For a half hour out of my day and thirty bucks, I am now decked out in clothes that fit my morphing body! After plying myself into Zorak's jeans the past month (there is something so wrong about wearing jeans that are "going out dancing" tight when you're four months pregnant!) it was time. I actually look forward to getting dressed tomorrow. Getting up, that's a different story. But once I'm up, it'll be nice to get dressed.

No clue what we're doing this weekend, but Zorak did just mention that there's a gun show. That narrowed our options considerably. *grin* Maybe another trip to the gardens, or a trek up to Monte Sano for a little hiking. Whatever it is, I'm glad we have another weekend together. Zorak is home. The boys are healthy. Life is good.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Gardens and Sushi and Dad, Oh Boy!

Wow, what a fun day! The boys and I enjoyed a leisurely morning together, then they played for a bit while I made a bazillion phone calls and tried to coordinate the Signing of the Contract, Part Deux. (Three? How many is this, now?)

The weather was not beautiful yesterday, but it was do-able, so we packed up a nominal bag and headed to the Huntsville Botanical Gardens for a day of exploration. I was prepared to be relatively bored out of my skull, but figured the boys would enjoy the time outside. They have a butterfly house and water play areas, so why not? I have not been so wrong about a place in a long, long time! This place is amazing! The work the staff and volunteers have put into the 30+ gardens on the property is astounding. The quality and care that's gone into everything from design to presentation hits you the minute you enter the Gardens, and never stops. From the Bonzai Garden and Model Railroad Village on through to the Aquatic Garden, the entire experience is one to be savored. We must go back. The boys hope to catch one of the daylily volunteers and become little apprentice daylily growers, and I want to lose myself for a bit in their herb garden. (The herb garden is larger than our apartment. I'm still shivering with anticipation over that place!)

I haven't hiked with the boys since, well, since there were only two of them and Smidge wasn't even a twinkle in Zorak's eye. They drink a lot more water now, and I hadn't expected the day to involve so much hiking! Yup, we ran out of water. At the far end of the Gardens. I'd been trying to navigate toward the spot marked on the map as having a water fountain, but that was like herding cantakerous cats toward a bath. Finally, we stopped and asked one of the volunteers if he could point the way. He not only pointed the way, he led us to it and when he discovered the water fountain had been turned off, he settled us under the pagoda at the Aquatic Garden and headed off to find some for us. A few moments later, a nice lady on a maintenance truck pulled up with three bottles of water for the little guys. Talk about a mission of mercy!

The cafe at the Gardens was closed when we headed back, so I proposed sushi for supper. Yay! We had just enough time for the boys to change into dry clothes before the restaurant opened. It was a great meal. Smidge took in two bowls of miso soup, and ate all the tofu. John thoroughly enjoyed the teriyaki, and they served the "invisible noodles", which are rice, so how cool was that? James endeared himself to the staff by ordering straight from the sushi bar - he ordered a few favorites and then got a little experimental by ordering a few new (and partially unidentifiable) items. Our waitress was a gem, an absolute gem. She brought the "trainer" chopsticks, kept the tea fresh and hot, doted on the boys, and kept us supplied with plenty of napkins. I love her! We were late for Pioneer Club, but it was a meal that couldn't be rushed if it was to be enjoyed properly.

The only meltdown we had happened about mid-meal, when Smidge, using his cat-like reflexes, snagged the mound of wasabi from James' plate with this chopsticks. The whole mound! James and I both responded rapidly and rather vociferously, which resulted in Smidge dropping the wasabi, then crying like we'd just told him we don't love him. The manager peeked in to see what was wrong. She got a good chuckle out of his curtailed adventure and brought him a piece of tempura. That cheered him considerably, and the rest of our meal was event-free.

Pioneer Club was fantastic, and then we had a couple hours to burn before Zorak's flight landed. Or so we thought. On our way to pick him up at ten, he called... from Atlanta. Flight delayed, put on another flight. Then it was delayed. Twice. Not going to leave Atlanta for another hour. Oops, ok, turned around and came home. It was another two hours before he left Atlanta, but he did finally make it into town in the wee early hours of this morning.

Amazing Realtor will be here in an hour and a half to do the paperwork over again, and then I have no idea what our game plan for today will be (I'd thought Zorak would be gone until this afternoon, so I'd planed one last library trip for today), but it should be good. I, however, had probably best get myself tidied up and start the day (everyone but John is still asleep, and even he doesn't look like he wants to be up).

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

I had forgotten I could be so tired.

Wow. Everything aches. I've fallen asleep twice today while reading to the boys. I don't realize I've fallen asleep, of course, until I say something truly goofy that has nothing to do with the story at all, and the boys giggle riotously, exclaiming, "What?!?" Huh? Uh. Oh. *yawn* Let's slice some apples and dance in the living room for a bit, shall we?

We swam today and had a generally nice time. I have no patience for hysterics, and so, God's giving me plenty of opportunity to develop that skill. Gee, thanks. Really, the boys do well, but there are just some lines they have decided they cannot cross. Their reasons have no grounding in reason at all, and no amount of logic will penetrate the Veil Of Hysteria. I do not do well with the Veil of Hysteria. *harumpf* This is one of those times I realize why God made children so cute - you can't really be angry with them for being children and doing or feeling the things children do or feel. At least, you can't when you hold them in your arms, look them in the eyes and say, "OK, I'm not pleased with your decision, but you, I love. Always. No matter what. I think you're a neat kid." And that gleam, that glimmer - now, that can penetrate the Veil of Hysteria. It can't get them to cross The Line, but it can penetrate the Veil and bring your children back to your arms. From there, it's a clean slate and a fresh approach!

Zorak is having a wonderful time visiting with the great people we knew in Maryland. The single guys invited him to join them at bowling league, but I think he ended up having a home cooked meal with another friend and his wife and children. While the single guys are truly fantastic people, I think the home life is just what Zorak needed. That's nice.

On the home front, our Amazing Realtor called today. She sounded... anxious. And for good reason. The sellers don't like the "quality of the signed fax" they received Friday. Ok, I don't mean to be snarky, but couldn't someone have mentioned that, oh, Friday? Or even perhaps Monday? It took them until this afternoon to decide it's not up to par? Come ON, people! So anyway, Amazing Realtor is on the ball and offers to swing by the house when Zorak gets off work so we can re-sign (evidently the problem occurred on the one they'd faxed here that was actually signed, so just resending that one wasn't an option). Oh. Of course. He's not here. *sigh* "Hey," I have a great idea! "If you want to drop it off, I'll sign it and when we pick him up, he can sign it and we'll drop it off in person!" Oh no, says Amazing Realtor - the place the paperwork goes to isn't in state. She's not sure where it is, but it has a 301 area code. That's when I started in with the 1980's-style mallrat, "NO WAAAY! It is NOT!" Why is that so painfully ironic? Ironic in the truest sense of the word? Because 301 is a Maryland area code. Zorak is less than an hour's drive from these people Right. Now. OH, THE HUMANITY! We might be able to sign it, and fax it to Zorak so he could sign and then drop it off before he leaves. Maybe not. I don't know. I don't know when we'll know. Our poor Amazing Realtor - she's also frustrated with all of this convolution. I told her that we really didn't mean to have "the difficult package". We thought it was so straight forward when we made our offer. She laughed and said it'll be ok. (I don't know which of us needed to hear that more, but I need to bake her something heavy and satisfying. She's been so incredible through all this.)

If the relatively lovely weather we're having holds out tomorrow, the boys and I are off on an excursion. We haven't had nearly as many of those this summer as little boys need. It should be good. And if it gets hot 'n sticky again, well, the Activity Bucket is still going strong!

Kiss those babies! I'm turning in "early" tonight.
~Dy

Family Fun, Overheard This Morning

The boys begged from six o'clock this morning to play with their craft things. I relented after breakfast, and they are all now happily ensconced in their room, boating, flying, and dancing with their creations.

I heard the usual unintelligible noises, then, "Hey, Uncle James..."

"Huh?" I wondered. What could that be?

They'd made pom-pom babies yesterday, and today each boy took his "nephew" (the other boys' pom-pom baby) to spend some time together.

Well, if that's not a heart-warmer, I don't know what is! Smidge doesn't have any children yet, but they call him "Uncle Smidge". (I'm sure he'd love to be called that when he's 40!)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy