A Little Meat On Your Bones

As a self-conscious teenager, I didn't think that phrase was such a dandy. Tonight, however, it saved the day!

The day started out well enough: we ate a wonderful breakfast, did our Latin on the swings, did our reading and Bible over Legos, and managed to get a few chores accomplished. Then, a little before lunchtime, I felt the vague, twinging pain of a migraine slithering up the back of my head. It was tempting to slide right into full denial mode, but then I did the math and realized I'd be incapacitated, on the bathroom floor, a full two hours before Zorak got home. OK, fine. I'll be a grown up about this and come up with a game plan.

I sucked down a few Aleve, informed the boys that Mommy was going to feed them and then go hide for a bit, and we're watching movies this afternoon (hurray! -- ow, whisper "hurray", okay?) I threw on some ramen, broke out the cheese sticks and sliced up some apples. Then moved the peanut butter down to the counter and loosened the lid, just in case they decided they were still hungry long after I ceased being capable of caring. That's when Zorak called to say he missed lunch today and could I please have something ready fairly early this evening? That is, normally, a completely reasonable request. Today, it made me want to cry. Then he said, "Just thaw some of those pork ribs and I'll grill 'em when I get home." OH. OK, thawing is a quiet activity. I can do that.

I had to lay down, though, before my head exploded, so I put off the thawing of the meat. Eventually, I was not quite recovered, but had the near-certainty that I'd somehow managed to, if not head it off completely, at least keep it at bay, so I got up and began poking around in the kitchen. My thought was that I could partially defrost the ribs in the microwave, throw some veggies together, do a quick and easy tidy on the kitchen, and still have supper ready fairly early.

But there weren't any pork ribs. I know. I looked. In the freezer. In the fridge. In the Suburban (just in case there'd been some horrible miscommunication - we've seen worse). No ribs. No meat, other than bacon and Italian sausages. I don't care for Italian sausages on my best days. Leaning over into the freezer, causing my brains to bulge from my eyes didn't make it sound any more appealing. The boys helped me empty the freezer, graciously ignoring my quiet, frantic whispering, "He said there were ribs in here. I can't see them. He said they were there. Where'd they go?" We emptied the entire thing and all we found was two used glo-sticks, half an otter pop (I don't want to know), a bag of berries I'd forgotten we have, and one small package labled, "Pork for Stew". Huh. Well, it's not Italian sausage, let's see what we can do with it. I opened the package to find... a soup bone. Pork for split pea soup, perhaps navy bean soup, but not stew. (Note to self: don't let whoever labled these things anywhere near the wrapping process ever again, although I suspect I may have been the culprit...)

Well, whaddya know, our oddities paid off: there was enough meat on the bone to make a meal for five! A few chopped potatoes, sliced onions, carrots, celery and a Tbsp. of bullion - brown the meat and onions, throw it all together into a roasting pan, cover and cook for a whopping 15 minutes at 300' (the bite-sized potato chunks make this possible - gotta love that). Ta-da! A delicious, quiet, fast, nutritious meal that saved the day by giving me time to lay down and still get supper going on time.

Too bad Part II: The Leftovers won't work out. There aren't any. It was a surprise hit with all the kids, as well as with Zorak. Sweet!

The moral of the story: It's good to keep a little meat on your bones!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Church and the Environment

What a great discussion!

Sarah has posted a wonderful entry on her musings about getting the church, as a corporate body, involved in a more active role of environmental stewardship. She's looking for ideas, so if you've any thoughts on the subject, please stop by and share them. (You must have an account to leave a comment w/ xanga, so if you don't have one, please feel free to leave your thoughts here. Forewarning, though, comments are moderated, and while I don't filter out dissenting voices, I do filter out sheer nastiness.)

I haven't pursued this line of thinking before now - it's a new twist on the idea, though, and so far some good discussion has spring up from it. One of the things I'd love to see (coming from me, not from Sarah, I'm not sure what her thoughts on it are) is how best to bring this issue to the table without making, or creating, a partisan political rally out of it. How best to take the individual into the corporate without creating a sticky wicket of ire from the left and the right. Or if it should be brought into the corporate realm, at all?

Anyhow, come and join in the discussion about Cristianity and environmentalism. The two aren't mututally exclusive - quite the opposite, in fact - so how can the church, as a body, pick up the ball and run with it?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Beautiful Mondays

I'm not making anything beautiful, like Laura, or anything useful, like Alaska. I'm sitting here, recuperating from math this morning. Maybe it was the nature walk we took before breakfast, hoodies and baskets at the ready, tapping into their creative side too early... Maybe it was the music playing on the stereo, distracting him from his work... Maybe it's just that he's eight, and this happens. Whatever it was, we determined it's a housekeeping thing, not a knowledge thing. So we broke out the graph paper, took a few deep breaths, and got it worked out. There are word problems still to do, but we both needed a break.

While he worked on his math, the other ones got their math, reading and writing done. They played with puzzles (in another room - I love having more than one room in which to live!) Then they went back outside to plunder the meadow seas with the trusty Pirate Dog, who refused to wear an eye patch, in spite of their most empassioned pleas.

Some days don't seem so hard, even when the hurdles come. We leap them, not always with gazelle-like grace, and sometimes we do land on our tushes, but we leap them nonetheless. I wish I could figure out what causes that and bottle it, or write it down, or have it tattooed on my arm. Something. Because there are other days lurking, where we won't be able to clear the front door threshold. I know this, so I'm going to savor today, which is a hurdle clearing day. :-)

We also found two different berry plants on our walk this morning. We suspect they're choke berry and muscodine, and after a little research to see if they're edible, perhaps we'll have something to make jams and syrups for this winter! (Or, maybe just dyes... we'll see.)

We'll have a late lunch and do our Latin, and then I think we're going to spend the afternoon working outside. It's too beautiful to spend the day indoors, and this is the time of year for preparing for the winter.

What do you enjoy about Mondays in the Fall?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Goobuhhboon

You know a child is exhausted when it takes nine tries to say, "Goodnight Moon". Smidge was so tired, he couldn't keep his eyes open, and once he finally managed to get the title out, he didn't have the energy to be as enthusiastic as he felt on the inside. But what an effort he put in! I can't believe he stayed awake for the whole story.

Well, James' birthday was celebrated thoroughly today, in full style. This is the first year we haven't had the BBQ and activity d'jour the day of the birthday, and it was a bit weird. But good. Sort of like having a three-day birthday, which probably isn't all that bad if you're the Birthday Boy. However, the friend he wanted to invite is in school this year, so we had to wait for a weekend to do it. It was worth the wait.

The big activity was, for the second year running (and for both boys...) bowling! If we're not careful, we're going to find ourselves wearing matching shirts and carrying little black bags. The boys love it because, well, I don't know why they love it, but they do. We love it because it's a great family activity. The Bigs can bowl and have fun. The Littles can lob the ball and giggle. Then we can all blow a good five minutes watching the ball the Little threw as it inches slowly, slowly toward the pins... By the time it hits something, the small ones have forgotten that it was their shot and they get all excited because "somebody" scored. It's a lot of fun, really. Plus, bowling alleys are not the dark and somewhat seedy places of 20 years back, which helps.

Then it was back to the house for a late supper and some playtime. We've been wanting to have another family from town over, and they were available today, so that worked out well. All told, there were 12 children, and they had a fantastic time. It was very loud. There was a LOT of movement - running, slipping, climbing, hopping... you name it. I think it was a little too loud for one Mom, but she's my Quiet Friend. She's very sweet and gentle and, well, quiet. And her children are relatively quiet, most of the time. It doesn't really matter how quiet your children are, if there are twelve children, it's going to get loud. She handled it graciously, however, and it was nice for Zorak to get to know her husband outside of the usual Sunday morning routine.

The other family is one we've known since March, and they're just delightful. They are loud, and funny, and comfortable to be around. We enjoy them very much. It was a good blend of children, and the adults got along famously, as well. Everyone stayed a bit later than they'd planned, as we got hit with one of those land-based squalls I remember so vividly from last year. Nobody wanted to get out on the road and have a window busted out by a wind-blown squid landing on it. I can appreciate that. Eventually, the rain let up and our company departed around ten-thirty.

It didn't take long to get everyone ready for bed; they were pretty exhausted and more than ready to curl up for some rest. Then it was quiet once again, at which point Zorak and I surveyed the damaged and figured we'd deal with it in the morning.

Eight feels so big, and he seems so big in so many ways. But then, I tell myself, time and again, that he will never again be as little as he is right now. In ten years, eight will feel Very Young, Indeed. So here's to another year to enjoy this child in all his humor and insight, his wisdom and folly, his growing and learning and exploring. This will be a great year for him, I know. And a great year for us, for having him in our lives. Good stuff, that.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Not like this!

So, in all my years of doing odd jobs, learning new skills, and taking on challenging tasks, there has never, ever, as long as I have lived, been any desire on my part to put together a bicycle. Ever. I don't care to know how the brakes adjust. If you really, absolutely must stop now and your brakes don't work because you don't know how to adjust them, run into something. I have scars that attest to the efficiency of this approach.

Even less appealing than maintaining or assembling my own bicycle is the thought of having to put one together for the children. I'm willing to take the responsibility for not giving them food poisoning when I prepare their food. I'm confident in my ability to follow road rules and not rack up moving violations that might endanger them when we get into the car. I am A-OK with being the one solely responsible for their education and general life-skills. But I just don't think it's a good idea for my skills and abilities to be the sole line of defense between them and full-body traction when they're riding their bikes down the steep and rutted driveway (usually, straight into the barn).

So, that said, why is there a partially assembled bicycle in the living room, taunting me?

Well, it started yesterday. James got a new bike for his birthday. We met Zorak in town and let James pick one out from the ones Zorak has narrowed to the A-list. All was warm and fuzzy - happy children, new helmets, new bike for the birthday boy... Everything changed the moment the young man assisting us with our purchase asked, "Do you want this assembled?"

Now, I realize he was probably the one helping us solely because he is the slowest sprinter they have (or the one least proficient at looking Terribly Busy, or just plain hiding from herds of families, as they roam about in search of "help"), but bless him, he stuck with us. He looked in the back for us (and as most of you know, The Back must be a terrifying place, based on most employees' reluctance to go there to look for anything for a customer - that he willingly forged into The Back and found our item meant a lot to me). At this point, I'm willing to cough up Zorak's hard-earned money to let this young man engage the one skill I know he possesses with which he can most definitely run circles around me. This is "a wise use of funds", in my opinion.

But Zorak beat me to it. "No, I'll assemble it," he says. "We just need the box, please."

"What? WHEN are you going to assemble it?"

"Tonight, while the boys are at Pioneer Club."

I stared at him with My Skeptical Look.

"After I run that one wire in the school room."

My Skeptical Look intensified.

"It'll be fine."

For the record, I am still wearing My Skeptical Look.

We arrived home to a fully wired school room, complete with functional switches, tons of working outlets, a visible dearth of outlet cords running here and there, and a bonafide light fixture in the ceiling. It's lovely. I'm writing by the light of that fixture right now. And that is my sole consolation, because as we walked in, Zorak popped open the bike box. That's right, pulled the staples out as we walked in. At nine o'clock at night.

I probably don't need to go into the gory details of the evening that followed. But by the time all the children were scrubbed, jammied, storied and snuggled, we were pretty well shot. Zorak gave it a good go. He really did. The manual is for a different model, so none of the pictures match. And the manual was written by an obstinate second grader, so the written directions make very little sense. And Zorak did have to be out the door this morning well before the neighbor's rooster came to our meadow to challenge Balto for a morning race.

But there's an anxious little boy and a partially assembled bicycle, and I am now faced with having to pick between two incompatible desires: not to ever, ever have to put together a bicycle, and making that little boy smile.

I guess it won't hurt to have another set of skills added to the list.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hee hee

It's 60' outside right now. The boys went outside to play, and promptly came back inside to find their hoodies.

I love this time of year!

Dy

Someday, the real grown ups will appear,

and take over the running of this home. When that happens, things will be very different around here: laundry will seldom have to be run twice through the washer; meals will begin to appear earlier in the evening rather than later; the lawnmower will be used frequently enough that one will not need the machete to get to it through the grass... where it was left the last time the grass was "mowed".

When Zorak is asked to fill in for lessons, all pertinent materials will be displayed obviously and accompanied by graphic, borderline compulsively detailed notes as to the process.

But most importantly, all birthdays preparations will be completed at least a week in advance.

Who knew the Juice Clock is a seasonal item? Seriously, clocks are a summer thing? Or, at least clocks that "will run on virtually any liquid". *sigh* And that is the only gift he asked for. He really needs more organized parents.

Tomorrow, we'll have a busy day, though, and I hope to make it a good one. We'll start with a birthday breakfast. After much prompting, he decided the menu should be: soft boiled eggs, toast with Granny's Cactus Jelly, bacon, and apple juice. Easy enough, although we will offer fried and scrambled eggs, as well. The other two would mutiny in a heartbeat if we tried to foist soft boiled eggs on them.

Then we'll shuffle off to the store for a bag of wheat-free cake mix and come back home to make and decorate a bajillion cupcakes. Transport cakes into town and store in hot car while we pick up bicycle. Yes, I know, logistics aren't my strong suit. To avoid the more obvious olfactory issues of this plan, we're making our own icing rather than buying the cheap beef fat icing. (The cheap beef fat icing was in order to avoid the more fiscally taxing aspect of the Very Expensive Icing plan. It's our plan-within-a-plan, um, plan.)

ANYway, lunch with Dad, new bike, supper at church, cupcakes with Pioneer Club and we are SO off the hook as far as this goes, as his actual "party" is Saturday, which buys me an additional 72 hours to make the Superman cake. We were going to go with the Big "S" emblem for the cake. It's easy, angular, and blue. We can do all three of those. Then tonight he said he'd really like the "whole body Superman"... I'm still trying to figure out how to make our basic Bob and Larry cake look like Superman. And fighting the urge to bribe him with another puppy. (It's okay, I know that's the desperation talking. Things will go more smoothly in the morning.)

Zorak has finished the new printer shelf, so maybe I can get it decoupaged tomorrow (*snort* *guffaw*) and then we can set everything up in a less hodge-podge fashion so we'll have our photo uploading capabilities back again. I'll post more photos when I can.

As always, kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh, FUN!

There are so many wonderful events in the area this time of year. Some are recurring, such as the County Fair. Some are unique opportunities, like the Egyptian exhibit at The Frist. Ohhh, how fun! I wanna go! Wanna come with us? It seems that there are Egyptian displays all over the place, but I think that's just the circles we run in. Everybody but us has made it to one at some point in the past two years. This is, though, truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I hope we can make it.

We'd also like to make it up to Nashville for the Harvest Days. There's something almost every weekend from now until Christmas. The hard part will be choosing what not to attend.

James' birthday is approaching, also. Way too rapidly, really. He's growing up - they all do that, but somehow, the first one seems to hit me the hardest. The two front teeth that have been dangling lopsided, a'la Nanny McPhee, are still hanging in there. But not for long. When they're gone, and those big adult teeth come in... *sniff, sniff* Where did Baby go? When did this happen? How can he be eight when he was just five... two, even? Of course, he's ready and rearin' to go. He's enjoying this journey. He's challenging himself, and finding the things he's proud of and the things he'd like to work on. If he simply must grow up, at least he's doing it well.

We watched "Elf" this afternoon, and laughed until we cried. I can't watch the chewing gum scene, though. That just grosses me out too badly. I've got the shivvers just thinking about it.

School is moving right along. The kids are learning new things, reviewing old things, building on the two. Today wasn't an "a-ha" day, but it wasn't a freaky circus of climbing and hooting and hollering day, either. Considering we had to be at an appointment by ten, which I discovered when I called at nine to confirm that it was at one (not enough zeroes made it to the calendar - oops!), it was a pretty low-stress day. Claudia called for a bit this afternoon and got to hear Smidge marching around the living room, chanting "Amas, amat, mamus" (yep, drops the a on that last one). I think the rejuvenated Latin studies with the older two may be helping quite a bit with his speech and vocabulary skills. We don't require anything of him in Latin, obviously, but he picks up the chants and songs so easily that he's capable of reciting it quite well. A friend had mentioned hearing someone speak at a homeschooling convention many years ago, and the speaker said she never really schooled her youngest child. At the time, said friend panicked inside and thought, "Oh my word!" But now, her third child is a junior and she looks at me and winks as she says, "It'll all turn out okay. Trust me."

There's a ton to post, but it's my turn at the dentist tomorrow bright and early, so I'd best sign off and get some rest.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Sundays

Sundays don't start out too terribly hectic for us, anymore. Or, to be more accurate, they are horribly hectic, but we've learned to ignore it. Many experts wax eloquent on the keys to a non-stressful Sabbath morning. They do have some excellent recommendations:
* Lay out your clothes the night before.
* Set the table and have all breakfast ingredients gathered and prepped before you go to bed.
* Restock your bag (diapers, wipes, snacks, band-aids, whatever) and set the bag, with your books and keys, by the front door.
* Get to bed early.

We've tried these things, but they haven't ever quite taken in our household. I don't know if it's a lack of concerted effort, or if we subconsciously miss the thrill of experiencing the Home Version of The Amazing Race every Sunday morning.

From a note taped to the mirror in the bathroom: "Old Mother Hubbard went here." Um, kitchen! Kitchen! Everyone to the cupboard in the kitchen! Maybe there's food in there!
*we all scramble like mad to the kitchen cupboard, where we ingest food and look for the next clue*
Instead of being eliminated for coming in dead last, you just get to be the one to carry all the miscellany everyone else has forgotten in their haste. (Ask me how I know.)

So we've modified some of the tried-and-true guidelines, in order to breathe peace and tranquility into our Sunday mornings.

* If it's missing a button, either tuck it in to hide it, or find something that doesn't require buttons. You'll be fine, let's go.
* Yes, we're going to be late if you take the time to chew the toast, that's okay. Either chew now and stop talking, or get in the car and you can chew on the way.
* They have diapers in the nursery, don't they? (Similar to the coffee donation at work, we've stocked the church nursery with diapers and wipes, just to be sure.)
* Define "early"...

We'll never be the ones waiting on the landing for someone with the keys to come let us in. We know this, and we're okay with it. The boys have learned that if it's their turn to carry something, say something, or have any kind of role in the opening portion of Sunday School, they need to let me know so that I know just how fast I'll need to drive. Coffee is always a must have for the Bigs, and Protein is always a must have for the Littles. If any portion of that requirement is missed, it will get ugly. As long as the small ones have had some good fats in their diet, and you've had your coffee, there will be no meltdowns.

We do still arrive late more often than not, but we get there without hurt feelings, yelling, or ugliness in our hearts now. And that frees us up to focus on learning, sharing, growing, and striving. We get better as we go, and the goal is to get there a little less late each week. Someday, we'll get there in time for the kids to go to their rooms with their classes. But in the meantime, while we work on improving our timing, our hearts are in the place that counts, and we're good with that.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Serendipity!

Today was just glorious - a lovely breeze, tons of progress on the wiring and the house, a new bookshelf, and a number of other delightful things crossed our paths today. Some of it was our reading this week:

Outrageous Women of Ancient Times - our library has it! I've looked for this book for two years, so imagine Zorak's joy in learning that we won't have to buy it, after all. We're enjoying it this week. The boys went nuts as we read about Semiramis, an Assyrian queen, when the text mentioned that she was actually from a country south of Mesopotamia and had married into Assyrian royalty when she wed Shamshi-Adad. HEY, we know HIM! Oh, wow, how cool! And so it went, the boys pretty much took the ball and ran with it and I sat there thinking, "Oh cool. They do listen."

The Imperial Shah, An Informal Biography - One of the most striking books I've ever read is Shah of Shahs, so it's interesting to read this book, written from a completely different perspective and historical context, of the Shah of Iran.

I've got JCO in the queue, this time with Bellefleur. This will be my third attempt at reading Oates. So far, I haven't enjoyed any of it, but after reading a friend's latest discovery of this author, I'm willing to give it one more go.

Another great bit that came across the desk today is the 100-mile diet, courtesy of Drew. Right on the heels of yesterday's food import discussion, this was timely. There are still some specialty foods we cannot get locally, although once the kitchen is finished we could theoretically start grinding and making much of our own. However, the 100-mile diet site is great, full of tips for getting started eating locally, humor, ideas, and miscellaneous stuff. Check it out and get to know the farmers near you.

And one of our goals for next year is canning, so when I found a link for getting started, it was like finding my very own mentor. Sort of. It's a good thing we have all winter to bone up!

Not everything gets done each and every day, but that's okay. I know that we aren't guaranteed a tomorrow, but if we live each of our days as intentionally as possible, the things that do not get done until tomorrow won't be missed if tomorrow doesn't come. I can study canning this winter, but today I read with James. I can shampoo the couch tomorrow, but this afternoon I wrestled with John and did the airplane thing. (Hopefully, my legs will recover by tomorrow!) I can finish lessons plans for next week tomorow, but this morning I snuggled with Smidge and Miss Em and made up silly stories to make them laugh. And now, although it's nearly tomorrow, I do believe I'm going to go inquire of my beloved husband and see if he'll let me sample whatever decadent-smelling concoction he's frying up in the kitchen! What a great ending to a delightful day.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Around the Globe

We've found a little market that sells rice pastas in forms DeBoles and Tinkyada have never dreamed of making. It's the East Asia Market in Huntsville, and their selection is mind-numbing. But it feels wrong to be buying rice imported from China when so many of their own people cannot get enough to eat, and we have rice growing all over Arkansas. There's a disconnect in the process, and it doesn't feel good. I'm not sure yet how this plays out (though after doing some digging, I have my suspicions) - are we helping an export industry that is, somehow, improving the quality of life for those in the fields, or are we gnoshing on flat noodles and rice sticks that have been lovingly harvested by a child who will not see a full bowl of the stuff for her day's labor? There is little to no information that I've been able to find on the companies, but I plan to keep looking before we shop there again.

Oh, I heard something disturbing on the radio today: someone hypothesizing that McCain may be hoping the Republicans will lose seats in Congress, with the possibility arising from that move that the Republican Party will interpret it as a cry from the People (sadly, yes, with a capital P) that it's time to come more to the left, giving him an actual shot at the White House. This scares me for many reasons, not the least of which is that it's a possibility. But if the GOP does interpret a loss in that manner, that's just piss-poor data interpretation. If Republicans lose their seats, it'll have more to do with the fact that it's getting more and more difficult to tell a difference between the two lately - they all seem to want to control more of our industries, our philosophies, and our lives, down to our our children and our diets -- and take more of our money to fund the takeover. The other concern is that "President McCain" is about as appealing a thought to me as reviving Lenin for round two.

Then, KathyJo posted a bit and linked to this lovely blurb on the UN Charter - they're going after our children! Joy. I've left politics alone on the blog, but I'm going to have to hash this one out. First, I must go on the record as saying, "Yeah, what she said," regarding KathyJo's comments. Our children will be raised with the values and ideals that We (the Royal we, Zorak and I) hold dear. Not Kofi Annan's values and ideals. Not those of the Chinese government, the Sudanese government, or even the United States government. We have a hard enough time keeping the Federal government out of our homes, let alone having to deal with International Oversight and ideals-compliance. No, thank you.

Hornblower posted her thoughts on the issue, from the perspective of one who holds the UN near and dear. She and I probably have not once agreed on anything political, but we've never had a problem discussing it, and I love that. I love hearing her side of things, and her compassion for those in third-world countries who are suffering horribly comes through beautifully in her post. And that, wonderfully enough, is one area in which we do agree: nobody ought to suffer the atrocities that some countries have heaped upon their people. Where we differ is in how best to help.

We aren't talking about People Who Care vs. People Who Don't Care, although, sadly, that's how the flow charts are often drawn up. Putting the United States under the jurisdiction of the UN is not going to do the trick for third-world countries. There are already issues concerning real, actual, tangible situations wherein the US has been/is being pressured to alter its own domestic policy and law of the land to conform to the values and laws of other UN-affiliated nations with which we do not agree. For the US to sign this charter, we would further subjugate ourselves to a coalition that has little respect for the values that we DO hold dear. It's not so much about the children, in this case, as it is about the precedent set. Precedents can be dangerous things. Also, she noted that "it's not about US", and goes on to list the places it is about. But then, I must ask, if it's not about us, then why must we agree to abide by it? If it's not something we need looked into by the UN, why the insistence that we agree to let the UN come look into US, OUR homes, OUR children? If it's about them, then go ask them if the UN can come have a look-see.

However, what I'd like to know is why the UN? Why can't this humanitarian work be accomplished without asking us to put ourselves under a planetary tribunal, complete with oversight? Grass Roots movements (true grassroots - from the people, up, not from the Bureaucracy, down) have traditionally had the strongest, most long-lasting impact. These issues would best be addressed by volunteer organizations and philanthropic groups, bolstered by the invitation and support of the people within the countries, themselves.

One of the biggest obstacles to so-called good Federal government that we see so often in the United States is that of a disparity of understanding. People in Lower Manhattan have no idea what would work for the neighborhoods in Chula Vista, CA, and vice versa. There's too much incongruity in the cultures, values, ideals, and communities for governing and regulation of one over the other to be effectual. This is why government on the smallest possible level is the most efficient, expedient, and least intrusive means. Now, that is within one country, an industrialized country, a relatively well-blended country. Imagine the diametrical perspective of Canada, the US, or India in trying to tell the countries in Africa, Western Europe, or Asia just how things ought to be done. It would result in frustration and offense, no matter what. Now, add a subjugation of authority to these groups over each other and you have a recipe for trouble, for political bullying, for corruption, and squandering of resources. (All of which we have seen come to fruition in the UN, by the way.) No, these changes need to be made from within - with the support and encouragement of those countries which have the resources to do so, but not by putting those resourced countries under the Jurisdiciton of an International Tribunal, subject to Charters which would trump our own Constitution. No.

This isn't a boogey man we're concerned about. This isn't shadows on the wall from the moonlight outside. This is a deeper and much more broad-based issue, with regard primarily to sovereignty and accountability. We are United States Citizens, not subjects of the world, nor Members of the UN. America has always been a generous country, a country filled with citizens who are willing to offer aid at the drop of a hat, willing and ready to teach, guide, and build. All one needs to do is ask. But to ask us to give up those things that make us uniquely and beautifully American is asking the wrong thing from the wrong people.

As always, kiss those babies!
~Dy

Early Morning Ramblings

I should be in bed. But what's a little sleep deprivation, anyway? I've had four children in seven years; just when I get to sleep like a normal person, I'm pregnant again and it starts all over. (No, I'm not pregnant - somebody is, though!)

So, today I had to go to court. They showed no mercy, but they'll let me make payments. Gah, how embarrassing. Our tags expired, and our renewal notice didn't make it under the forwarded mail umbrella, so we had no clue until the nice, albeit somewhat enthusiastic, Hartselle policeman pulled me over one night to let me know. *sigh* Too many irons, not enough fires. Oh well, all is up to date and I'm no longer on the lam. Yay.

We do have too many irons in the fire, even now. I'm so glad for fall and winter. Those are my happy seasons, where I naturally turn toward our home and kitchen. Things slow down again. Not that they've been busy over the summer, but I'm in a better frame of mind when my upper arms don't stick to my sides. Better able to lead the life we want to live, to set the pace we prefer to walk. It's good stuff. Plus, the boys get up with the sun, so winter will buy me a few minutes of quiet solitude in the mornings. That's always handy.

I got to meet one of our neighbors from up the road today. The Suburban died on me when I stopped at the market after my appt., so I wandered back into the store to see if anyone could give me a jump. I love living in a town where the cashier can eyeball the store, shout, "Mr. E----!" and you hear, "Yes, ma'am?" come from somewhere beyond the bread. "Meere," she shouted, and from the end of the aisle came a very sweet gentleman who agreed to help me out. Turned out it wasn't the battery, which did take a charge, but the thing still wouldn't start, so he offered to give me a ride home. As we neared the drive, he said, "Ohhhh, you bought the Cook's old place!" Yep. He filled me in on the family histories and those neat little bits you don't usually get to know about your home from before it was yours. Then we pulled up the drive and he said, a bit wistfully, "Oh, this place used to be so pretty. Miss Cook sure did keep it looking nice." Um... yeah. *hanging head in shame* Landscaping hasn't exactly been at the top of our list, just yet. We'll have to invite him and his wife over... after we've bought a tractor.

Ohhhh, we tried a new recipe this week. "Instant Sizzling Rice", served in miso soup. Sounds delicious, doesn't it? Yeah, titles can be deceiving. It was a total flop. We tried scooping the rice out of the soup, since we love miso soup, but it had infused the soup with a nasty smell, so we had to scrap it all and just eat crackers and cheese for lunch. We couldn't even stand to leave the trash can in the kitchen when we dumped it out. Blech.

But today, we made up for it. For breakfast, we made one of those beautiful Better Living-style meals: homemade cherry muffins (sprinkled with red sugar crystals, even!), served in a lovely woven basket; scrambled eggs with green chile and cheese; bacon; yogurt with granola; and your choice of coffee (duh), almond milk, or peach juice to drink. Doesn't that just scream "Bed and Breakfast"? It felt wonderful, and we spent a good hour literally luxuriating over our meal. I need to work on my timing a bit (the eggs had to wait in the oven while the first batch of bacon burnt and the second batch fried up), but that may become a standard Company Breakfast. It's easy, offers a little something for everyone, and looks WAY more elegant than the effort required to prepare it.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Rainy Day

Yes, we set the books on the balcony to dry out, and it rained. What can you do besides laugh? Well, and bring the even-more-damp books back into the house?

Monday night was rough. Balto was a bit freaked out and spent the night warning us that there was something on the property. It wasn't anything, but his bark had the very definite tone of a "HEY, you don't belong here" bark, and so we kept checking it out. Until around three thirty, when we just stopped caring if someone was out there. Really, if someone wants whatever's in the barn, and wants it badly enough to come at three thirty in the morning, he can have it.

But today, the rain brought cooler temperatures, gentle breezes. It was a good day. It was a warm breakfast and good story day. A day for playing on the floor with the children, lying prone to do my studies while Smidge sat atop my back and "fished" into the sea of carpet. It was a day for studies and cake for lunch and made up jokes. I love these days.

Autumn is coming! Autumn is coming! Autumn is coming! I know we need a season of light and heat and growth. I appreciate that. But I'm of the opinion that summer just takes itself way too seriously when it gets soooo hot and sooo sticky. Really, now, is any temperature over 100' necessary? 90, even? No. And so, we have made it through another summer and now we veer into the beautiful, beautiful fall months. Mmmm, yes.

And I fell asleep before posting this last night, so I'm just going to leave it as is and post this morning. But boy, did a good night's sleep do wonders for this dragging mama!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Ugh, what a day

We started Latin for Children today. The boys like the program. James loves the activity book. John likes the cadence and chants. We all like the video, EXCEPT that the video for Primer A seems to use exclusively Classical Pronunciation. We've been using Prima Latina and LC1, so we are accustomed to hearing principio pronounced as "prin-SHE-pee-OH", and silva as "SILL-va", it took a few double takes to adjust to hearing "prin-KEE-pee-OH", "SILL-wa". "WEAR-bum" rather than "VAIR-boom", as well - just sounded odd.

Anyhow, I don't think I can pull it off. I have no logical stratagem for it. I will not appeal to any sense of reason whatsoever. All I can say is:

Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam...

Can't do it. For purely cultural reasons, we're going to have to stick with Ecclesiastical Latin. But I've heard that the videos for Primer B begin to include both pronunciations, and other than that little gripe, the program itself looks simply fantastic.

Other than the new Latin program, I've got nothin' tonight.

Today we did:

1 trip to the dentist
2 hours of lessons
3 loads of dishes
4 rounds of "please don't sit on the baby"
5 games of "Don't Eat Pete"
6 hours of nursing (or so it seemed, could be off by an hour or two)
7 ... mmm, I don't know, but we must've done something seven times...
8 pages of lesson plans for the following weeks
9 loads of laundry washed, dried and put away. (Another load still in the dryer and yet another sitting in the wash.)

and I'm out of Hours In A Day. Pretty sure we borrowed some from tomorrow, too.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

PS - Bonus points if you know the quote. And extra bonus points if you know without me having to explain it that I'm not insinuating that anyone ought to use Ecclesiastical pronunciation, nor am I disparaging Classical pronunciation as a viable option for others. It just wouldn't work for us, and at least I'm willing to admit it's a cultural bias, however pathetic that culture may be. ;-)

This time, it's personal

There's mold, and this time, it's taken things a bit too far. It can no longer infest our mildew-resistant walls. It cannot fight the power of climate controlled air and tight plumbing. It cannot stand up to gutter control.

So it went after my books.

It must die. Oh, yes.

I won't complain if I have to redo a house or something, but you don't mess with da books! Grrrr.

From what we can gather, the seemingly dry basement walls were just damp enough to wick moisture into the boxes that touched the wall. Cardboard then goes from being "handy storage" to "mold feeding water capacitor" and Voila! There goes an entire weekend hauling all the books up out of the basement for a little fresh air and your standard pre-incarceration delousing. Damn, that makes me mad.

Work progressed on the school room, between creepy loads up from the basement. More plans for major renovation - this time involving new roof trusses and a vaulted ceiling. The hurrier we go, the behinder we get. (Was that Winnie the Pooh?) Anyhow, I believe now that keeping our eyes on future projects prevents us from becoming mired in the despair that is the current project. Eh. Okay. Everyone has their drug of choice. Denial is ours, and we'll take it straight up, thanks.

Thanks for the birthday wishes for Smidge. He had a fantastic birthday. I'll post pictures when we get the thing with the card thing hooked back up. (My IT brain is gone for the day, so that's the best I've got.)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Keep Them Guessing

Tonight, we held the kickoff supper for the women's ministries. It was a nice evening in which four women spoke on seasons of life. That's a language we use often in homeschooling and general childrearing circles, and it's a beautiful way to describe the phases of chaos in which one lives. They divided the speakers into four seasons - for brevity as well as not having to make up new seasons, since we only decorations for the basic four, into "Youth", "Young Mother", "Empty Nester", and my personal favorite, "Perfectly Seasoned".

One way to capture your audience immediately is to begin your speech with, "Although I love my husband, and he is a wonderful man...*" Yup, that'll quiet a room pretty quickly. I did mean to say that, but I hadn't thought out the effect such an opening would have on those assembled until I looked up to see the Deer-In-The-Headlights reflections on three dozen stunned faces. Well, now the cat's out of the bag, I guess. We'll see on Sunday how well my words were received, eh?

I think two of the other women who spoke did so quite eloquently, expressing not only the challenges they face in their particular seasons, but how we (those of us in other seasons of life) can best support and encourage them. That was good. When you are a mother of small children, your field of vision is restricted to the five feet and under area, and anything that moves erratically. We don't mean to be anti-supportive or lack encouragement for others. Really, we don't. It's just that if we take our eyes off the target for a few moments, said target will sense an opening and get into something potentially dangerous, messy, or embarrassing. It was nice to hear, specifically, what will help others.

My little targets had a great day. Our Revised Attitude Toward Working Together went well today. We accomplished much. We were late for everything (we're only working on the attitudes, not the actual execution). We had a fantastic time. When I announced that we had, in fact, left the house without any yelling, we all erupted in a big Hurrah!

I've been good about doing my Latin (three days in a row now, woohoo). The math, not so much, but that's okay. Pretty soon the boys will be caught up and we can all hire a tutor for a group rate. The boys asked to do their lessons "the new way", so we did. We did not get a cake baked or a birthday present purchased, but that's okay. Smidge did tell us something funny today, at breakfast, though.

"OK, guys. I have a plan." It was so clear that all three of us turned to look at him. Yeah, what's your plan? "Tomorrow, *pause* when it's my birthday, *another pause* I'll turn three."

That's it. That's the plan. I like the way he thinks. So, that's the plan for tomorrow.

Zorak is home, now. He came bearing green chiles. Twenty-five pounds of green chiles. I think I'll forgive him for calling me from various restaurants in Las Cruces to tell me what he ordered and how good it was. For the next month, we will be adorning everything with green chile: eggs, sausage, steaks, stew, corn flakes, you name it.

(*) The end of that precarious opening line is, "I don't deserve him. But I have been given this marriage and this home and this family, and that's quite humbling. That is Grace in action, and that is my testimony." (Didn't want to leave anybody worried, you know.)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Laughing Lessons

We haven't been laughing much lately. We've wanted to, but we've allowed other things to get in the way. Some of it needs to be addressed: obedience, respect, kindness, honesty. Some of it doesn't need the attention it's been getting, but rather just needs the gentle consistency that I completely lack. (I'm consistent, but far from gentle - that whole meek, quiet, gentle thing somehow got caught in the genetic filter of my parentage. Science has yet to come up with anything to remedy that, shy of a partial lobotomy. So, I'll keep working on it, but let's not push it.) And some of it is that we forget why we're doing what we're doing.

Today, I learned more than was jotted down in my planner. I hope to hold on to these lessons and use them before they slip away and I'm left wondering if I actually thought it, or just dreamed it, or if I'm plagarizing someone and going to lose my shirt over it.

Lesson I: Signs of encouragement:
* High-fives are a great way to say, "Good Job!"

* But a hug is even better for fostering smiles.

* Doing both will never hurt you, nor sap your day of precious time. Instead, the time spent : benefits received ratio is pretty darned high. It is guaranteed to benefit at least one, if not both parties involved.

* Encouragement is contagious, and the best way to spread it around is to just start in with it.

* If what you're doing isn't working, it's not necessarily the child.

* It's not necessarily you.

* It could actually be what you're doing.

Lesson II: Signs your child is bored and that it wouldn't hurt to change things around a bit:
* He's doing his math problems upside-down AND backward, and still getting the right answers.
* He's writing his answers in made up languages that only he can translate.
* With his non-dominant hand.
* In cursive.

Lesson III: Reminders that This Is Why We Homeschool:
* Wonderful friends who point out that you don't have to do every page, you know. If they don't get, try a new approach. But if they've got it, move on. (Residual Saxon guilt, I suppose. Thank you, LB!)
* Mastery vs. grades. I'm not assigning a grade until it's an "A". This does not mean they're going to coast and get straight "A" grades just because. It means the content they cover, they will know, and they will know it well. That is delightfully freeing.
* There is nothing wrong with asking a child how it's going, and then giving credence to what he/she has to say. Rather, that's the point, isn't it? How can we know if we don't ask, and how will they learn to articulate if we don't offer them the opportunity to do it in a safe and nourishing environment?

So today, there were Lessons for Mom tucked in among the worksheets and chants and stories. It was a good day for me, and tonight, for the first time in a long time, we gigled and laughed. We made sound effects and jokes and silliness. There were smiles and giggles and snorty guffaws. We needed that. We all did.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Some things we take for granted

And I'm not talking about things like indoor plumbing and diaper rash cream. Those, we've learned to appreciate. Every waking hour. It's the little things, such as items we run out of so seldom that we forget that it takes a modicum of effort on our part to keep things running smoothly.

Coffee filters, for instance. You buy 10,000 and forget about it for six months. Then one morning you stumble into the kitchen to find your spouse surreptitiously stuffing coffee grounds into one of your knee-hi stockings.

Dish Detergent is another thing. I do not take our three-legged dishwasher for granted. It may hobble about, but I know what awaits me if that thing dies, and so I treat it very, very well. But the detergent? Not something I really notice until I run out and don't have an outing on the schedule for two days. MAN, we do a lot of dishes! And no, I'm not washing them by hand. I could, yes, but that might anger the Dishwasher Spirit into leaving it's ugly little shrine under the counter, and then I would cry.

Naps. No, I don't take those for granted. They rate up there with chocolate, foot rubs, and the bliss that is waking before my children. So, no, naps don't go on the taken for granted list. But they are nice, and therefore, worthy of mention whenever possible.

The presence of another adult in the house, though, now that one, I take for granted. Except, you know, when there isn't another adult in the house. And I'm "it". I don't have enough apendages to be "it"! Somehow, I managed to feed and dress the children (cake and whatever was clean, it's all good), tidy the house a bit (restacking the dirty dishes multiple times), triple check the shopping list to make absolutely certain we had dish detergent on the list (it was, twice, even), and scootch out the door in time to run almost half the errands we needed to get done yesterday. Of course, none of that is new. Zorak's usually gone by the time we are up and in need of sustenance, anyway. But at the end of the day, he's usually there to pat me on the head like you would a good coon dog, and mutter promises that tomorrow will go more smoothly.

Which brings me to: Getting Out the Door. HUGE thing I used to take for granted, once upon a time. It takes longer to get out the door these days. Thankfully, the days of grabbing my keys and wallet as I head for the door a mere five minutes after I've decided to go somewhere have faded into the mist of memory - right along with the intensity of childbirth, the deep pang of dry heaves on tequila, and grocery shopping trips with just a quaint little bag for all my supplies. I have to think really hard to remember that there was such a time, and even then, I'm so steeped in today that I cannot call up the sensation, or even a good visual anymore. It's probably a good thing, because the comparision might make me cry (harder than losing the dishwasher).

It seems we spend more time preparing to go somewhere than we do actually going anywhere. There's the inevitable missing shoe (are those things allergic to each other, that they cannot stay in the closet together?), the ever-important whatchamacallit that we need new batteries for (and somehow, we need to find and take with us in order to remember this?), the one-armed loading process (because Miss Emily evidently thinks I need a handicap for this event), the dog (who will not get in the car when he needs to, but keeps trying to get in any other time), the blank stare in response to my complicated demands (climb in, buckle up, let's go!), and the always fun hunt for the carseat carrier after those occasions we'd naively carried a sleeping Miss Emily, carrier and all, into the house, thinking she'd stay asleep. If our pastor's wife hadn't said the same thing last night, I'd probably be worried about this.

But some things I don't take for granted: the comfort of a head count five miles down the road (at least, when it comes back that all are present or at least accounted for); a chance to swing a child up and around as I lift him out of the car, just to hear his squeals and giggles; warm, chubby hands in mine as we walk along; the excitement of new batteries (although why nobody recommended we buy stock in Duracell before we had children, I will never understand); hearing "HOME! YAY!" as we pull back into the drive after a Very Long Day. And those things, among many others, make it all worth it.

So I'm learning not to take so much for granted these days.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Stuff

Learning never stops, does it? On my fourth child now, and I still forget things and learn new things. When we were at Dinosaur Adventure Land, they did some electricity demonstrations for the kids. The tour guide was great and kept the whole thing very hands on. Miss Emily sat happily, or at least patiently, in her sling, and I was completely tuned into the boys and their adventure. The guide turned off the lights, advised us to keep our eyes on the overhead fluorescents, turned on the Tesla coil, and

"HOLY MOTHER OF-- WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? WE'RE GOING TO DIE! If I could walk, I'd run! Why aren't YOU running woman? Go!Go!Go! I'm going to die! HELLLLLPPPPP! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Ohhh, yeah. I didn't stop to think what a shock that display would be to someone who, (a) couldn't understand a word that was said, (b) had no idea what was going on, when suddenly there's a leaping blue flame setting the ceiling aglow in the dark, joined by a loud crackling, surging, faintly terrifying sound... and the mass intake of breath from all the little observers. Right. Freaking. There. In front of me. Once it was turned off, she quit screaming instantly, but she was pretty torqued for about an hour after that. So, I was quite appreciative when the guide took the boys so they could enjoy the rest of the demonstration while Miss Emily and I watched from the relative safety of the outdoors.

Today was a great day, as mail goes. The boys new Copybooks and my Henle arrived. Part of the boys' Latin for Children arrived. I've been eyeballing the Henle all day, and wondering if I could bribe Steph Not in Texas to hold my hand for just a few more steps. It only took me two years to order it - so I figure I should get through lesson 1 in three or four months, right?

I find it ironic that I am now, in my mid-ish 30's, taking up Latin. It was offered at one of my high schools, but we were required to take a foreign language in 9th grade, which was still at the jr. high - and Latin was not offered at the jr. high. Graduation requirements stated that the two years of foreign language had to be two years in the same language, and we had to take a foreign language our Freshman year. Sooo... guess who refused to take Latin? Because that extra year of high school Spanish has served me so well, right? This is why we are not living on our own at the ripe old age of 14. We're idiots, and what's worse, we're myopic idiots. I'm not saying I'd have taken Latin if someone had explained the virtue and importance of pursuing Latin studies. But it'd be nice to know. More importantly, it's important to have our eyes on the years after that seemingly all-important ceremony. Learning doesn't end there. God willing, learning won't end at all, as long as we've breath to take. But it's the rare child who gets that at 14. I learned more Spanish working in various industries over the years after I graduated than I did in those two long years in high school. I've learned more math along the way, as well as slowly and painfully working on that slightly myopic view of the future. I'm also learning to be a better mother with every day. Thankfully.

Off to figure out which end is up!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Photos!

I spent the last part of this evening uploading photos, which has left me sans mental reserves to think up something creative. Or even mildly interesting. So, while these aren't Home Renovation Photos, they are Photos. I hope that counts. :-)

This is what the bigger two boys looked like during most of our time in Florida:


I'm not sure what was being said, but it doesn't look like she thought it was as funny as he did...


Once you can sit up on your own, the world is yours to enjoy!


John wasn't so sure about the zip line...


Neither was James...


But they went for it!


Kiss those babies!
~Dy

We've been busy!

The bathroom door is now painted with two non-dripping coats of mildew resistant paint, in a lovely shade of... well, white. But it is a nice white. And it's shiny and easy to clean, too. It's the little things.

Next week's lesson plans are done. Now to put everything together. I panicked when I realized how many hands-on projects I'd penciled in. What was I thinking? It's going to be a long week, but if we can pull it off, just think how interactive and delightful it will be for the children! I can always brew the coffee double strength and jack up the creamer level.

The second closet in the nursery has shelves. They look nice, so clean and level. By tomorrow, hopefully, they'll be buried beneath all the cr-- er, supplies, we have in the school room.

And, judging by the look on James' face when I mentioned today that soon this house will look like a normal house, like his friends' homes do, it is clear to me that he still does not believe us, but has chosen silence as his particular mode of survival. Well, the voice may be quiet, but those eyebrows can say a lot! It'll be so nice when we can give that child a normal life. He really deserves it. He's been a trooper.

Promotion Sunday went well - John loves being in the 1st & 2nd grade class. He's feeling pretty big, now. James is happily snugged in among his favorite girls in the 3rd & 4th grade class, and they're assigning daily reading and study for the kids, which has him tickled three shades of pink.

Smidge didn't change classes for the fall. He'll remain as one of the "older kids", and that suited him just fine. He took off into his class without a second glance at us. It's his class now, and his room, and his teacher. And I'm glad. It was worth it to wait until they each were ready to go. We aren't big on saying, "This is how you raise children." There's a huge swath of acceptable options, and it's nobody's job to raise your children but you (or our children, us). But I have no trouble saying, without hesitation, "This is something we're glad we've done." There were no tears, no "adjustment periods". We feel that little guys shouldn't have to "adjust" to us not being there if they just honestly don't have to, and things like Sunday School or nursery are among the non-necessities. They aren't Have To's. The little ones will go when they're ready, and if they know we're there, it's easier for them to get ready.

I'm glad we've not buckled under the pressures, subtle and not-so-much-so, to let the children cry it out in the nursery. It wouldn't have been worth it, and it wouldn't have brought any of them closer to this point any more quickly. The path would have been strewn with tears, instead of warm memories. So, one more round of the, "yes I know you have a nursery, but I'll keep her with me" litany, and then we're done.

The day will come, all too soon, when Miss Emily bolts for the classroom door and flings her arms around Mrs. B in a joyful, gee-I've-missed-you embrace. It will be wonderful, when the time comes. But I'm in no hurry, for then my arms and my lap will be empty. There will be no more little heads to nestle my nose into while I listen to the study. There will be no spontaneous hugs, or quiet, conspiratorial nose rubs. No secreted and shared mints, no wild toddler doodles on my study notes at the end of my Sunday mornings. It will be quiet, and still. Very still. Which is good, in its own way, but why rush it? It will come soon enough, no?

Kiss those babies. They just don't stay babies for long.
~Dy

Overheard and Remodel Stuff

"Look, Mom," James calls to me from beside Emily, who was perched on a pillow, "A plate of laughter with a side of smiles!"

Smidge, after story time tonight: "I want to be three."

John, explaining how he knew we were having pizza for supper: "I figured it out because I'm smart... and *giggle* I peeked."

**********************************************************************

We've kicked ourselves back into gear on the house. We have simply got to get this finished. So, today we:

* Laid out the shelving plan for the second closet in the nursery.
* Hung a door in the guest room. (See, if you come stay with us for one month, you get walls. If you stay for two, you get a door! Poor Ward.)
* Painted the bathroom door.
* Laid out the plans to frame out the new bath and storage closet in the basement.
* Cleaned, cleaned, cleaned.

We're in full live-in sprawl mode right now, and that's made it difficult to keep making progress on the actual work. Things get set in unpainted windowsills, and when I have time to paint, I find that I don't have the time to move, clean, paint, and then find a home for all the other stuff before somebody needs to be fed, cleaned, or loved on. So. Not much gets done.

Same thing with this last room. There simply isn't anywhere to put the stuff that has landed in here. I suppose we could stack it all on the dining table and eat around it... or, stuff it under the beds and then buy duplicates when we forget where we've put it all... or set in on fire. Yeah, I'm at that point.

Back away from the clicky torchy thing, Dy... just back away. It'll be alright.

The general game plan now is that we'll finish building stuff this weekend (shelving for the closet, toy shelf, printer stand). Then, while Zorak's gone next week, the kids and I will clear out the school room and further organize things. Next weekend is Smidge's birthday, so we'll focus on that, but the following week will be my trim assault mission (hopefully, I will not be staring at a partially trimmed ceiling in five years - this is my hope), culminating in a weekend (what is that, the 15th?) where we will do the wiring and walls in the school room.

And then (THEN!) we can make the final selection on flooring! WOOHOO! I told the boys I'm buying each of them a Swiffer when we get flooring laid. :-) They're almost as excited as I am. With Zorak's traveling, and our sprawl, it's going to be rough just to meet that three-week timeline, but I think we can do it. The weather's cool and breezy. The air feels relatively dry, and eventually I will get to bed before two AM. What a glorious day that will be, no?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Sargent, The Troops Are Mobile!

It looks like Miss Emily needs some good camo to go with her Army crawl. She's whizzing from place to place, completing mission objectives with alarming speed. It also seems she will be the one child of ours who'll eat anything. Tonight, she ate two patches off Smidge's Pioneer Club baldrick.

Zorak's workplace had its once-a-year mandatory-fun-day today. This is the one time of year family members are allowed on base without having to give bodily fluid samples and extensive background information. They had good food, mediocre music, and the most frightfully rude clown I've ever seen in my life. At least, in a child-oriented clown. There was that awkward incident in the hospitality room with the Shriners one year, but as far as an on-the-job kids' clown goes, this guy took the cake. We nearly walked off when he tried to convince James that it's okay to tell your mother, "Chill, Woman," when she corrects you for breaking a pretty common rule. James didn't know how to take the man, and he stood quietly while I stood my ground. When the man told me that kids don't have to ask permission to touch other people's things, the kid stepped back a bit, and the look on his face was a cross between, "I don't want to be near you when the lightning strikes," and "Is this how rabies manifests itself in humans?" The man went on to brag about how he taught his four year old grandson to throw up his hand and say, "Speak to the hand" when the child's mother asked him to come here. I've never seen someone act so gleefully spiteful like that, but he certainly didn't make a positive impression on any of the kids in line with us. Or their mothers. What a jackass. Once we escaped the sociopath clown, however, we had a lovely time.

James did a great impression of a 65-year old Catholic lady on Bingo night. I had to stay at the Bingo Tent while Zorak took Smidge and John fishing because James simply was not going to move. Well, no, that's not accurate. If we'd told him it was time to go, he'd have gone, and he would not have complained. He is very good about that. We just couldn't bring ourselves to do that to him, though. He was in the ZONE, and having an absolute blast. It's not often he finds activities that grab his attention like that - activities that are just for fun, no mathematical work, no cerebral challenge, just fun. Be a kid. Talk with your neighbors. Giggle. Chat. Eat ice cream. That's it, kid, have fun. How could we say no? So, we didn't. And I'm so glad.

John got to fish a while, and on the way out, he fielded a foul ball back to a softball game. The guys were so sweet to him, and you'd have thought he'd been allowed to join in pre-season play for the pros. Man, that was cute. Then he walked right into the wagon as we left because he couldn't peel his eyes off the game. Um, yeah, outfield may not be the position for him...

And that wonderful weather? It held. It was delightful! The air, it moved. The sun, it shone gently. The temperature, it stayed put. Oh, man, this was nice!

Oh, and while I'm at it: THREE CHEERS FOR JIM AND LISA, the MATH-U-SEE reps in Georgia!! I placed my order Tuesday, smack at the height of Panic-Stricken Curriculum Ordering Season, and this afternoon we had a box waiting for us on the porch. Wow, great service, guys!! The boys opened the box, gathered up their new books, and paraded them around with glee. We also got an incredibly clear sentence from Smidge, who pointed to the stack and said, "I want a book like THAT!" Math-U-See: not just for math skills anymore! Yay. :-)

The day ended on a delightful note. There are very few regrets in looking back over the day. Plenty of smiles. A lot of hugs and hand-holding. Tons of giggles, and a lot of working together. It was a good day. A day to savor, and remember.

Off to kiss my babies!
~Dy

Blessed Reprieve

Summer would be wonderful if it wasn't so hot. Or if my children were content to sit quietly under the ceiling fan, mainlining iced drinks and listening to stories. Alas, I have four of them, and they are truly ours, so... no, it doesn't work like that. They have Zorak's seemingly limitless energy, combined with my intolerance for the heat and humidity. If we could rig a child-sized hamster wheel to a generator, we could turn the A/C down to 70 and still cut our electric bill in half.

The thing is, by the time we get up in the morning, it is very hot 'n sticky outside. The air is suffocating and still. It hangs heavily, clinging to your neck, your eyelids, your nostrils, filling your throat with its sticky, moist presence. Before you can descend the porch steps, your body is coated in a thick, salty film, not a refreshing, drenching sweat, but rather a heavy, oily sealant. Try this to get the full effect:

Rub lotion lightly onto your hands. Now stick them in dirt and wave them around. Then put them in the oven - just turn it to 200' and hold them in the open door for a minute.

OK, now imagine that sensation on your neck, your torso, your inner thighs. Call me a weenie, but I can't enjoy that feeling.

Thankfully, the temperatures over the next few days are supposed to be in the mid-80's. I never thought I'd say this, but YAY! Mid-80's, I can handle. The boys are dying to be outside for more than ten minutes at a time. I am dying for them to be outside for more than ten minutes at a time. The dog would be thrilled to have them outside... ok, let's just say this dip in temps will make everyone Very Happy. And our home has been such a source of comfort, to have one place we can go to get out of the humidity and heat, to sprawl out in relative comfort and while away the hottest hours of the summer. It'll be nice to get out and stretch our legs, but it's been nice to have a hidey hole, too.

And soon, fall...

Fall, with its smells, its harvests, its festivals, and bearable temperatures outdoors. Sweet, sweet fall. It will do wonders for all of us, I think.

Ten more days til Smidge's birthday. Zorak will be on the road again next week, arriving home late the evening before the big day, if all goes well. I thought he'd earned enough travel points to get a waiver on this one, but it seems not. We'd thought about making another big family trek out of it, but there's still so much to do here, and I don't think the little ones are up for another long trip from home just yet. So we will stay home and prepare for the birthday, work on our home and our lessons. We will press our noses against the glass, waiting for fall, and for Daddy's return.

It's good to have a home that keeps us safe and dry amidst all life's quirks - big and little. It truly is a blessed reprieve.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Setting Goals and Living the Dream

Man, this is nice. The house is quiet, the coffe is hot, and the computer is up and running. Sometimes, that's payment enough at the end of a long day. Most of the time, though, that's not all the payment that comes. How I ended up with this sweet, sweet life is somewhat beyond my comprehension, but I'm glad for it.

I'd mentioned that during our "OK, Let's Look Normal" pow-wow, the boys and I set goals. Today, they began putting them into motion. It's fun to see children setting and then reaching for their own goals.

John's one self-set goal for this year is to have his own reading log by Christmas. Not one I write in for him, but one he maintains himself. Today, the child spent two hours reading, "as practice" for improving his writing skills. I sat back and grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

James would like to do more writing. He's switched to using cursive exclusively, on his own, aside from letter-writing to friends who don't read cursive yet (which I thought was so sweet that he'd think of it on his own). He is also determined to read all the books written by several authors he's found recently.

Both boys would like to pursue art and music this year.

For my part, I would like to see us spend this year on Rome, tying our Latin studies in with our History and language studies, moving into the Middle Ages in late spring of '07. Not sure how that's going to pan out. We are already several years out of synch with "the plan", but it doesn't seem to have hurt anyone, so we'll just put that under the gee-I'm-glad-we're-flexible list and move on.

Fall is coming (eventually), and that's exciting to me, as this summer has simply been too hot to get out and enjoy the beauty that surrounds us. Hopefully, the boys will have ample opportunity to break in their backpacks and drawing supplies! Oh, and the messenger bag I bought? Got it at Target, but found one I wish I'd bought, instead. You can get it from American Science & Surplus. You can find it on this page, the "Not Black Canvas Bag" at the top. Check it out, shop around - they have a ton of stuff you'll realize you really need, so even with shipping, you'll come out ahead. Or broke. But you'll have a nifty bag to live out of!

And so as not to break our productive streak, I've got to get to bed. Those small ones seem to use energy more efficiently than I'm capable of, and they're starting to gain on me.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Please Print This Page

I love seeing that message. It means I've just purchased something, usually curriculum or books. It means I've written a schedule, or a list, which I will probably lose. It also reminds me that I can now print that page. So I do. Just for fun. It doesn't take much.

Well, after James informed me that he is a little sad that he won't be promoting to the third grade Sunday School class with his friends, I realized it's THAT TIME OF YEAR for everyone else. (Yes. I know. As if the sales, the queries, the suggestions for First Day of School Fun Stuff, the *ahem* blogging, weren't clues enough. *sigh* I know.)

So, in an effort to appear a little less odd than we actually are, the children and I held a pow-wow yesterday to discuss our goals for the year, which include, but are not limited to, not taking a four month break, including more music, adding in a formal science program, and getting up to speed on our curriculum choices. We will have a big day next Monday (yeah, again with the oblivion, I can't be the only one who didn't know it's a holiday...) er, Tuesday, then, wherein we will observe the formal beginning of both First and Third grades for the boys. Smidge wants to be blue. So, we'll have a first grader, a third grader, and the blue kid. Miss Emily may, or may not, be promoted to Toddler this term, but the Principal and I have agreed to have a little inservice meeting to discuss the options later. ;-)

Then I phoned the church to confirm that yes, James did pass this year, and please put him in the third grade class. His teacher laughed and said she remembered that we homeschool year-round and figured it just wasn't something that had come up yet. She'd already put his name on the third grade roster. (Bless that woman!)

And so, with our calendar filled in (Science Fair on the 8th; Smidge's b-day on the 9th - again, already?; Moundville Indian Festival coming up; promotion Sunday on the 3rd; new math, latin, and copy books; Zorak going TDY - WTH... again, already?!? *sigh*) I'd like to say I dusted the living room and put on a little music for the children and I to read by. But I didn't. I freaked, put the calendar away, popped in Chicken Little, and grabbed a cup of coffee. I can only handle knowing so much about what we need to get done. Seriously. This is new to me.

In my younger days, I'd ask, "What about the adventure of denial? The heart-stopping terror that is throwing together a science project while flying down the Interstate, praying for time to stop so you can make it on time. The cry of the infant, the whine of the toddler, the anxious bickering of the neglected older children. What would life be like without that niggling feeling whispering to you at night that you've Forgotten Something... Something Important?"

Well, now I know, and I don't particularly care for either option. But there is something to be said for facing the dread of upcoming responsibilities with more than 15 minutes of preparation... it's still somewhat heart-stopping, but does cut down on much of the audible background whining. So, we'll keep plugging along. We'll write in in, and then print that page.

Someday I'll get the hang of this.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

What to print, what to print?

Oh, joy! Elation! Our new printer arrived while we were gone. It's now hooked up and functional. I printed numerous test pages, some activity sheets for the boys for church today, and then... I drew a blank. There are so many things I have been simply anxious to print for the MONTHS (and months, and months) that we've been without a functional printer. Now, can't even find the things I'd saved to print off!

Honestly, I think it's the speed of the printer. The thing goes so quickly and stealthily that I panic. I used to have time to peruse things, compose the items I wanted to print out, and have a cup of coffee while another project printed. No downtime. I felt rather productive. But now, the thing spits out the job and then sits there, staring at me. THE PRESSURE!!! (Oh, but it's nice!)

Mr. Ward joined us for church this morning. He's in the zone right now, and a church home is in the forefront of his mind. I think he liked it, as he did a drive-by after the service from the church to the house they have a contract on right now. 2.5 miles - pfft, I'm envious! Even if he doesn't end up coming to this church, though, I think he's now primed and ready to find one for himself and his wife when they get settled. (It's always the first visit that seems the hardest to just get up and go do, isn't it?)

And the brain? It's not fully engaged yet. Still very sleepy. Not witty. Not organized. Just sleepy. It's like living inside a cotton ball. Thankfully, the boys don't require any actual venturing out and about tomorrow. We'll do lessons, tidy, engage the brain tranny and see if we can slip into second gear. Maybe. Or we'll leave it in neutral and coast for another couple of days. That's always nice, too.

G'night!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Quick Recap

We ate very poorly, spent far too much time in the sun, and it will take us a full week to catch up on our sleep, not to mention getting the sand out of nature's crannies. But what a great trip! These kids are so much fun to travel with. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Miss Emily has eaten her fair share of sand, and found it to be quite tasty, gauging from the amount of time she spent grazing the beach. I bought her a sun bonnet, and she hates it. Fortunately, it ties under her chin, so she's stuck with it and is at my mercy. Took me a bit to convince the boys that she was not going to be strangled with it, though. (Glad to know they listen to our "never put anything around your neck" speeches!)

Smidge wore himself out running from the waves. Back to the waves. After the seagulls. From the seagulls. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you must RUN! And squeal! Stop to giggle. Then RUN again!

Most of the time, I only saw James and John from the shoulders, up. They hit the water and didn't emerge until the skin began curling from my body, in spite of the 35 SPF coating, and I insisted that six hours was enough time on the beach for one day. The surf was pretty rough, and although I'm not up on maritime terminology, the red flags on the beach didn't look terribly encouraging, in my estimation. Did that deter the boys any? Nope. They just flung themselves face first into the fray and called it good. I don't know how a boy can go under a wave, come up blustery and irate that he got water up his nose, yet dive back in, only to re-emerge a few seconds later, bleeding from multiple wounds, shouting, "WOW! That was FUN!" Obviously, I was never a little boy. All I could think was, "They're going to attract sharks if they keep bleeding like that."

In the end, though, I'm the only one that got seriously burned. No sharks came to feast on my children. Miss Emily seems to have passed most of the sand, and thankfully, seems completely unphased by it.

We had a very good time catching up with my friend from high school (his name is also James, so for clarification sake, we'll refer to him as "Mr. James"). The boys adored him. I enjoyed his company tremendously, but tried hard not to impose our presence upon him too much (we can be a bit of a shock). He gave the boys a tour of the police department, which they could not wait to tell Zorak about this morning. The biggest hits being the scale in the processing room, the license plate cover on his cruiser (it's on the back and says, "Smile... I could be behind you.") and the Chief's office (he has a box of goodies and lets the kids pick something out when they visit). Mr. James graciously agreed to join us on the dolphin cruise when I was informed that they had a 2:1 child-adult restriction, but we let him off the hook when the amenities lady realized she'd called the wrong boating place and yes, I can, if I am odd enough to want to, take all four children aboard all by myself.

The dolphin cruise was amazing. John saw a jellyfish cruising along (glad I didn't think about that before we hit the beach!) James saw a crab swimming alongside the boat (had no clue they did that, and I thought he must have been mistaken, but the cute young lady beside him confirmed that that's what it was - how cool!) The dolphins came and swam by the bow of the boat, showing off for the crowd. Miss Emily got loved on and serenaded by a delightful couple from Georgia - in Ukranian, no less. James got his "sea legs" (translation: he quit slamming into the rails). John fell in love with the sea, in general. Smidge hung with the big kids pretty darned well, but slept like a rock once his head hit the pillow. Or the floor.

After we checked out of the hotel on Friday, we had the chance to visit with Anniesue and her adorable little chunk of toddler, T. Willy. He and Smidge made fast friends, playing in the sand, eating grapes. The bigger boys got in more beach time, and Anniesue and I had a very nice time visiting. She's so sweet! And she is funny - she made me smile a lot, so don't let her tell you otherwise. I was glad she took the time to come and meet up with us, but was sad that I'd left her number at home on the counter and didn't get to get together earlier in the visit. You know, before my brain was fried. However, hopefully we'll be able to see them again the next time we go down.

And yes, in spite of muttering under my breath at six in the morning on Wednesday that I was never. doing. this. again (I really hate packing and planning), we have got to do this again. It was really fun! But next time, we need to stay a full week, and we need to take Zorak, too.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

T-minus two hours, fifty-eight minutes

You'd think I'd be asleep, huh? *snort* It'll be so nice once the boys can drive.

Ahhh. That is the sigh of accomplishment. The alarm is set. The laundry is done. The kitchen, while not clean, at least will not attract feral hogs while we're gone. And, the bags are loaded and waiting by the door.

The boys are packed in their very own, brand new backpacks! Are they ever excited about it, too. I'm talking Price Is Right, excited. James' bag has enough pockets and gadget holders to keep him happy well into his early teens. John's has Superman on the front and TWO cup holders. What more could a boy ask for? Smidge inherited John's old backpack (the one the wooden blocks came in...) and James has requested that his old pack be set aside for Miss Emily. So, we should be set for a number of years, now. We'll see how this foray into the realm of personal responsibility goes. Ideally, each boy will guard his pack with all his wee might, and I will be unencumbered by the earthly belongings of our entourage. Experience has proven, however, that, at least for a little while, I will now be responsible for not one bag, but four. Sometimes I'm still amazed that Someone thought me capable of being The Mom.

Ooooo! Big splurge today: I bought a messenger bag! It's been a long time coming, as my diaper bag (a backpack) has served me well through four children. Prior to that, it served Zorak through three years of college. Can't complain, but it's clear the poor thing would like a rest. It would also like not to carry small things, as it's begun spitting them out through holes in the bottom. Anyhow, I've had some pretty graphic dreams about having a bag large enough to handle all my stuff without squashing anything, and without hanging awkwardly off one shoulder. The messenger bag seems to fit the bill. This thing is LOADED: sketch pads, colored pencils, pens, teething tablets, a change of clothes, wallet, brain candy (for Mom and Kids!), sunscreen, phone, diapers, wipes, envelopes and paper (not that I actually expect to write letters, but I could if I wanted to - and we know it's all about the ambiance). I think it weighs about the same as Miss Emily, so the theory I'm going with is that if she's on one side, in the sling, and the bag is on the other, I may walk upright for the first time in a long time! Or, people will mistake me for a pack mule and try to hire me out.

Aside from my idiotic decision to leave at o'dark hundred Wednesday morning, I'm pleased with the plans and the overall feel of the trip.

And Miss Emily is up, which is my cue to head off to bed!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Going On Vacation

I don't think we've vacationed somewhere other than the homes of friends or relatives in... in... um... well, ever. This is foreign ground for me, and I'm certain the places I called thought they were being cranked by Mel Tillis, for all the stuttering and stammering I did on the phone. Conversations went something like this:

Operator: "Welcome to ReallyLongNameOfRandomResort, where your comfort is our concern (or some such slogan)."

Me: Yeah, hi... um, honey I'm on the phone. Please wait.

Operator: *confused pause* Okay...

Me: Oh, no, not you. Sorry. Children. Have them. I do.

Operator: *sigh* No problem, ma'am. How can I help you.

Me: Well, I need a room. Er, suite. Or, uhhhh... (trying to remember where it is I just called) lodging. Yeah, lodging.

Operator: For how many adults?

Me: One.

Operator: How many children?

Me: Four.

Operator: What?

Me: What?

Operator: How many children?

Me: Four... please don't do that.

Operator: Ma'am?

Me: Um, sorry, children.

Operator: Okay, so you'll be wanting a three bedroom condo...

Me: NO! I mean, not you. Well, yes. No, I wouldn't like a three bedroom condo. But the emphasis. Hang on. *trying to muffle the phone* If you want to sleep somewhere other than the Suburban while we are there, I suggest you find something to do other than stand right here, arguing with your brother. I will take the bench seat, I swear I will, and you will be left with the floor. Now, GO! *ahem* Yes, anyway, a one bedroom would be fine. They're small.

Operator: Our one bedrooms are about 800 square feet...

Me: Oh, *nervous titter* I meant the children. They're small. Well, two of 'em are, anyway. One bedroom would be fine.

Operator: How long will you need accomodations, and what is your arrival date?

Me: *I give her the dates.*

Operator: *pause* Two days? You're coming for two days?

Me: Yes... *awkward pause* *more awkward pausing - dead silence on the other end, and I'm wondering what further information I could possibly add to that* ...It's a short trip.

Operator: *wondering just how large the deposit on this place ought to be* OK, Ma'am, I have a one bedroom with a pullout sofa, pullout kitchen table and sheets for the ironing board. Would you like beach front or *muffled something I could never quite catch*

Me: Water. I want to see the water. Easily. Without having to stand on the railing.

Operator: *chuckling* (Although I'm not sure if it's good-naturedly, or just hoping to get through this without yelling "FIRE! FIRE!" and hanging up the phone.) Alright, we have you set with a one-bedroom unit with free beach umbrella for *insert random price, here*

And, Voila! It took only two hours of phone calls and web surfing and we have a place to stay. I hope it's a wonderful place. One we will return to time and again so that I never have to have those conversations again.

So, condo is reserved. Lest you think I'm getting all uppity, let me say that beachfront condos are about 20% LESS expensive than your average Best Western (not that I'm naming names or anything... *ahem*) So, I can save 20%, AND I get a kitchen, so we don't have to eat out all the time (thus saving even more money), AND I get a bedroom in which to tuck the wee burnt darlings at the end of the day, AND a beach front balcony, with unlimited hot coffee at my disposal? Oh, my, word. I may never want to leave.

And I so need to hit the library for a little brain candy to take on this trip!

Sadly, that's about as far as I've made it. Total lock up. I can't think what else to bring. Obviously, clothing, sun screen, snorkels, um... what do people take on vacation?!? Hit me with your best short-but-sweet vacation list. (The trip is short, but the list probably ought to be, also, since I won't have another responsible adult for backup.) Remember, I'm a minimalist. Before having children, I traveled with an internal frame backpack, no matter how long I was going to be gone. If I could fit diapers and socks for all of us in my backpack, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

The boys have the map spread out in the dining room, and have marked off our route (James), inquired about fishing (John), and shouted "Wango beee! Wango beee!" (Um, that would be Smidge, yes. Translation: Want to go to the beach!) I think they're excited about the trip.

I'll get to touch base with a friend I haven't seen in 16 years. Egads, that's a long time. But I am so excited, and it'll be nice to visit and enjoy a legal beer together. :-)

Oh, and I did find one completely goof-nut tourist thing we simply must do: Dolphin Cruise!

Now, to locate a Crunchy Market, something that will make me look decent in a swimsuit in less than 48 hours, and a black market source for gas and I'm good!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Really Be There

The biggest challenge, for me, of the part-time single parenting gig is just how much work it takes to balance all the needs of all the people, when there is only one of me. Er, of us. He's not another "me", but he sure is handy! For the most part, we handle the separation well by focusing on the positive things: the living room stays tidied, the laundry is easier to manage; meals are a bit less formal, but still nutritious; evenings don't have the same feel to them, but we do get through them. In general. The boys know Dad will return, and all will be well. I know it's temporary, and so, it's fine.

Smidge, however, has been hit the hardest this week. You see, in his two year old vision, there is no next week or last week. There is here, and now. There is the immediate and the impending, although the latter is pretty vague and manifests itself as more of a sensation than an upcoming event. And at bedtime, it hits him the hardest.

Bedtime itself hits me the hardest. Unless you could be billed as a double-jointed singing, juggling wonder (which, I couldn't), it's difficult to floss someone's teeth while the wailing infant is dangling precariously over your knee, her head coming uncomfortably close to both the tile floor and her brother's flailing feet. Why does he have to do an Irish jig while brushing his teeth, anyway?

Someone is always running around, clad in only skivvies, singing songs through his nose. Someone else is always leaping, gazelle-fashion, down the hallway, then slamming, mosh pit-fashion, into the door jamb. The boys seem to love bedtime, although I'm pretty sure we don't have the same goal in mind. Miss Emily seems to loathe bedtime, and I can't say I blame her. But Smidge, well, it's hard to be two.

What he wants and needs, come bedtime, is far from what I usually have left to give him. He needs a soft, gentle round of "I love you, a bushel and a peck..." He needs Tommy Tinkers and the Granny treatment. He needs "fife stories", at least. And he gets those, but somehow, they aren't enough.

Because those are the trappings, the decorative wrappers around what he really desires: he needs me to look directly into his eyes, with my whole body telling him that he is special, and that this time is for him. He needs that song to be sung with all of the attention my heart can give. He needs me to show him that all this craziness means something, and that it will be okay. He needs to have ten minutes where he is the center of my heart's attention.

And yet, every night I tell myself that I need to rush through bedtime and get these kids to BED. NOW. Hut, hut, chop, chop, let's Go, People! And they go. And we rush. And then, when it's all said and done, there are tears. I'm frazzled. I'm done. What? What's the problem? Didn't we sing? Didn't we read? Didn't I fluff your blanket enough to make that stupid fabric softening bear envious?

I'm ashamed to admit that even the tears aren't always enough to pull me back to reality. It's so easy, in the middle of the day, with the sun shining, and a full tank of energy, to smile at strangers as they pass us and say, "Pardon us, we move on toddler time." It's not so easy to keep moving on toddler time, especially when there is the promise of rest, quiet, and a chance to sit, quivering on the couch, and recover from the day. Perhaps even get up and walk around the living room in complete strides, rather than the short-legged shuffle at which I usually pace myself. But then there are the tears, and the what's-wrong-now, and the fleeting thought that if I toss enough stuffed dogs in there with him, he'll calm down and be okay.

And then I click. Because I'm slow sometimes. And I put the baby in the swing with whatever is on hand (probably some completely inappropriate toy, like Daddy's glasses, or my car remote), give the big boys an extra ten minutes to read in bed, and just sit with Smidge. Hold his little face in my hands and kiss all over him. Pull him into my lap on the floor and whisper with him. Ten minutes to be all his. And in return, he is all mine. And it's wonderful. The day's stresses recede, the week's worries melt off our shoulders, and we taste, however briefly, the sweetness that is this life.

And I'm an idiot for not remembering that. It's like Groundhog Day around here, you'd think I would clue in! ARGH. But even though I am nowhere near the mother this child deserves, he keeps reminding me that I am his, and that this is now, and that it's always going to be busy and hectic, but that it's no excuse for ignoring the important things.

I love you,
a bushel and a peck,
a bushel and a peck,
and a hug around the neck.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Welcome to the USSA

Maybe we should have kept the KGB foyer...

National ID Cards

I'm just sick. Absolutely sick.

I'm going to go kiss my babies, and mull.

Dy

The Things They Do

It's funny to watch the boys. Usually from a fairly safe distance. With coffee in hand.

John has been Very Six lately, riding his brothers like a little rule-master, leaving very little room for grace. James did this at six. Friends' children have done this at six. Doesn't make it any more pleasant, but at least we know it's not us. But yesterday, as we head into the dentist's office, John says to James, "OK, while you're still here, I have to ask. Do you want us to go in with you this time? You know, because I worried about you back there last time."

Well, where did that come from? And what will it take for it to stay?

James, after absolutely nothing happened at his last visit, was feeling pretty big, so he said he'd like us to wait in the lobby for him. OK. *sniff sniff* (Motherhood seems to be a series of events that leave me completely torn, no matter what happens. Part of me wanted to be back there, to hold my baby's hand. Part of me was rather glad I could sit in the lobby with the other three, where we each had someplace to sit. You know, not on top of one another. Y'all know what I'm saying, I know you do.)

John positioned himself where he could see down the hall to the exam rooms - presumably so he could run to James' aid if the bat signal flashed. Em, Smidge, and I curled up on a couch and... I don't know what we did. There was no actual sitting still, and I can't remember finishing the dolphin book, or the duck book, or the kitten book. There was a lot of talking, and a lot of general activity, but this part's a little fuzzy. It's like drinking, without the hangover.

We were there about ten minutes, when Miss Tammy, the World's Greatest Hygienist, came back and said our presence was requested. Again with the two minds: "Oh, my baby needs me, let's go," and "You mean I have to gather all this stuff that's seeped out of the bag and MOVE?"

It turns out, all was well with the big, independent child, until the numbing process kicked in. Then he felt that perhaps a little Mama Presence might be handy. But the thing that had me chuckling all the way down the hall was John.

He snapped his book shut, hopped to his feet and muttered, "Well, it's about time."

Everything went well. As usual. The offending tooth was removed (it was already loose, so it didn't take much work), and as the boys received their goody bags, James asked, "But, when are you going to take out the tooth?" Miss Tammy laughed and told him it's already out, and the look on his face when he stuck his tongue through the hole was hilarious.

Hopefully, we won't have to go anywhere today. We'll just stay home and recuperate.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy