Bad Mother of the Week Award

As I packed our bag for ball practice tomorrow night, I had to smile. We’re getting the hang of this. We’re not half bad, really. Well, most of the time. Monday wasn't what you'd call a "stellar" parenting moment. It's not quite Bad Mother of the Year quality (wouldn't want to peak too early in the year), but of the week? Yeah. You see, Monday, John was doing so well. He was hitting and running. Throwing and catching. Cheering and talking imaginary, mostly polite, 6-year old smack. He was a man possessed by the love of the sport. Until they put him on third base, which is about the same time I lost it.

Suddenly, the kid turned into Jack Sparrow. He was weaving and dodging, swiping at some invisible (to us) foe just above his head. The look on his face was an exact replica of Capt’n Jack – a mix of suspicion, irritation, and general confusion. I started to chuckle.

And then, I made the worst mistake you can make when you’re laughing and really oughtn’t be: I tried to stifle it. Might as well feed a gremlin in a pool at two in the morning. It was over. Soon I was cackling between sucking breaths. Tears bubbled up over my lids, and splashed down onto my cheeks. Just when I thought I had myself composed enough to join the practice again, I’d look up in time to see him sidestep and stumble over the base. Arms flailing. Eyes squinty and leering, chin set. And all composure was lost. My final hope of getting it together died instantly when a batter fielded a ball straight past him, and he didn’t notice until a hoard of children flew past him, all duck-walking to catch the ball. He spun around, cocked his head toward the children and then began swiping at the unseen foe. I was a goner.

Zorak chuckled a little at first, too. Then he started to ignore me. I’m pretty sure he scootched over at some point because when I toppled over onto his arm, it wasn’t there. Finally, he gave me the, “have you been drinking” stare, and that sobered me up somewhat. Well, that’s about when practice ended, too, so that may have helped.

For the record, no alcohol was imbibed at, or before this practice. Turns out there were mosquitos buzzing around John’s head at third base. After he’d been bitten by one, he determined there was no way he was going to let another one so much as land on him. Suddenly, his behavior makes a world of sense. And mine? Well, what do you want to bet someone slips me an AA tract after the next parent meeting?

But it was funny.

I do love that John Boy. Thankfully, that part’s a given, so when his parents occasionally perform a stunningly moronic slip, it’s easier to forgive. And, as James pointed out, I wasn’t laughing at him, I was laughing at the action. Yeah, I like that. But I still expect the award to arrive sometime this week.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

From the stack...

I'm reading Mark Twain's The Innocents Abroad. Most of the time, I'm laughing. Heartily. From my toes. It's like reading letters from my snarky brother on his travels. But, then, I amble across a tidbit of wisdom, or insight, that hauls me up short. Stills my laughter. Reminds me what made Mark Twain one of America's eminent story tellers. Makes me think. I found this tonight, and wanted to share it here.

When an acre of ground has produced long and well, we let it lie fallow and let it rest for a season; we take no man clear across the continent in the same coach he started in -- the coach is stabled somewhere on the plains and its heated machinery is allowed to cool for a few days; when a razor has seen long service and refuses to hold an edge, the barber lays it away for a few weeks, and the edge comes back of its own accord. We bestow thoughtful care upon inanimate objects, but none upon ourselves. What a robust people, what a nation of thinkers we might be, if we would only lay ourselves on the shelf occasionally and renew our edges.

Wisdom, indeed.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Red Wasp Control

First, you cleverly disguise an entrance for the wasps. Hide it so well that even you have no idea where it is.

Then you let the wasps in, one at a time. This method works best if you make sure you have a decent alarm system. A child who has been stung before works well, but if you haven't got one of those, any child who reads voraciously and proceeds to freak out about the possibilities of, say, a cobra attack in North America ("but someone could have smuggled one into the country!") will work just as well.

When the alarm sounds, you simply leap from the floor, sending the small ones flying (some head for cover, some simply roll right off your lap) and grab your trusty fly swatter. The wasp will likely show you to it, landing quietly just. by. the. handle.

Begin the umpteenth search for bug spray this week (which you haven't got, and never remember to put on the list until you're mid-battle, of course). In a pinch, Lysol works relatively well. More of a mental boost than any actual help, but that's okay.

Now, exude confidence. Express to your small ones that it's only a small wasp. It's okay. It doesn't want to be here (anymore than you do), and that it won't hurt you if you stay still. Unless, of course, you make it mad by spraying it with Lysol. (Small, of course, also being a relative term. They don't need to know that its red body bouncing off the walls looks, from your vantage point, particularly large and invincible. And angry.)

And so, you begin. Wait. Smack. Spray. Smack. Leap! If you'd like to do it the way I do it, which is truly quite exciting for all involved, shut one eye. This will eliminate any of that pesky depth perception some people have which allows them to hit the wasp on any attempt in the single digits. If, however, you happen to be fond of your depth perception, well, I can't blame you. I'd use it if I had it, too. Smack. Spray. Smack. DIVE! And so on.

Red wasps have incredibly hard bodies. It's amazing how quickly your standard store-bought fly swatter will crumple and bow beneath the impact, while the wasp will only glare at you and start dancing a jig above your head. But if you have the cardiovascular strength to keep up, you will eventually be able so show your small ones the corpse. And they always want to see it. I don't know why. It's not impressive. Honestly, for all the pomp involved, it's more than a little humiliating to have only that to show for it, but they insist on viewing the vanquished foe. (And am I the only one who cringes the entire time with fear that it's not Really Dead, but only playing oppossum and waiting to poke one of my children in the eye with lightning speed before I can reach the Lysol again?)

The house is wasp-free for another hour or so. It smells clean and antiseptic now, too. Ah, I love Springtime in the South!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

This is a recording.

You have reached the blog of Dy. She is not at home right now, because she is in the barn, or at the ballfield, or en route to town.

Other people do these things, and do them with many more children in tow, and still remain articulate beyond suppertime. Yes, she knows this. (And if she were still articulate tonight, she would agree.) She is, however, a slow learner (remember, that's why God only gave her one at a time, no?) Plus, the typing-related speech impediment from her wound has reduced her to thinking in terms of spelling out entire words as she hen-pecks the keys. This new glitch, it seems, renders paragraphical thought a mere notion. Humor or wisdom are likewise out of reach for the time being.

Please leave a message at the bottom and she will get back to you when EmBaby leaves for college, or the splint comes off, whichever comes. Eventually.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Not so bright, and not so stoopid

Not so bright: I sliced the meat off the third knuckle on my middle finger today. Stoopid, stoopid thing to do. Knew better, but sometimes we just get so comfortable in the things we do to stop thinking about the things we know. Thankfully, it was a sharp knife, and everything could be put back in place fairly accurately. I'll leave it splinted for a couple of days, hopefully it'll stick back together okay. Please pardon typos over the next few entries. I had no idea how integral to the typing process that middle finger is!

Not so stoopid: Evidently, Balto should have been named Houdini. We had company for supper tonight. Fresh children to herd - WOOHOO! So, we let him in the house after supper, while the children played outside. But, no, that would not do. The in-and-out traffic through the front door was just too heavy to expect him not to make a break for it and succeed. SO, we put him in the basement. Not fifteen minutes later, there he was, skulking along among the iris and daffodils, heading straight for all the fun! I took him back in, flipped the two locks on the basement doors, leaned a cinder block against the door, propped a pallet under the door knob, and braced that with a mongo extendo-ladder/scaffold combo. As I emerged from the basement into the hallway, I commented (half in jest) that if he can get out of that, he's a genius.

Well, he's a genius. Who knew? He's out there, now, rolling happily in the grass.

And so, another weekend ends.

We made a lot of progress on the Forever Yard. The mystery tree from last week is in bloom right now, so it looks like it's hearty enough to have survived the frost. (Yay!) Zorak has the forms almost done for the first garden bed. The pile for the chipper is growing impressively. The barn is nearly cleaned and ready to earn its keep. Zorak's already making plans for fencing, and our first cow-calf operation. It looks like I've lost my argument that goats are smaller (and thus, less intimidating to, erm, the small children... yeah, the kids...) But all taken, things are looking good. Feeling good.

The children ran wild for hours today, thoroughly enjoying their friends and this beautiful Southern spring weather. Sleepy children seem not to notice the time change, and so, they slipped to bed without complaint. I think we will have to make it a tradition to spend the first day of Daylight Savings Time BBQ'ing with friends, running the children into a dreamy, happy, exausted sleep come evening. Quite nice.

And now, I am off to continue traveling with Mr. Twain, who has left Tangier, and is headed for points further East.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Tell me this wasn't planted on purpose!?!?!?

There are three different plants in there, but the one I'm asking about is the thick, stalky one in the foreground with the greenish, reddish coloring and no leaves. Can you see the thorns on that thing? Oy! Zorak and I look like we've taken up Olympic cat tossing.

There's another one among them that has tiny, curved hooks that are sharp and hard. Possibly barbed. I suspect evil, as well. Particularly the one that reached down and nabbed me in the hollow on the back of my neck while I wrestled with the reddish ones above - ohhhh, okay. Strike that. Zorak just informed me that they're one and the same. These things get whip-like near the end. Yeouch!

And that means there are only two plants in that photo. So, then, what's this stuff, with the leaves?

If you run into it, castor oil is incredibly soothing on the injuries inflicted by these plants.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Old Mrs. Cook

Today, we scarred the boys (but only slightly) by dragging them to the hayloft. Smidge is the only one who went up willingly, at first. (But that boy has more adventure than sense, sometimes.) Once they got up there... nope, still not thrilled. We began to wonder if these are, in fact, our children. When Zorak and I were kids, you couldn't have pried us out of a spot like that. But then, the magic began to come alive..
For all the times we've worried that James has grown too old for some adventures, it's a soothing balm to hear a wee voice shout from behind the fence, "I'll be up in the loft!"

The majority of the upper level of the barn is oak. It's dry, sturdy, and well-built. Pretty neat, up there.

We've been looking for a burn barrel, and today we found one. In. The. Creek. *sigh* The yahoos who had this place before us were just jackasses. It's going to take us a good five years to remove all the trash they left strewn about the property. However, the more we work on our Forever Home, the more attached the boys become to "Old Mrs. Cook". She and her husband built the Forever Home, 35 years ago. She was known among the neighbors for her cooking and hospitality. It was she who most likely planted the pear tree, the apple trees, and the chokecherry bushes. It was she who nurtured the place in all its horticultural glory. The shrubbery was probably her idea, and the terraced garden down below was most definitely hers. It was another family who trashed the place, in between the Cooks and our family, but the more we do, the more we find ourselves attached to "Old Mrs. Cook". Today, we found something amidst the hidden landscaping alluded to earlier in the week. See that... No, not the tires. (Although that is a mighty impressive collection, isn't it?) The rectangular flat spot to the right of the monkey grass. See that? That's a patio! We'll get better pictures once we've got it cleaned off (it took us five hours to get to that point, today), but you can see there are some lovely rocks embedded in the patio.
She had a secluded, shaded spot (before the shade tree was overtaken by that climbing stuff and succumbed to despair), down by the barn, where she could sit and relax while... I don't know, while the kids worked the horses? While Mr. Cook worked in the barn? Perhaps a tea break after working in the garden, herself? We don't know. But it's fun to guess.

Tomorrow, I'll need more help identifying the dangerous, man-eating vines that are growing down along that fence. Right now, I'm going to go find the witch hazel and castor oil and see if I can stem the bloodflow.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Not With My Child

So our previous dentist decided he could not address John's and Smidge's dental needs (after extensive costs on our part), and recommended a pedodontist to have the work done. I called the insurance company, called the denstists on the list, and made an appointment with one whose office staff said they could certainly address the situation. When I shared my excitement with a friend, she said, "You mean you found one who would let you go back with the boys?"

What? I didn't even ask. What kind of a set-up would that be? I'd heard of the occasional dentist not permitting parents to go back, and the reasoning usually ran along the lines of "I am the child's care provider, and he needs to develop a relationshp directly with me." (Parents get in the way, essentially.) Well, ok, if a parent chooses to submit to a policy like that, that's fine and dandy. I'm not among them, so I thought I would call to confirm.

Good thing I called. But now, they've changed their line of reasoning. "It's a HIPA ruling. It's the law."

It's "the law" that the parent of an unemancipated minor cannot be present during exams and treatment? Um, no. Not exactly.

Firstly, HIPA addresses "privacy" with regard to the patient's files. It does lay out the framework for very specific cases in which a parent may not retain the rights and responsibilities of a minor's legal representative. Of the 60+ pages I've read of the Act thus far, suspected neglect/abuse, court order giving representative rights to someone other than the parent, and treatment for mental health when the child desires it and the parents do not are the only three specifically named conditions wherein a parent's right of representation may be removed by third parties. Parental consent to release responsibility is the fourth. All of which are set forth very clearly, and with precedented understanding and foreknowledge by all parties. I'm not going to tackle HIPA itself today, but only this specific point:

Nothing in HIPA authorizes a health care provider to deny a parent the rights of representation for the minor without cause.

Do not let a health care provider tell you that you cannot be present for your child's treatment due to HIPA privacy acts. If you allow it, then you have rescinded your rights under one of the specific provisions in the Act: express permission for the provider to bypass your representation. I have yet to find anything that cites rectification of the process when that permission was given based on faulty information, and I suspect that future searches will yield the same results.

When a provider denies you the right to be present for treatment, consultation, or examination right off the bat, that provider is acting unethically, if not unlawfully. If that provider tells you that it is the law, find another provider. You are being duped. Unfortunately, we are all too often unaware of our rights, what few remain, and our ignorance is going to completely strip us of our rights and responsibilities, in the end. When a harried parent is informed by a brusque staff member that something is a federal regulation, how many parents are readily armed with subsection and paragraph citation to counter it? (I also wonder how properly the staff are being educated. This isn't to say there is an onslaught by receptionists nationwide to participate in the Agenda of removing parents from the parental role. I honestly believe they are simply taught this, and thus propgate it.)

You can read the full text here. (It's a .pdf file.) Truthfully, the devils are in the details.

But not with my child, they won't. And we did find a dentist who isn't on the Gov't in loco parentis bandwagon.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Dy

Oh, Freud!!

Tonight, in the chaos that engulfs the church hall after Pioneer Club, I shouted to the boys to hut-hut, as we had to stop at the grocery store on the way home. One of the ladies beside me did a double-take and burst out laughing. She admitted she'd thought I'd told them we had to swing by the liquor store. *chuckle* I must look really tired.

There will be some changes in the way we approach the sorting of our days. I'm looking forward to that, but right now, am too tired to even remember what we agreed upon, let alone share it here.

And so, I'll leave you with a cute joke that landed in my inbox this week.

A mom was concerned about her Kindergarten son walking to school. He didn't want his mother to walk with him. She wanted to give him the feeling that he had some independence, but yet know that he was safe.

So, she had an idea of how to handle it. She asked a neighbor if she would please follow him to school in the mornings, staying at a distance, so he probably wouldn't notice her.

She said that since she was up early with her toddler anyway, it would be a good way for them to get some exercise as well, so she agreed.

The next school day, the neighbor and her little girl set out following behind Timmy as he walked to school with another neighbor boy he knew. She did this for the whole week.

As the boys walked and chatted, kicking stones and twigs, Timmy's little friend noticed the same lady was following them as she seemed to do every day all week. Finally, he said to Timmy, "Have you noticed that lady following us to school all week? Do you know her"?

Timmy nonchalantly replied, "Yeah, I know who she is."

The friend said, "Well, who is she"?

"That's just Shirley Goodnest," Timmy replied. "And her daughter Marcy."

"Shirley Goodnest? Who the heck is she and why is she following us"?

"Well," Timmy explained. "Every night, my mom makes me say the 23rd Psalm with my prayers, because she worries about me so much. And in the Psalm, it says, 'Shirley Goodnest and Marcy shall follow me all the days of my life,' so I guess I'll just have to get used to it!"

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

SCORE!

Tonight, after a particularly grueling day flogging the meadow into shape, wrangling the children into some semblance of an educational position, off-kilter napping schedules (mainly mine, but BabyGirl helped), baseball practice, and... did I mention it was a particularly tough day? We came home, and I managed to have supper on the table in less than an hour.

While I cooked, Smidge and John sidled over to the dining table for some horribly mangled game of chess-meets-dragonlore. Zorak and James played a riveting, and rather loud, game of chess at the breakfast bar. (James may one day be a mean chess player, but the kid will get beaten consistently if he ever tries to play poker.) Emily screeched protests against the injustice that everybody got to touch the chess pieces except her. You know, in my daydreams about the idyllic family evening routine, it's much quieter...

No idea how we managed it, but we sat down to eat before seven o'clock! We said our prayer (Smidge has stopped screaming while we pray, always appreciated!) and enjoyed a hot meal after a long day. But, that's not the SCORE! The SCORE! came when Zorak said, "Wow, you're getting really good at this. Just being able to walk in and whip up something good."

Angels sang, folks. They sang. They danced. I think a couple of them even waved lighters. It was beautiful.

And that's it. That is the summit of my felicity today. It may not seem like much to those of you who are culinarily gifted. Or have husbands who are thus blessed, (or will eat anything and not quietly decide to cook all the meals from here on in). But for me, this is huge. I have, after a mere thirty-three and a half years on this earth (admittedly, only about the last ten spent actually trying) achieved a major goal as a wife and mother. I can whip up something that my husband actually likes and doesn't sniff, poke, and then add Tabasco to before eating.

Sometimes, it's the small things.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Rose, By Any Other Name

Would be just as difficult to pick.

She-who-must-not-be-named (well, she could be named, but refuses to pick one), has, ironically enough, blogged about naming her children. Her story is great. She asked me to blog about it, too. My story? Well, they're named James, John, Jacob. And Emily. It's a pretty sure bet my story isn't that creative. And we don't have a cat named Smidge or Jimmy or even... well, we don't even have a cat.

So, here's how the basic scenario played out the first time around:
Z: How about Roland?
D: No.
Z: Creighton?
D: No.
Z: Roland?
D: No.
Z: Fine. You pick one.
D: *squeal* OK, how about Christian?
Z: *snort* How about B'hai?
*glare*
*silence*
D: You can't make me say okay to Roland, you know.
Z: Muslim? Unitarian? Agnostic?

Thomas. We both liked Thomas. But you can't pair Thomas with our last name. It invariably comes out "Thomas Edison". Hmmm. No good. In the end, we picked James. We both like James. We both have positive connotations of the name. He has a buddy, James, who he thinks the world of; I have an Uncle Jim and a buddy from high school who I think highly of, and so, it was done.

The girl name-picking session took a bit longer. It seems between the two of us, we either knew a thousand children with the names we liked, or could think of horrible things kids can do to the other names we liked. A few, we tossed because they would have condemned a girl to life on the second barstool from the end. A few more, we weeded out due to the somewhat restrictive nature of the names. The list of those rejected by only one or the other of us is enormous. We just couldn't come to a consensus. It was rough. Honestly, if we'd had James, then Emily, we'd have had to stop there, because we'd run out of girl names we could agree on.

Here comes child number two. The conversation(s) went something like this:
D: If it's a girl, Emily, right?
Z: ...right... and if it's a boy, Roland.
D: *hairy eyeball*
Z: Do you like Martin?
D: You know, I do.
Z: *pause* That was almost too easy. Do you really?
D: I really do -- wait. No. We can't do Martin.
Z: Why...?
D: My buddy, James? Yeah, Martin is his other name. That might seem creepy at high school reunions. I'm sorry.
Z: No. I totally get that.
D: Well... wanna try Thomas again?
Z: I really like Roland.
D: Chester.
Z: What?
D: If you can put Roland on the table, then I want Chester. Chester Christian. Or possibly Christian Chester. You can pick.
Z: Can we talk about this later? (And then, in his head...) Like when you aren't pumped full of growth hormones and kind of scary and irrational...
D: I heard that.
Z: I didn't say anything.
D: You thought it.
Z: And I was right. But you can't get me on a technicality. Even if we'd been taping this conversation, there's no evidence to convict me. Want a foot rub?

I don't remember how we came to John for a name. I do remember that we'd had it picked for a while before we realized we'd then have two children with the same first initial. My mother did that with her first batch of kids, only it was intentional. They all had the same initials, first-middle-last. Monogrammed gifts were a nightmare in that family. I thought it was kind of creepy, personally, and have always been glad I came later, thus dodging that bullet. So, we made sure his middle name did not begin with the same letter, and called it good.

There. We were done. Two kids. Only one slight snafu on the whole initial thing. Zorak liked the combination. As he pointed out, I could tell folks from church we'd named them after the Sons of Thunder from the Bible, and he could say they were named after the Belushi brothers. Everyone wins.

But, wait! There's more!
MORE? We can't have any more! We're out of names, and we're not having a girl. So. So, we're done. Remember? Two children? D-o-n-e. *chuckle* Ah, okay. But if we DO have a girl? (both, in unison) Emily. Ok. Cool.

Now we were in a pickle. We couldn't have James, John, and The Spare Kid. Or possibly, James, John and The One We Didn't Plan For. We felt compelled to use a J name. Do you have any idea how many bizarre J names are out there? Wow. Three months of wading through those, including a brief, yet enthusiastic, courting of Jedidiah (Zorak went to school with a Jed. He was twitchy, but brilliant, down-to-earth, and didn't seem terribly scarred by his name, but we couldn't come up with a middle name that could pull it together, you know, like a rug), and we emerged with Jacob. Again, I don't know how, exactly. We weren't even 100% certain the day he was born. I think poor Smidge spent the most time nameless of the four.

And then, Number Four.
D: Emily?
Z: Emily.
D: But, what about her middle name?
(*editorial note: no backstory to the boys' middle names. The combinations had to offer plenty of variations, enough nicknames to fit whatever they might like in the future, work well when yelled in full from the front porch, and not be difficult to pronounce or spell to strangers. That last one is my personal issue. Enough years being called "Dylan" or "Dion" and you get pretty fanatical about plain-Jane spellings.*)
We picked the boys' middle names by how they sounded with the first and last names. I'd like to do something special for Emily's middle name. You know, since her first name is a hand-me-down to the fourth generation. She needs a really special name.
Z: Yeah.
D: Would your Mom mind if we named her after her?
Z: *blank stare* Mind? No.
D: Ok. We should do that, then. Emily Radna. I really like that.

We toyed again with Jed. Wrangled over Roland (that doesn't even BEGIN with a J - I don't know how it kept coming up.) If she'd have been a he, we'd have probably gone with Joshua. It has a J. It's easy to spell, difficult to mispronounce, and we were out of ideas. Thankfully, though, we had our Sweet Miss Emily.

And now, we're done. I think. No guarantees, but I'm relatively sure. We're out of names.

Unearthing the Mysteries

We're learning. We've been inhaling, on a much smaller scale, I'm sure, the intoxicating fumes of history that archaeologists must feel when they begin a dig. We knew when we began working on the Forever Home that this place was once much-loved, and very well-cared for. In spite of the years of neglect, the signs were still there...

Now, as we venture deeper into the land, we're seeing remnants of 30-year old landscaping, long neglected. In a place where full trenches will grow over and become invisible in one year, you can imagine how rapidly the rest of the work vanished. Last week we began pulling "weeds" in the upper meadow that led us to a core "weed" that looks like a tree, but upon closer inspection looks like it was, at one time, a shrub. A decorative shrub. Hey... wait a minnit! (Back up, to take in a broader view of the area.) WHOA!! Check that out! Big tree, flanked by two "shrubs" here, and over there, Big Dead Tree (Magic Castle) flanked by two "shrubs"... so they aren't trees? And they're not supposed to be twenty feet tall? And the design made this little indentation (which we've thought was begging for a gazebo or a greenhouse) - a perfect little hidey spot. Wow, I'll bet that was really pretty...

Today, we worked around the barn (pictured in the header). See the mass of growth there, right in front of it? There's a fence-like thing at the back of that growth that I've imagined would make a lovely arbor for muscadines. Today, we got up close and personal with that mass of growth. There's terracing in there. Landscape timbers. Monkey grass, and ornamental "shrubs" (yes, the tall things), as well as some type of creeping vine thing (probably more poison ivy, and possibly a little Virginia creeper). WOW. Thirty years ago, this little lower meadow was absolutely inviting. The skeletal structure is there for an English garden style landscape. We've been down there a time or two, but never stayed long because of the snakes and wasps. This is the summer, however, for reclaiming the land, and it looks like it will be quite the adventure.

I doubt we'll ever restore it to it's former grandeur, but that's okay. It looks like it was much more high-maintenance than we'd be capable of maintaining; it's also just not practical for what we'd like to do with the land. In the meantime, it's exciting to walk in the shadows of years past, to see what others saw and loved in this place long before we came and loved it.

And the boys are not quite yet convinced our barn will ever be a place to play or hang out. Ever. But they said that about the house, too, once upon a time. *grin*

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Great Days

Friday, we enjoyed a tour of the WHNT TV station with our homeschool support group. What a delightful outing! John-Paul Dice led the tour, and he was wonderful with the children (and the mommies!) He started out with general descriptions, and geared his responses to the children's levels of interest. Southern hospitality at its best, truly.

Then, since we were in town, and the boys might mutiny if they didn't get to see Ward and/or Terry, we wrangled Terry (Me-Tay) into joining us for a trip to the crunchy market and lunch. It was so pretty that we played in the gazebo at the market while we waited for Me-Tay.
Zorak joined us at the restaurant, which is always a bonus for the kids. We couldn't find Me-Wah, though, so he couldn't join us. Smidge has yet to let us forget that, either. ;-) It was so nice, and the weather was absolutely beautiful, but since we'd all been up since six in the morning, we decided to come home rather than run any more errands in town.

We came home and worked-worked-worked. Thank you all, SO much for the discussion on the foliage. Turns out, I've been yanking poison ivy off many of the trees all week, and didn't realize it. Just sort of waiting for the rash to kick in now... eeek. Thankfully, the boys were relegated to the pulling of the tree-like things that definitely aren't poison anything. Yay!! The boys found quite a few earthworms in the process, which is an encouraging sign for the overall health of the land. Each worm has been lovingly fondled, oogled, and then placed gently back in the ground. I guess when you're six and three, it's important to mark your worms.

John had his second ball practice this morning. It was cold and windy. John had a blast. Baby Girl is one tough toddler. James and Smidge may forego the play area entirely in favor of the snack shack next time. Come to think of it, I love my son very much, but I may forego the bleachers and join them in the relative warmth of the snack shack if we have another cold morning like that!

John really found his stride today. They worked with the pitching machine, and he started out so timid, obviously nervous. He missed the first one, then cracked a few out there, and you could watch the transformation take place.

Next time he was up, he sauntered up to the plate, grinning like a cheshire cat, squared up, and tapped the plate with the bat. I have no idea what gave him the idea (we don't even watch ball on tv), but the coach who was catching chuckled and said, "That's right, look like a baseball player! You got it!" We do have *one of those* adults in the group. I'll have to blog about that one separately, but my-oh-my, it will be difficult not to slip a little valium into that person's coffee. Oy. Thankfully, it's just one.

We came back, prepared to work on the property a bit more, but we talked with some friends who just moved back and figured they could use a little help getting their place cleaned out and ready to move in. So we packed up lunch, yard tools, plumbing tools, and a picnic bench (thank you, Aunt B - those things are SO handy!) and headed over for the day. I'm glad we went. The kids played (as kids are wont to do, eh?), and we were able to lend a hand and enjoy the company of good friends.

At the end of the day, we are tired. Happy. Glad to live here, and to have the life and friends and opportunities we do. Impending itchy blisters and all. *grin*

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hint #2: leaves, (also vines and bark)

We dug around beneath that tree. There were quite a few other leaves, but some of them we could recognize as belonging to other trees nearby. These are the ones there were the most of. Does this help any?



Also, this is from the tree behind it, but I'm wondering if it's vines that did this to the bark, or something else? I know this poor tree probably isn't healthy, but isn't the detail fascinating? (Click on the image to view the MONGO detail.)



Zorak asked me today if we are assuming that all vines on the trees are poison ivy. I have no idea. I'm just assuming that all vines on the trees ought not be there and must come off. Probably ought to check on that at some point, huh?

There's a lot I have put off, for the simple reason that this whole landscaping thing falls into one of those "painful ironies" categories. I've got two pretty big fears embedded in my imagination. One is of a vampire-werewolf cross - horrible creature, really. The other is vines that have malicious intent and will grow clear across the meadow, up the side of the house, through the window, and kill me in my sleep. Rent Watcher in the Woods. It could happen.

So today's three hours of yanking vines off trees and out of the ground? It's like shock therapy for the overly imaginative.

Kiss those babies (and keep the vines away from the windows!)
~Dy

What is this?

We're going to play a little game. (Don't run away! No, come back! I have coffee!)

I'll post a picture of something, and you guess what it is. This is like "animal, mineral or vegetable", except they're all going to be plants. More specifically, they're all going to be plants I cannot identify and have no idea how to go about identifying. So, you get to play AND do something altruistic for a friend. (Please come back.)

Let's start with the tool grabbing tree. The full shot is in the previous post. And here, we have a closer shot of the bark (bonus points if anyone can identify the tree in the background, too - no idea what that is)...


Here's a shot of a branch with buds (and the other tree limb mugging in the background - we've got a wild bunch of party foliage, here!):


And, to show off my inept photography skills, a blurry picture of a bud:


Fun, huh? (And yes, I really do love my youngest son. He was in no danger of being konked on the head by the trimmer. It was thoroughly lodged in there when this picture was taken.)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

That Went Well...

No, that's not an enormous bird feeder. Yes, it is a telescoping tree pruner dangling from a tree. Would you all believe me if I told you the tree grabbed the trimmer and tore it from my hands, then told me to get back or the dog would get it? No? That's too bad. Would've made a great story.

And to think, this was the high spot of the day. The rest of our projects today for the Forever Home phase something-or-other did include what I thought would be an exciting and enticing foray into the world of *Secret Forts*.

Me: *whispering* Boys, check this out. Won't this make a great secret fort?

*crickets* Yes, in broad daylight. Stone. Cold. Silence as they surveyed the scene before them:



Me: See the magic castle back there?
John: You mean the dead tree?
James: Yeah, I think she's talking about the dead tree. Mom, are we going to build the secret fort behind the dead tree?
Smidge: MAGIC CASTLE!

(OK, at least he saw it.)

I laid out the plan to prune and clear out that clump of foliage in front of the "dead tree" (or, as some of us more imaginative types prefer to call it, The Magic Castle) so that they'll have a cool cave-like spot there when the leaves have filled in. For the record, when I was six, I'd have killed for something like that.

The boys worked hard, and they were diligent. But I don't know if "enthused" would be a good way to describe their view of the process. We hauled out a lot of dead limbs from the once-lively tree, and James wondered whether it'd be this gross when we were done. We made it into the inner sanctum of the someday-fort, and John began pondering just how many types of poisonous spiders dwell in there. They both ran for it the second I told them they could go. Ah, well, Balto and I thought it was pretty cool.

EmBaby fell asleep in the swing, so she missed a lot of the excitement. And Smidge? Well, he's still young enough that if we say it'll be magical, then it'll be magical. He worked the hardest of all of us.



Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Play Ball!

Or, more appropriately, "Run in circles and laugh until you trip and fall over!"

Baseball Season has begun. Yesterday was the first practice (moved from Saturday for some unknown reason). John is one of the older children on the team, which is good. It'll help balance out the fact that he hasn't been raised in a culture of sports and knows next to nothing about... any of it.

The coach is a doll, and his wife has more enthusiasm than any one person should be permitted. She's really great. And so organized. (I'll admit it, I sat and just stared at her - how can she DO so much with a manilla folder? How does she make that work? Don't things fall out and get coffee spilled on them, and don't her children *rearrange* them for her all the time? Ohhhhh, could she possibly have a Special Place for her paperwork? Mmmmmm. I must get to know this woman!)

But back to the children... They are so stinkin' cute! It's like being at the zoo, watching the Cute and Fuzzy Display. (The chain link fence may have added to that sensation a bit.) One little boy just danced and danced while he was in line. There was no music, but that didn't stop him. He was so much fun to watch. There's a little guy who reminds me of Ron Weasley, with his red hair and sweet nature. He was so enthusiastic, but couldn't run ten feet without flipping over. He'll be a tad bruised by the first game, but with his go-get-em attitude, he'll probably be running marathons in five years.

The kids were a bit shy with one another. Most of them look to the stands for their support and encouragement. As they get to know each other, they'll be more willing to shout encouragement to one another. But in the meantime, John and a couple of others flashed the "I love you," sign to their parents in the stands. And after each catch or toss or running stint, the little face attached to the action would turn our way, seek out his people and absolutely BEAM. That was good to see.

Actually, the whole afternoon was encouraging. There were three dads out on the field, helping the coach. The benches were filled with moms and siblings. No swearing. No fighting. No nastiness. We were in heaven. If you're ever feeling a little down on how our society is going, let me know and I'll bring you by the ballfield. Like a little shot of hope, really. But without the puckering fear of the needle, or the little cotton ball/bandaid thing.

We're sized for his uniform (oh. my. word. - those are just the cutest little things!!) and Zorak and I have the requisite parental support garments ordered (cap for him and t-shirt for me). I've got to find a small duffle bag for John to keep his things in. Practice comes three times a week, plus games on weekends, so it looks like I'm going to have to master the art of the stock pot, and make-ahead meals. But did I mention how absolutely adorable the little ones out on the field are? Oh.

And the coffee is good. Zorak put it well. It's not gourmet coffee good. It's not Circle K coffee good. It's, "We're sitting here, on a bench, watching our child play ball" good. Very good, indeed.

There were going to be pictures, but the upload cord has completely disappeared. Without a trace. Weird.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Sometimes...

Sometimes you want to ask...

Sometimes you're not sure if you want to...

And sometimes you're pretty sure you wouldn't be able to make sense, even if you did...


That turtle has been up that tree for a month, now.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Garden Blogs?

This morning, while researching raised beds, I found this place, Compost Bin. The guy is in New Jersey, so I'm sure there will be things that wouldn't ever apply to our little piece of land, but he's enjoyable to read, and let his children plant a stick garden. How can you not love that?

Anybody read gardening blogs? I'd love to find some Southern gardening blogs (since we live in the South, and all). Would love to hear your suggestions!

Zorak and I have moved on to the portion of the Forever Home Remodel which shall hereafter be called The Garden. The technical term for its place in the whole renovation process is Phase I, part 3, subsection A. Or, possibly, we'll call it, "&#!@**$". We'll see how it goes. So far, though, so good.

We've dealt with location, layout, and general gameplan. For the most part. We have vague ideas where to go from here, and I imagine there will be a great deal of milling about, looking lost - both literally and figuratively - as we get our bearings.

Zorak and John took the tall pruning shears and the machete out back to tackle the massive growth back there, rid the trees of dead limbs, and get a jump start on the poison ivy. I went after the once-decorative shrubbery in the front. It's all lookin' mighty spindly right now. John asked why we were doing it that way. I'm sure it seems strange to a child's mind to go in and remove so much foliage. We talked about getting the land healthy first, pretty later. It's just like our bodies, or our homes, or our relationships: they need to be healthy and strong, to have all they need in order to thrive. And then, it's pretty delightful to see they don't need to be "managed" for beauty, really. They're beautiful in their own right. Plants, people, and lives. We may not get much to actually grow in the "garden" out back, but this may be a wonderful year for the children.

Kiss (and nurture) those babies!
~Dy

Something Beautiful

A while back, Jean asked her readers to post a picture of "something beautiful". I think she meant scenery, but, well, the South in the winter isn't the most picturesque place on earth. It can be, if you have Thom's wicked photography skills, but if your picture-taking abilities pretty much peaked with Polaroid instant film, this place is harsh. Of the umpteen bathousand "nature pictures" I've taken this winter, this is the sole survivor:



So, I thought I'd compensate by sharing a few shots taken lately that just make me smile.

It is very difficult to just let BabyGirl *sleep*. She's snuggly enough when she's awake, but when she's asleep and, I admit, I have a fondness for those tiny, curled, soft baby feet. Makes me want to swoop her up and snuggle her in, deep and close. That's a bit startling for her, though, so we tend to just take pictures...



John loves to take pictures. And he's good. He's got a natural eye for things, and I have no idea how he does it, but he can fiddle with the camera until he gets just what he saw in his mind. We just let him run wild with the camera, and it's always a treat (sorry Amy) to see what turns up. This is one of my recent favorites. Doesn't it make our plain ol' ceiling fan look much more romantic than you'd expect?



And this little beauty, is our Lean-O-Meter. Zorak and the boys made it for the tree in our front yard.
The tree has a disturbing lean to it, although it seems solidly rooted and healthy. It will, eventually come down, but in the meantime, the guys use this gauge to check the tree's behavior. If it starts moving noticeably, or hits a certain point on the scale, the tree's demise gets bumped to the top of the priority list. It hasn't moved since they hung it. It's beautiful to me because when I see it through the window, I know that Zorak finds ways to look after us, even when he's not here.

Kiss those beautiful babies!
~Dy

Well, kids...

The nice policeman is flashing his lights and parking right behind Mommy because... Uh, I don't know, but I'll bet we'll find out in a minute!

License and proof of insurance, please.

AH-HA! I cleaned out the car today! *in my best sing-song voice in my head* I know where my paperwork is! I know where my paperwork is!

Whipped out proof of insurance (AND registration, just to show how organized I am), reached over for my bag and... looked in the back and... dropped my head onto my arm. "Boys, please tell Mommy her backpack is back there." The boys look around. Nope. *sigh*

And no longer doing the sing-song thing in my head - Of course it's not. I cleaned out the car today. My backpack is sitting on the porch at the house. I'm pretty sure the dog is tearing it apart as we speak. ("You see, officer, my dog ate my license." *snort* The stories they could probably tell!)

Evidently, I pulled a California-stop at the 4-way stop on the corner.

So, he took down all my information and went back to see if I was on the up and up. It took him a long time. I was so anxious (just because I hate being pulled over) that I took to sorting the trash in the little dangly bag on the cup holder. James and John did me the honor of reporting back every. movement. the man made.
"Mom! Mom! He looks mad!"
"Mom, he's talking on the radio!"
"Mom, he has a funny look on his face!"
"Mom, he's looking up at us!"
(Well, wave and smile and sit. back. down!)

I figured this was going to cost us heavily, so focused instead on talking with the boys. What better opportunity to let them know that I made a mistake, and although it wasn't intentional, it's still my responsibility. See, consequences for our behavior: it happens to all of us. We all make mistakes, but how do we handle it when we do? Want some milk to go with that Humble Pie?

The boys waved furiously as the officer made his way back up to the car. I got a verbal warning for being an idiot who leaves her bag on the porch. Got a ticket for not stopping at a stop sign. Alabama's pretty proud of their stop signs! Ugh. I feel like a real boob.

But, on the upside, the officer was very nice and didn't have a Robocop complex, which I appreciated tremendously. We picked out movies from the store and made it home without further incident. AND, there are two tidy, clean vehicles in the front yard. We did more, but the pork chops are about done, so I'll blog later, when the kidlets are asleep.

Dy

Take *that*, you evil pipe-freezing demons!

Zorak's not due home until tomorrow. And yet, the house is mid-way clean right now. Ah-ha - you shall not foil me again!

Of course, it helps that it's 70-something degrees and beautiful...

Probably not a high risk of freezing tonight.

But still, it's nice to know an old dog can learn new tricks, no?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Computers, Wildlife, and Stuff

Right now, the computer works okay, as long as you don't get uppity and think you can just "point and click". Oh, no. This is a bit more like a hijacking, or blackmail. You must move slowly, with your hands up, make eye contact, get to your position and await further instructions. If you don't wait for the hand, well, all heck's gonna break loose and you'll only have to wait longer because of it. And if "they" (the ones that live inside the computer) don't want you to do something, you'd better not try. They can make bad things happen.

Gah.

The computer guy with the whimsical messaging system will be out Saturday. This is great, in that I don't have to unplug or transport anything. And it will force me to declutter the school room.

We did get out yesterday, but who knew the wildlife refuge closes at five? The man at the information desk obviously does not get paid overtime and does not do his job for the love of it. (It wasn't five yet, but he wasn't taking any chances.)

The Refuge Ranger (yeah, I had a hard time not giggling at that title, too), however, is delightful and enthusiastic, and she knows that it takes less time to whip out some interesting tips and leads than it does to stare blankly at people and hope they will think you're a wood carving. We left with some great ideas, and are heading back out for an excursion today. Yay!

What do you like to do to get out of the house?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Not The Best Marketing Plans...

The computer needs some lovin', and I've been putting it off for a while. But now, we're down to the gnat's end. So, I looked up a few computer repair places this morning. It wasn't productive, but it was interesting...

Place #1:
I dialed 123-4567.
The answering machine message says, "You have reached 890-1234. Please leave your message at the tone." *

I hung up, checked the number, and redialed very. carefully. (Stuck my tongue out and everything, just to make sure.)

Got the same message. I left my message, along with a disclaimer that I'd dialed a different number completely and so if this isn't the right place, please accept my apologies.

Hmmm... so I tried another place.

Hey, they have a website. www.valleycomputers.com Cool.

But, um, if you go there, you'll see this message:

If you are the owner of this web site you have not uploaded (or incorrectly uploaded) your web site.

I think I'll keep looking...

Dy

*Editoral note: I called the number again so I could get the exact number on the message, and I got busted. Steve actually answered this time! He forwards all his calls to one cell phone, so that does explain the mis-matched number.

Mornin'

Well, I didn't mean to go to bed at ten last night, but somebody needed some snuggles. Actually, several somebodies needed some snuggles. I awoke again this morning under the pile 'o bodies. (Honey, if you're reading this, we're moving to the guest room. Meet me there Friday at ten, but don't mention this to the kids, okay?)

Today is Ash Wednesday. We don't attend a church that observes Ash Wednesday, and I miss that. The preparation, the reflection... all a part of preparing for Lent. I'm not sure why a church would observe Lent and not observe Ash Wednesday. Probably ought to talk to Pastor about that. (Cuz' if you don't ask, you won't know!)

If everything stays put today, we'll get outside for sure. We simply must. But I'm not telling you what we're doing, because everytime I write out a plan, we don't do it. Not that I blame you. No. It's me. Or maybe it's the small ones. Whatever it is, today is a "surprise day". Heh. How's that?

We're reading Captains Courageous now. It's written by Rudyard Kipling, and the story is delightful. Absolutely fantastic. As a read-aloud, though, it requires a certain verbal flexibility which, it seems, I simply don't have. The gymnastics required to keep one eye reading ahead in order to pace the phrases and speech of the day will wear. you. out. Goodness. This goes well beyond the banks of the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever-trees. That, I can finagle. It's the myriad contractions (Vowel! I need a vowel, here, folks!) and the colloquialisms of the Boston fishermen from the 1800's (much longer, and more complex than our speech and pace of today). But even with that challenge, which is just a challenge and not really a hinderance, it's a delightful read. Perhaps one to read twice: once, to yourself, and then again, aloud. But don't miss it.

And now, two of four are up. Time to begin the day!

kiss those babies!
~Dy

Frau Hillary's Pancake

We tried it. Oh, my, we may live off this stuff. Give it a shot.

This is the basic wheat-free version. I'll note alternative substitutions for other ingredients below the recipe.

In an oven-proof skillet (as always, I recommend cast iron), melt 1/2 stick of butter. (This is easiest to do by sticking it in the oven while the oven preheats.)

In a bowl, sift together 1/2 c. of flour blend, 1/2 tsp. xanthan gum, 1 tsp. baking powder, 2 Tbsp. sugar.

Add to the bowl, 2 eggs, 1/2 c. milk, 1 tsp. vanilla.

Mix well.

Pour the batter over the butter and bake at 400' for 20-25 min.

Enjoy!


********Substitutions And Notes*********

The original recipe does not call for sugar or vanilla. I added those because I really wanted to. (It was for dessert, okay?) :-D

Butter in this could be replaced with any oil (coconut, maybe? Canola, plain vegetable, whatever you want - you just need the fats to make this thing really sing. Well, and to get it out of the skillet when it's done, I would imagine.)

Xanthan gum and guar gum are interchangeable. Use whatever you have, but if you're using non-wheat flours, don't leave it out!

Baking powder substitute: 2 parts baking soda and 1 part cream of tartar.

Milk - I used fat free powdered milk, and so I would imagine you could use any other milk - rice, soy, or almond - without problems.

I'm going to go eat what's left. We'll just have to make more in the morning. Thanks, Hillary!

Shoes, steps, and stomach aches.

Zorak came home, we all rejoiced, hit the buffet yesterday, and then put him back on a plane. We have it easy, compared to our military families, I know. It's still not fun.

John is decked out in gear for baseball. This child is stoked. There's no other term for it. He is wildly, thoroughly stoked. His coach called this morning to introduce himself and give me a heads up that the meet 'n greet will be sometime in the next week. I volunteered to handle any allergy-related snacks for the team. His wife said there are three children in the school with celiac, so she would be sure to bring it up at the meeting and let folks know to get with me on their needs, if they have any. I guess they've decided to go with ball pants for the kids this year because their little legs get too torn up wearing shorts, so that was the Big News. (It was a little lost on me, I admit, because I had no idea they would wear anything other than ball pants.)

Smidge has taken off on the independence track lately. It's not the two-year-old "I can do it myself" anymore. He just goes... and does it. And then beams from ear-to-ear when he's done. Everything is a reason for celebration for him. Everything is a joy. He knows he's earned the praise he receives, because he can feel the accomplishment in his bones. We should all work so hard to do so well, I think.

Miss Emily has taken a few steps by herself. She's still not thrilled with the huge spaces of nothingness between furniture, but she sure was proud of herself with those steps. And they were to Daddy, which made him smile. Watching them made me smile. It's good stuff, isn't it?

James came ambling out last night around ten-thirty, complaining of a stomach upset. He had some warm milk and then headed back to bed. About half an hour later, I heard what sounded like a body falling from the top bunk, and dashed down the hall to see what happened. He was leaning in the hall, looking shaken. "I puked, Mom, *bwomp*" - the sound turned out to be vomit hitting the wall at 90MPH. That had to have hurt. He was sick all night, eventually running out of energy to do anything more than lie there and moan. Sometime after four this morning, he drifted into a peaceful sleep. (Well, he probably just passed out, but he looks so peaceful now that he's not convulsing in dry heaves, so we're going with that.) I imagine he won't be right for a day or two. Best we can figure is that the culprit must be the salad from the buffet. That's the only thing he ate that the rest of us didn't.

The weather's beautiful today. Grey, breezy, threatening rain, but it's already in the mid-50's. I'd hate to waste a day like this inside, so after a leisurely morning, perhaps we'll take an outing - the baseball player, the enthusiastic small one, the crawling rock-eater, and the invalid from the infirmary. Won't we be a colorful troupe? The fresh air will do us all some good.

In the meantime, I think I'm going to work on the school room a bit. Maybe write a note to the principal to let him know James won't be doing lessons today. ;-)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Sweet Comfort

We all slept late, woke leisurely and snuggled. Then we scuttled into town for hardware (for the doors) and a memory card (for the gamecube). We were so tempted to stop at the buffet before we came home, but when we eat there, we accomplish nothing for the rest of the day. We come home, sprawl out like crime scene mock-ups, and digest. Instead, I threw granola bars at the kids and we kept truckin'. Came home to fix supper. And, oh, what a supper it was!

Steaks, sausages, smoked pork loins, pintos, steamed okra, corn on the cob, salad. It was like eating a Texas Pit BBQ in 18th Century size. Holy cow. But it's okay if we sprawl out like crime scene mock-ups now, because we got our work done before we ate. I love food.

Zorak and the boys are playing video games. I got the small ones bathed and jammied. (What is it about little ones that's just so heart melting when they're freshly bathed and all pink and fluffy?) And in a bit, I think we'll curl up and enjoy some stories. It feels like it's nearly ten o'clock, but according to the computer (which is, suspiciously, fast), it's only 7:10.

It's been a good day, and I'm thankful for it. Gonna go kiss my hubby.
Dy

*sigh*

We took this week to get things together. It was a great week. In the back of my mind, the romantic part that's hidden way, way down there in the shadows, I'd hoped to be spiffed up a bit, with the house all prettied up for Zorak when he got home.

We awoke this morning to frozen water pipes. It wasn't in the house (for which I'm thankful), but it's the main service line just on our side of the meter. We had no water until after one-thirty today.

That meant no shower.

No cleaning.

No spiffing.

And I have to admit, I'm a little disappointed. Way down in the romantic recesses of my heart.

But still, he's coming home! He's just ten miles down the road, picking up *steaks* from Foodland! (Maybe there's something going on his his wee romantic recesses, as well? Maybe whatever's going on will buy me time for a shower? Hope abounds!)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

All Better

Gosh, remember when a can of 7-Up with a straw, a warm blanket, and a kiss from Mom would make everything "all better"? Well, who'd have guessed that *mumble-mumble* years later, a cup of coffee, a bag of chocolates, and a Jane Austen flick would have the same effect?

The boys flew through their lessons today. I don't know if I'm not pushing them enough, or if they're just really enjoying it. (Kind of afraid to test the theory, really.) We hit the market for a thrilling two and a half hours of grocery shopping. The manager approached to ask if we'd like help getting our groceries out to the car. Um, it's 26' out, I have two carts, and... YEAH, BABY!! Bring it on! The poor kid who came to help us seemed a bit at a loss for words. He kept looking from one cart to the next, not actually making eye contact with any of us. Awkward, but I'm still grateful for the escort.

We came home and I turned the boys loose outside. Emily slept. Smidge slept. The big boys romped in the frigid sunshine with the dog (who was deleriously glad to have somebody to play with outside) while I unloaded the groceries, put them away, and made supper.

Since we finished The Indian in the Cupboard, we stopped at the video store and rented the movie version. James is so deeply, genetically linked to me. He could hardly watch the movie for all the running commentary about how it differed from the book. John, of course, thought the movie was much better than the book. He doesn't "see" the story as it's read to him, so he is more readily gratified with the visuals of a movie, whereas James gets his enjoyment out of the development of the story (the book has to make the characters "real" for him). It's fun to see such different learning styles in action, and to know that we can accomodate both. In all, it was a fun evening.

Storytime took us well past ten o'clock tonight. Oy. But each child got some personalized, one-on-one time alone, which I think they all needed. It was good, and that's a worthwhile reason to stay up late, anyway.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Almost Cried Uncle

Yesterday. Was. Hard.

If I was going to cry, "Uncle!" Yesterday would have been the day. But I didn't. (Neither did they.) And we made it. Everybody went to bed knowing they are loved. Always. The sun came up today, and what do you know, it's a better day already. I guess that's what days like that are good for. If you're always on your best behavior and everyone adores you, then you can start to wonder if they really love you, warts and all. But, when you've really pushed the limits, and you've really tested the boundaries, and somebody can be purple-faced with frustration and tongue-biting and still look you in the eye and say, "I love you with all my heart. What you're doing is not okay, and you need to stop, but I still love you right now." Wow.

It's hard to do that sometimes. I never saw that, growing up. I didn't know if I'd be able to do it as a parent. But yeah, it's good. It's worth doing. It's worth doing, even when, or especially when, it's the hardest thing in the world to do.

I'm sorry we didn't get to make a video for Dad. I'm sorry we didn't get to call Gram. I'm sorry we weren't up for taking on the icy bridge into town. But amidst all the things I'm sorry for, I don't have to add any of the guilty-parenting thing. I'm glad I didn't lose my temper. I'm glad that when we sat down to write out the rules of the house, the boys were the first ones to explain why each rule is so important. I'm glad that when I reminded them that we're ALL subject to the rules of the house, including me, they didn't roll their eyes. *grin*

So, yeah, while the day had me in a pretty rugged half-nelson, it was okay. I didn't get pinned, and for that I'm thankful.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Wild Winter Day

Winter in the South is so weird. Jeans and a t-shirt? Christmas weather. (Although I wore a sweater on principle.) Roasting marshmallows on the deck in January. (Sans jackets, even!) Valentine's Day in fleece, and it looks like snow is on the way. (We're praying for the snow, at least. If it's gotta be this cold...)

I awoke this morning to the sound of rain falling on the hillbilly porch roof outside our room. I breathed in the feeling of a rainy winter morning -- the muted light through the windows, the magic of the rain's rhythm, the absolute stillness of the morning. There's something magical about it. I stretched, and knocked a child off the bed. Made a mental note that when we redo the roofing on this place, we've got to have metal roofing somewhere in the equation. And a bigger bed.

I extricated myself from the mass of bodies somebody had dumped on my bed in the middle of the night (figuring the live ones would emerge eventually and if there were any left after that, we'd sort it out then), and wandered to the kitchen. What was I forgetting? Coffee? Check. Slippers? Check. Trash? ACK. It's TUESDAY!

Quickly, I threw on my boots and hoodie and headed out to haul the trash can to the road. Because one of the last things I said to Zorak as he was reminding me of all the things to be done this week was, "YES HONEY, I know Tuesday is trash day," and if you're going to mouth off like a petulant teenager, then you'd better be prepared to make good on your supposed knowledge, or eat a lot of crow when the dust settles. (Hi, honey! I got the trash out! I love you!)

The magical quality of rain... does not extend to the driveway, at six in the morning. And, to further highlight the utterly non-magical nature of the process, Balto skittered along directly in front, erm, beside me for the walk. I made it back, wet, muddy, and pretty darned sure it wasn't worth it. But thankfully, I'd made the coffee before I left. We have a BUNN. Life is good.

So then I had an hour and a half of quiet. To read, study, stare into space and make spit bubbles.

The boys awoke one at a time. I love it when that happens. Everybody gets individual morning snuggles. The pace is slow and gentle. James asked, "Did you see Smidge and me snuggled in this morning?" I kissed his forehead and smiled in return. No sense in telling him I'm pretty sure it was him I knocked off the bed when I got up. Why ruin his idyllic reverie?

Due to my semi-irrational fear of having one or more children sucked into the river, we opted not to go to the Wildlife Refuge, but rather to stay home and watch it rain from the safety of the house. We read, and read, and read. The Indian in the Cupboard, The Yellow Fairy Book, The Chamber of Secrets. James read his chapter from The Aneid for Boys and Girls to John. John read The Ugly Duckling to Smidge. Emily ate three crayons. The boys finished their lessons before eleven o'clock, and then we played and read some more. Then I chased them all away to play while I tidied and cleaned a bit.

Sometime this evening, I clued in that tomorrow, being Wednesday, and also being Valentine's Day, they might need Valentines to take to their classes tomorrow. So I asked, and my bright, detail-oriented offspring both grinned and shrugged. "Probably, it is Valentine's Day, you know." Yeah. Well, glad to see logic is taking its place in your realm... I can't wait for the rhetoric to kick it! We'll have to put something together tomorrow. I don't have it in me tonight.

The rain is falling. The magic is back. So are the bodies in my bed, I suspect. I think I'll go see if I can find a spot near a pillow.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Home Landscape

(Eventually, I'll probably just shorten it to "hl"... the evolution of laziness, folks.)

We spent three hours at the County Extension Office today. The boys now know everybody from the 4-H director to the soils testing people. They were delightfully behaved the entire time we were there, and were thrilled to leave laden with all kinds of goodies from everyone in the building.

We got more information than my mortal mind will be able to process in a decade. And we really only scratched the surface. But it was good, and we know who to contact when we get ready to have the spring water tested, when we're ready to put in a pond, and when we're ready to start our own 4-H club. Wee!

We got home, had a delicious early supper, then played games until bedtime.

Smidge learned (the hard way) why we have table manners rule #8: Do Not Blow Into Your Straw. We'd made milkshakes. We aren't sure what happened, as nobody was looking at him prior to the point of impact, but evidently his straw got plugged. So he blew. And he blew. And then IT blew. We heard him make a panicky, whining noise and looked up to see... that he'd been hit with a cream pie? What is that? His entire face, from the upper lip to the hairline, was covered in whipped cream. Couldn't tell where his eyes or nose might be. The front of his shirt? All chocolate milkshake and sprinkles. The large plastic Steak 'N Shake cup? Almost completely empty. Got him cleaned off and into the tub, made sure all was okay, and then allowed myself to giggle. I've never seen something explode like that before. (The house rule is just b/c it's annoying and makes a splattery mess on the table. Don't tell them, but I had NO idea milkshakes held that kind of explosive power!) Once he realized he hadn't blinded himself for life, all that was hurt were his feelings over losing most of his milkshake. The boys, however, think that was the coolest trick they've ever seen!

Just as I'd tucked the last child in, and turned off the last light, Bobby, er, Melissa called. Since she's been calling, returning calls, and emailing more often than just twice a year, we were able to get all caught up before my phone died! I love visiting with her, and she always manages to make me laugh, and to feel like we can do this. We really can. THANK YOU!

We're supposed to go talk to the Wheeler Wildlife folks tomorrow to round up information on doing nature studies in the area (again, steeeeeeeeep learning curve for me, so we've got to start early). The morning routine works nicely, and leaves afternoons open for things like this, so that's nice. But I think we'll wait and see how everyone is feeling. We might just bury ourselves in pruning information and call it a day! (LB, I know I didn't get a chance to call, please let F. know that we got sidetracked with the great exploding milkshake.)

Phew. I'm pooped.

G'night!
Kiss those babies,
Dy

Renovation Tidbits: Landscape

So I told Zorak the other day that Spring's A-Comin'. We need to prune the fruit trees, and find out what type of fertilizer the nut trees will need this year. We need to clear some land for the garden and plan that. We need to arrange the best watershed scenario so as to make the best use of water and not cause any undue damage. I had a whole list of things for him to add to his Honey-Do list.

He said, "OK, that sounds good. You get spooled up on all that and let me know what we need to do."

*blink* *blink*

Wha-what?!? What?! NO! How'd he do that? That was most certainly NOT my plan! Nowhere near my plan. My plan involved me, staying inside (in the a/c) this summer, watching my beloved and our darling offspring do the natural-man thing. My plan was to greet them at the door with iced tea, fresh biscuits and gazpacho! My plan kept me far, far from the poison ivy, and the ticks, and the sweat, and the ticks.

And the ticks.

Gah. He's crafty, that one. It's a good thing he's cute, that's all I have to say.

So we're off to the County Extension Office today to find out what to do with a dying persimmon tree, how to cultivate muscodynes (and spell, evidently) muscadines, why on earth someone would eat poke leaves, and how to tell the difference between the berries of the latter two.

Give me a bed of cactus, or anything that grows in the Rocky Mountains, and I'm good to go. But all the Southern bit of Nature's Bounty leaves me realizing I would die in less than two weeks in the wilderness out here. Not from exposure. Not from dehydration. But from all those juicy, sweet, deadly berries!

Gah.

Kiss those babies, and tell them not to eat these:


~Dy

Who I Am

MFS saw a picture of herself recently that she felt really showed her as she *feels*. She then asked on a board we frequent if we'd be willing to share something similar of ourselves. It's been a fun thread, and the window-peeking nosey Nellie in me has enjoyed putting faces with names. But, finding a picture of myself to share was a bit... difficult.

I wanted to email Crissy covertly and ask her to airbrush out a couple of things for me. Maybe airbrush in a few things, too, if possible. You know, just amongst us girls.

I wanted to spend the next two days primping and polishing and hot rolling and sloughing and... where are those Crest whitestrips? Or maybe Crissy could do that, too? Jess? No, Jess knows me too well. I still haven't lived down the last little bit o' fixin' I asked her to do. Drat.

But, that wasn't what Melissa had asked. She asked what we look like. Now. Today (or recently). Particularly, in this season of our lives. Who we are, and where we are. All settled in, and comfy with ourselves.

Comfy. Yeah.

Well, ok.

No excuses. No apologies. No primping, posing, or airbrushing.

These two pictures sum it up pretty well.

This is how I look a lot of the time. Kissing my babies.


And this is it. This is me. Sling. Sweater. Jeans. Runaway hair. Nose. Smile. There's usually a backpack slung over my shoulder, stuffed with all the things of life, but Zorak had it at the time, to get the camera out.


What do *you* look like?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

He's gone...

Sorry for the silence here the last few days. Zorak is off doing engineering things for a bit, and so, we stocked up. We soaked him in. We basically pestered the snot out of the man for the last few days. He's probably looking forward to some peace and quiet on the plane ride.

But now, we're back! Regularly scheduled communication (phone calls, emails, and blogging) will now commence.

Kiss those babies, and the daddies, too!
~Dy

Categories and Labels?

What categories have you found to be the most useful, if you use them? What a silly thing to give so much attention to, but, well, we all do silly things from time to time. I could be mopping the floor, but truthfully, I'd prefer to do it at night so that it will stay pretty for a few hours before the children emerge.

I like categories that are actually helpful for people who are looking for something specific. For instance, wheat-free, or food. Books are a helpful category. What else have you found helpful? Or do you ignore them? Or do you also obsess over them and find yourself either giving every single entry a category of its very own, or trying to much things into pathetically vague categories, like lumping your homeschooling, political activism, latest reading lists, cute kid stories, and latest kitchen fiasco all into "education"? C'mon, fill me in, here.

Kiss those babies (and which category do you put them in?)
~Dy

Schooling Update

Lessons are coming along surprisingly well for *whisper* this time of year.

James is reading The Aeneid for Boys and Girls, compliments of KathyJo for posting her reading list, and The Baldwin Project for offering it online. This is the first time he has enjoyed reading the Ancient stories on his own. Until now, he'd sit patiently through a history reading, enjoy doing a project, even get into telling Dad about all he'd learned. But to sit down and read the stories... not so much. That's why I never bought D'Aulaire's books. We checked them out, and they went unread if I didn't read them aloud. But this, he gets up each morning and asks right off if I've printed his reading for the day. (woohoo) This may be a result of some inner process to which I am not privy. It may be a response to Church's writing. Don't know. Don't care. Gonna run with it.

John is reading Fun With Dick and Jane for his reading assignments. Don't laugh. I know. Zorak is just as surprised as I am that John, Mr. Merlin and The Dragons, Mr. Rough-n-Tumble, is enchanted by Dick, Jane, and Baby Sally. People can scoff, but I figure he picked it out, he loves it, he is making advances. He's reading. He's reading aloud to me, to Smidge, to anyone who will listen.

Look, Mom! Look!
John is reading!
John is reading comfortably!
Happy, happy Mother.

We've made it to the Punic wars in History. I don't know if it's a sibling thing, but the boys really can play off one another so easily. It makes me smile.

Me: And so began the First Punic War. Do you boys know what 'Punic' means?
James: They were small wars? *grin*
Me: Um, no...
John: It was a small country?
Me: (Really trying not to giggle, but they're eyeing me. They know they're being silly, and I'm on the verge of laughing.) Not quite... Punic refers to Phoenician, so -
James: *pfft* Well, that's silly. Phoenicia wasn't puny at all.
John: Yeah, but Sicily was kinda small...

Moooooving on, we got through math and Latin with a speed which floored me. A little birdwatching, a little reading, take some time out for an I SPY book... We piled onto the couch with blankets and our recent read aloud, until I started interjecting random things ("the Indian was now right at dwarvish eyeball height...") and then it was over. Time to get up and get the blood flowing.

When we finish with our lessons and lunch, I usually put EmBaby down for a nap while the boys have free reading time. Then I turn them loose to play. It's a little cold and windy today for making them go outside, so they're enjoying some gametime, while I get a cup of coffee and plan the rest of the week. And so, I'm off! (I'm going to find a book to use for the free trial of ClickBook - will let y'all know how it turns out.)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Print Books?

I FOUND IT!! I have discovered the motherlode for printing books at home!

For anyone who uses The Baldwin Project, Gutenberg Project, Robinson Curriculum, or other books-to-print, well, you will understand my joy.

We print out the pages in portrait orientation, double-sided, and stick them into a binder. It works. Technically. Hard for me to keep track of (we have too many binders laying about), and it's difficult to curl up on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book when the book is the size of a fully grown binder. So, while we thoroughly enjoy the stories, we don't get to enjoy the books as well as if they were smaller, or actually bound. Binders don't travel well in the car. They don't fit in the little daypacks. pages tear out frightfully easily. Not a big issue when compared to, say, whether to use Golden Rice to ship to developing nations, I know. But something to deal with nonetheless.

So, I've been trying to find something that will allow me to print these books in a portrait layout, two-up on a page, and then fold or bind the books so that we'll have smaller finished product with which to work (8 1/2 by 5 1/2).

I suppose, if you're married to a mathematician, or have the whatsit to run a desktop publishing software, you might have the resources at your disposal to figure out the page layout for 5 1/2 by 8 1/2 book printing... I, uh, don't. I can finagle my way through maybe an eight-page print up, but even that's pushing it. Zorak could figure it out, but I can think of eight thousand and three things, straight off the top of my head, that he'd rather do than help me figure out what page order to put Five Little Peppers for printing.

This brings me to the psychotically exciting stuff I found last night!

Gigabooks sells a hand binding press. You can make your own books, complete with covers. The press is pricey for your average homeschool endeavor, but I'm pretty sure Zorak could only think of fifty or sixty things he'd rather do than try to make me something that would do the job. That still leaves enough room for negotiation into buying one!

They carry covers, lamination sheets (actual sheets for this purpose, not the contact paper I normally use), and two different size presses. Oodles of possibilities began dancing in my mind, blurring my budgetary process.

While perusing that site, I found (angels sing in the background) ClickBook. This nifty bit o' software will rotate, shrink-to-fit, sort and send your newly organized project to your regular, everyday printer for you! I think I swooned. I may have even done the excited-toddler-full-body-vibration. They have over 170 layouts you can use, but I mention this solely for the booklet printing. Oh, and the Day Planner layout. (Who hasn't had to customize their Day Planner into a completely unrecognizable form in order to get it to work well? Now, it's fully customizable!) WOOHOO!

Now to find my RC disks...

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

But we felt so busy!

*whine*

OK. Got that out of my system. We worked more on the nursery today. I painted the ceiling. Then, because the kids hadn't figured out yet that I was doing something productive, I was able to go ahead and work on the edge of the ceiling in the living/kitchen/dining space. Yes, I know. We painted that months ago. Actually, I got one coat on, and then Zorak realized he ceiling needs some work. So he asked me to hold off on the second coat until he could get to that... well, it's not caving in on us, so it hasn't migrated to the top of the Priority List yet. And... months later, there you have it. A manic woman with a plastic tub of paint in one hand, a paint brush clutched between her teeth, hauling a step stool around the room with a toddler in hot pursuit. The ugly side of home repair. I got all but the spot above the TV. Didn't have the courage to attempt the lateral air maneuvers required for that one.

Then... I just wandered around for a bit. Felt like I should be doing something, but wasn't sure what. (This happens far more often than I'd like to admit.) Zorak build the jamb for the closet door, got it all squared and shimmed and solid (the studs have an amazing twist to them!) He got the door hung. He unplugged the buzzer on the washing machine. (Remember, when the Sears guy came out, he only unplugged the dryer buzzer, but I didn't know that til I put EmBaby down for a nap and threw in a load of wash. Short nap, that day.)

We took a break to watch Over the Hedge with the kidlets, who needed some 'nuggling. Enjoyed a delicious supper. Fretted over the temperatures and the heater. Zorak fiddled with his latest creation, a gift for Ward. I stained a coat rack for the nursery. We got all the children cleaned and loved on and put to bed. I straightened the kitchen, then cleaned the stove (unless you have the housekeeping skills of a German housemaid, do NOT buy an unsealed burner stove - just a tip from Auntie Dy)... and, and... gosh, I feel like we simply did not stop today, other than the movie break with the kids. Even that involved a lot of up-down-wrestle-move-up-down-chase-the-dog-off-the-futon (when did he get in??) Not much quiet time today. At all.

And we didn't call Gram. :-( We need to call her in the morning.

But now, I've got to go over lesson plans for the week. And sweep the floor. And try to figure out where the day went... hmpf.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy