Because I couldn't laugh until today.
Just the highlights, though...
8:30 AM:
"Hey, Mom! Emily looooooves tea!"
- You gave her tea? In a cup?
"*snort* NO. I gave her the tea bag."
9:45 AM:
Smidge cries.
"Smidge somehow got shoved".
- Somehow? Was this, perhaps, a miraculous shoving? Shall we call the papers and the priest?
"Um, no. It was more like he was in our way while we were rough housing. And he hit our bodies with his head. When we landed on him."
- Uh-huh.
9:47 AM:
Smidge, crying again.
- What happened this time?
"Smidge sort of got hit with a bat."
"A bat? In your ROOM?"
"Yeah. It was weird."
10:15 AM:
Well, no, from 10:15 to about 11:00 wasn't bad.
12:25 PM:
"Why do we have to pick up before we can make candy?"
- Do you want to make candy, or not? I thought so.
1:10 PM:
-Does it MATTER who gets that particular wrapper off the floor? There are, after all, THREE OTHERS waiting to be picked up!
2:00 PM:
-OK, gather all the materials on the list and let's gather around the breakfast bar.
2:01 PM:
"Mom, we're out of cornstarch."
- We can't be! (search, search, search) then,
around 2:25 PM -
- I guess we are. Let's pick another project.
"OK. What do we need?"
- I don't know... since you have the list. ;-)
2:28 PM:
*bringing me the baby* "Hey! Look who's up?"
2:38 PM:
We've now finished the changing of the baby, which also included -
1. having to find the wipes Smidge "put away" for me. Seems simple enough. "OK, where are they?" (NO ME NO!) :-) Aww, he's so cheerful about it...
2. wiping the poop from everything the baby could contaminate while we tried to retrieve the wipes
3. sterilizing everybody's hands
I look up to see that James has already. begun. the project.
Without us.
And it's not going well.
"Mom, I don't know what I did wrong."
- *snort* Well, neither do I, since you didn't wait for me.
It was all I could do to usher everybody out before I began foaming at the mouth.
Regroup, try again.
We tried another project, but what was I thinking? I gave up when I turned to see one of them licking the prepared baking pan. By that point, it was after five, the day had been just one weird fire after another, and none of us had any umpf left in us. I sent them outside.
5:35 PM:
(Coming in with a Very Serious Look) "Mom, see this blood?" (shows me a bloody hand) "It came from my head."
- Of course it did. Today, that would make perfect sense.
We cleaned the wounds, fed the children, repaired the kitchen. Eventually, the sun went down, the bodies slowed, tempers cooled...
I didn't fully appreciate it at the time, but we had stories and snuggles in bed. We told jokes, and gave plenty of hugs. We agreed to start over again in the morning, and it was good.
I kissed my babies.
Brushed the hair back from their faces.
Kissed their sweet, sleepy, warm cheeks once again.
Turned off the lights.
Collapsed in bed, closed my eyes, and pretended I was invisible.
Wednesday, April 18
Tuesday, April 17
Technologically Challenged
Urk.
So I took the unformatted XD card to Wal-Mart, where they ever-so-helpfully directed me to the photo thingy. You know, the one that makes cheap copies of your Olan Mills pictures for you? Yeah, that thing. Upload, burn to disk, you're good to go. (And no, I do not make illegal copies of copyrighted original materials.) What they not-so-helpfully neglected to point out is that the pictures are burned into a marketing nightmare thirty layers deep, from which you will emerge embittered and probably burdened with Kodak products you never knew existed.
Once you arrive home, if you would like to view, retrieve, or in any way claim ownership of the images on the handy-dandy disk, you have to wade through a butt-ton of Kodak "Easy Share" software demons that want your email address ("makes it easy to share photos with friends and family through email!" Um... as opposed to hitting the "attach file" button, "browse", "attach" and *poof* you're done?), automatically sets itself to your default picture viewer (EVEN if you click on "FinePix Viewer", because you've developed Stockholm Syndrome after being held captive by Fuji's stoopid photo software for so long), and then finally locks down completely after doing something horrible to your existing files, and yet never letting you anywhere NEAR the ones you put on disk.
Where is the "I do not want your services. Please release the images into my control NOW" button? Where!?!?
Bee pictures.
Cute, clean baby pictures.
Awesome FOREVER HOME pictures - the school room (all decked out in kids and jelly beans), the baseboard in the bathroom (which makes potty time a happy time around here), and the latest really cool unidentified plants... all stuck!
I hate Kodak. Believe me, they don't want me to share these moments.
I'm going to bed. G'nite.
Dy
So I took the unformatted XD card to Wal-Mart, where they ever-so-helpfully directed me to the photo thingy. You know, the one that makes cheap copies of your Olan Mills pictures for you? Yeah, that thing. Upload, burn to disk, you're good to go. (And no, I do not make illegal copies of copyrighted original materials.) What they not-so-helpfully neglected to point out is that the pictures are burned into a marketing nightmare thirty layers deep, from which you will emerge embittered and probably burdened with Kodak products you never knew existed.
Once you arrive home, if you would like to view, retrieve, or in any way claim ownership of the images on the handy-dandy disk, you have to wade through a butt-ton of Kodak "Easy Share" software demons that want your email address ("makes it easy to share photos with friends and family through email!" Um... as opposed to hitting the "attach file" button, "browse", "attach" and *poof* you're done?), automatically sets itself to your default picture viewer (EVEN if you click on "FinePix Viewer", because you've developed Stockholm Syndrome after being held captive by Fuji's stoopid photo software for so long), and then finally locks down completely after doing something horrible to your existing files, and yet never letting you anywhere NEAR the ones you put on disk.
Where is the "I do not want your services. Please release the images into my control NOW" button? Where!?!?
Bee pictures.
Cute, clean baby pictures.
Awesome FOREVER HOME pictures - the school room (all decked out in kids and jelly beans), the baseboard in the bathroom (which makes potty time a happy time around here), and the latest really cool unidentified plants... all stuck!
I hate Kodak. Believe me, they don't want me to share these moments.
I'm going to bed. G'nite.
Dy
Sunday, April 15
A Tale of Two Churches
It wasn't the best, or the worst. But it was pretty painful. I'm starting to wonder just how much bribe money it would take to relocate our entire congregation at our Wonderful Church so we don't have to change congregations. Zorak thinks this might be a prime opportunity to just scrap it all and start our own "church".
Last week, we visited what we will call the Very Small Church (VSC):
It's Very Small. Perhaps 30 people there, total, on Easter Sunday.
Quite family-friendly; we walked in and the boys said, "They like kids here! Look! There's a baby in the choir!" And what do you know, there was a toddler hanging out with the choir.
They have the children's lesson incorporated into the service, where the children are called to the front for a short talk. Very sweet. The pew was filled with... a 16-year-old-boy, a 5-year-old-girl, the toddler from the choir, and... our kids. That's a lot of work to put into such a small demographic, but by the same token, it was abundantly clear that we were all welcome there.
The pastor of the VSC was kind. Sweet. Mmmm, what's the word I'm looking for? I don't know. He was a bit nervous, and he told a story about another pastor's first Easter service that he informed us was, "absolutely awful" (at this point, we knew VSC Pastor was not a storyteller, per se), then he tied it in (sort of) to this service... leaving us to surmise that although he's been preaching for at least four years, this was his first Easter service. We think. If not, then all bets are off. The sermon he preached was "different". He did a dramatic first-person narrative. In one tone of voice. Stephen Wright uses more inflection than this guy. Good material, but the delivery was just. not. his. strong. point.
In all, though, a good, solid place. Small, so there's no anonymity. The children aren't likely to get lost in the background noise of a larger group. It's full of love and sweetness. Met a lady who's "new here, too" (she's been here over five years, *sigh*). Judging by the toddler's free reign of the sanctuary during the service, they will have no trouble at all with us keeping our children with us for worship.
Drawbacks? Well, no children's ministries other than the children's talk in the service. Actually, the dearth of children is a bit of a drawback, as well. I'm not sure about the pastor's leadership abilities. He seems very nice, and could very well blow us all away by being a phenomenally strong and intuitive leader. But if so, he doesn't exude those qualities right off the bat.
That led us to try what we'll call the Big Shiny Church (BSC):
It was big.
It was shiny.
Not a hymnal, or a child, in sight.
From 0-3, they want them (the children) in the nursery. From 4-6, they will let them in for the singing, and then they want them in another wing of the building, entirely, for the rest of the service. I'm guessing once the kids hit the ripe old age of 7, they've given up, as we didn't see any in the sanctuary under about 12 years old.
I don't know what they've done with the hymnals.
Great band. Really. I thought the music was a soundtrack until we stood and I could see the drum riser. The music is fresh, polished, and well-done.
The fellowship area looks like the coffee bars in Barnes & Noble. Faux marble, wrought iron, barrista area, inlaid wood tables and gourmet beverages on display. Truly a stunning place. They've thought of everything, down to the soda vending machine by the nursery.
These aren't necessarily drawbacks. The place is huge, and it was packed, so obviously, it's filling a need somewhere. It was just a bit... glossy for our comfort. Like the pages of a magazine.
We suspect the BSC Pastor made a bet with the elders before the service to see how many times he could use the word "sex", or one of its derivatives. "Sexuality," "sexual", "sensually satisfying", "sexually pleasing" (OK, we're starting to understand why they kicked the kids out...) I lost count at 15. I actually began feeling somewhat uncomfortable. We've never heard Sarah (Abraham's wife) raked over the coals with such sexually charged fervor... To hear this man speak, Sarah was the Paris Hilton of the Jewish people.
And, just to keep us on our toes, he made SURE we know that "tired out" is a synonym for "past menopause", "post menopausal", "no longer menstruating".
(sex)
We thought, based on the children's ministries at the BSC (chorus, catechism, weekday activities), that it would be a good place for our children to find fellowship and for us to find the support the church can give in parenting. Instead, it felt more like Vulgaria. You can, however, collect your children from under the tunnels as you exit the coffee bar.
In retrospect, inflection isn't everything... So next week, we'll try the VSC again, with a fresh perspective.
Or we'll start proceedings to start our own church. There'll be coffee!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Last week, we visited what we will call the Very Small Church (VSC):
It's Very Small. Perhaps 30 people there, total, on Easter Sunday.
Quite family-friendly; we walked in and the boys said, "They like kids here! Look! There's a baby in the choir!" And what do you know, there was a toddler hanging out with the choir.
They have the children's lesson incorporated into the service, where the children are called to the front for a short talk. Very sweet. The pew was filled with... a 16-year-old-boy, a 5-year-old-girl, the toddler from the choir, and... our kids. That's a lot of work to put into such a small demographic, but by the same token, it was abundantly clear that we were all welcome there.
The pastor of the VSC was kind. Sweet. Mmmm, what's the word I'm looking for? I don't know. He was a bit nervous, and he told a story about another pastor's first Easter service that he informed us was, "absolutely awful" (at this point, we knew VSC Pastor was not a storyteller, per se), then he tied it in (sort of) to this service... leaving us to surmise that although he's been preaching for at least four years, this was his first Easter service. We think. If not, then all bets are off. The sermon he preached was "different". He did a dramatic first-person narrative. In one tone of voice. Stephen Wright uses more inflection than this guy. Good material, but the delivery was just. not. his. strong. point.
In all, though, a good, solid place. Small, so there's no anonymity. The children aren't likely to get lost in the background noise of a larger group. It's full of love and sweetness. Met a lady who's "new here, too" (she's been here over five years, *sigh*). Judging by the toddler's free reign of the sanctuary during the service, they will have no trouble at all with us keeping our children with us for worship.
Drawbacks? Well, no children's ministries other than the children's talk in the service. Actually, the dearth of children is a bit of a drawback, as well. I'm not sure about the pastor's leadership abilities. He seems very nice, and could very well blow us all away by being a phenomenally strong and intuitive leader. But if so, he doesn't exude those qualities right off the bat.
That led us to try what we'll call the Big Shiny Church (BSC):
It was big.
It was shiny.
Not a hymnal, or a child, in sight.
From 0-3, they want them (the children) in the nursery. From 4-6, they will let them in for the singing, and then they want them in another wing of the building, entirely, for the rest of the service. I'm guessing once the kids hit the ripe old age of 7, they've given up, as we didn't see any in the sanctuary under about 12 years old.
I don't know what they've done with the hymnals.
Great band. Really. I thought the music was a soundtrack until we stood and I could see the drum riser. The music is fresh, polished, and well-done.
The fellowship area looks like the coffee bars in Barnes & Noble. Faux marble, wrought iron, barrista area, inlaid wood tables and gourmet beverages on display. Truly a stunning place. They've thought of everything, down to the soda vending machine by the nursery.
These aren't necessarily drawbacks. The place is huge, and it was packed, so obviously, it's filling a need somewhere. It was just a bit... glossy for our comfort. Like the pages of a magazine.
We suspect the BSC Pastor made a bet with the elders before the service to see how many times he could use the word "sex", or one of its derivatives. "Sexuality," "sexual", "sensually satisfying", "sexually pleasing" (OK, we're starting to understand why they kicked the kids out...) I lost count at 15. I actually began feeling somewhat uncomfortable. We've never heard Sarah (Abraham's wife) raked over the coals with such sexually charged fervor... To hear this man speak, Sarah was the Paris Hilton of the Jewish people.
And, just to keep us on our toes, he made SURE we know that "tired out" is a synonym for "past menopause", "post menopausal", "no longer menstruating".
(sex)
We thought, based on the children's ministries at the BSC (chorus, catechism, weekday activities), that it would be a good place for our children to find fellowship and for us to find the support the church can give in parenting. Instead, it felt more like Vulgaria. You can, however, collect your children from under the tunnels as you exit the coffee bar.
In retrospect, inflection isn't everything... So next week, we'll try the VSC again, with a fresh perspective.
Or we'll start proceedings to start our own church. There'll be coffee!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Too Tired To Blog
It's almost two o'clock. We've just emerged from the basement. The stairwell is ready for us to move the steps tomorrow. (Currently, you walk down the steps, turn toward the back wall, and descend the last four steps facing the Scary Room. To get to the rest of the basement, you've got to wander back under the stairwell and around. We're guessing this stroke of inspiration happened about the same time he - whoever did the work - realized the third support column in the Scary Room wasn't gonna hit the joists, either.)
Six boxes completely emptied. Two big black trash bags filled, and two large boxes of trash. Two donation boxes filled. We started to get cocky in our decluttering, and wouldn't you know it, the next box we opened was just full of stuff we don't want, but is either collectable, or valuable, or simply in too nice a condition to throw out. *sigh* The entire box... (Anybody want a mechanical cooking pig?)
We did find several boxes of the boys' things. They've been set in the middle of the boys' room, as a surprise for tomorrow. Who says Christmas comes but once a year, right?
More brainstorming on the waterproofing and culvert plans.
We need rain barrels. Definitely need rain barrels.
The dog seems to be back to his excitable, yet not-horribly-intuitive self. I think I liked him better when he stayed in one place. He kept stealing stuffed toys from the boxes and running off to dismantle them. Not helpful. Or cute.
Thus rounds out the less glamorous *snort* side of home repair. Still, good stuff. At least there are no crickets this year!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
(Drat. Zorak just informed he that he did see one cricket. So I'll modify that, "At least I haven't had to deal with crickets this year! WOOHOO!")
Six boxes completely emptied. Two big black trash bags filled, and two large boxes of trash. Two donation boxes filled. We started to get cocky in our decluttering, and wouldn't you know it, the next box we opened was just full of stuff we don't want, but is either collectable, or valuable, or simply in too nice a condition to throw out. *sigh* The entire box... (Anybody want a mechanical cooking pig?)
We did find several boxes of the boys' things. They've been set in the middle of the boys' room, as a surprise for tomorrow. Who says Christmas comes but once a year, right?
More brainstorming on the waterproofing and culvert plans.
We need rain barrels. Definitely need rain barrels.
The dog seems to be back to his excitable, yet not-horribly-intuitive self. I think I liked him better when he stayed in one place. He kept stealing stuffed toys from the boxes and running off to dismantle them. Not helpful. Or cute.
Thus rounds out the less glamorous *snort* side of home repair. Still, good stuff. At least there are no crickets this year!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
(Drat. Zorak just informed he that he did see one cricket. So I'll modify that, "At least I haven't had to deal with crickets this year! WOOHOO!")
Friday, April 13
Meet Balto the Wunder Dog
He is the Source of, well, of a lot of things. You may have seen him in such pictures as...
Autumnal shots of the children, playing the part of "Dogzilla, The Rampage"
Or,
Playtime in the yard photos, doing his Gladiator role.
His cameo crotch shots would make the leading stars in *ahem* a certain industry blush.
And there's been no stopping him. He. Never. Quits.
Until Sheba came along. If I had any technology skills at all, this is where I'd post a photo montage along with audio of Flock of Seagulls singing in the background,
And then they left. And he tried to go with them. But none of us evil humans could understand his angst. He circled the van, waiting for one of the Small Ones to give him an opening, any opening, through which to join his Precious.
That was Tuesday afternoon. It is now Friday, and he's looked like this ALL WEEK LONG:
He occasionally varies the location of this pose, say, onto my feet, or the boys' laps. He even tried the living room chair once. But for the most part, he is the image of heartache.
They Broke My Dog!
Poor Balto. (He misses you, Sheba!)
Dy
Autumnal shots of the children, playing the part of "Dogzilla, The Rampage"
Or,
Playtime in the yard photos, doing his Gladiator role.
His cameo crotch shots would make the leading stars in *ahem* a certain industry blush.
And there's been no stopping him. He. Never. Quits.
Until Sheba came along. If I had any technology skills at all, this is where I'd post a photo montage along with audio of Flock of Seagulls singing in the background,
And I ran, I ran so far away. I just ran, I ran all night and day. I couldn't get away.
And then they left. And he tried to go with them. But none of us evil humans could understand his angst. He circled the van, waiting for one of the Small Ones to give him an opening, any opening, through which to join his Precious.
That was Tuesday afternoon. It is now Friday, and he's looked like this ALL WEEK LONG:
He occasionally varies the location of this pose, say, onto my feet, or the boys' laps. He even tried the living room chair once. But for the most part, he is the image of heartache.They Broke My Dog!
Poor Balto. (He misses you, Sheba!)
Dy
Homeschool Field Trip Today
That would be the only reason I'm up, showered and dressed right now. Barely beat the sun in rising.
We're going to see bee hives. Thankfully, it's cold, so I'm hoping the little critters will be s-l-o-w. Kinda like I am right now. That'll make us evenly matched.
The boys keep asking the strangest questions, too:
Can you get stung in the exact same spot twice? (Theoretically, yes. But you won't.)
What happens if you get a wasp sting on top of a bee sting? (I have no intention of finding out.)
Why don't wasps make honey? (?? I don't know!)
Do you think we'll make them angry and they'll swarm us and we'll die? (Lovely thought, but no. I don't.)
It could happen. (Would you stop chaneling my mother and eat?)
Do you think your mother's a ghost now? (Ugh. OK, I set myself up for that one.)
We leave in an hour and a half.
What was I thinking?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We're going to see bee hives. Thankfully, it's cold, so I'm hoping the little critters will be s-l-o-w. Kinda like I am right now. That'll make us evenly matched.
The boys keep asking the strangest questions, too:
Can you get stung in the exact same spot twice? (Theoretically, yes. But you won't.)
What happens if you get a wasp sting on top of a bee sting? (I have no intention of finding out.)
Why don't wasps make honey? (?? I don't know!)
Do you think we'll make them angry and they'll swarm us and we'll die? (Lovely thought, but no. I don't.)
It could happen. (Would you stop chaneling my mother and eat?)
Do you think your mother's a ghost now? (Ugh. OK, I set myself up for that one.)
We leave in an hour and a half.
What was I thinking?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, April 12
About the bed
Andie asked (because otherwise, I'd have *never* brought it up, of course!) how the bed handled company. Well, like I said, we really like these folks and so we took the risers off. (Which doesn't mean if you come to visit and there are risers on the bed, that we're inclined not to want you back. It means we've managed to create non-life threatening risers. Or, probably, at least.)
And so, there were no collapsing incidents. And no injuries. They even left the room tidied and almost the way they found it.
Almost...
Did ya see that? How about a close up?
So... I'm guessin' they had a pretty good visit.
And so, there were no collapsing incidents. And no injuries. They even left the room tidied and almost the way they found it.
Almost...
Did ya see that? How about a close up?
So... I'm guessin' they had a pretty good visit.
We Made It Another Year
I know, bad picture. It's a photo of a picture. We weren't digital yet when that was taken. However, hey, sometimes procrastination pays off, because now I can do the wedding meme everybody else did last month.
1. Where/How did you meet?
Oh, if only we had any idea how much of this story we'd have to modify when we told the kids. *sigh* But, you're not the kids, so I can tell you. We met in a little cowboy bar in a border town. Zorak was in town on work, and had taken his cousin out for a drink. I was... well, I pretty much lived there, so I was there with friends and guys from work. He sat there at the table next to us, in his Dockers and dress shoes and button-up shirt, looking so handsome. I kept thinking how absolutely adorable he was, and that he's got to have a lot of hutzpah to come into a place like this in those clothes. He never looked my way, and then he and his cousin left.
He was back in an hour. (I found out later that he'd dropped his cousin off and said he was "going back to ask that blonde to dance". I guess he had looked my way.) Walked right up to me and asked me to dance. I was hesitant, because, really, it didn't seem as if he could dance... in a country bar... in those shoes... but I said yes, and WOW OH WOW, could he dance! I knew I had to get to know him better when I asked him where he'd learned to dance like that and he laughed and said, "I grew up on a sheep ranch." He was interesting from the first moment we spoke (and he's never stopped being interesting to me, not once).
2. How long have you known each other?
11 1/2 years
3. How long after you met did you start dating?
We never discussed it. We simply began spending all our spare time together and one day just realized this is it.
4. How long did you date before you were engaged?
You know, this meme really highlights how poorly organized we are. Again, not really something we spent a lot of time discussing. We knew we'd marry. Everybody else knew we'd marry. It was just a matter of getting it all done.
5. How long was your engagement?
I dunno. (See #4)
6. How long have you been married?
Nine years. But it's supposed to be ten. We had planned for a Cinco de Mayo wedding in 1997, and had almost everything set to do it then. But the morning of the Cinco de Mayo festival, we realized we'd forgotten two important things: invitations, and a wedding license.
So we rescheduled for September 1997. But we were in the Gila hunting that week, so we forgot to get married then, too.
And then, well, we had to get married sometime, right? So we finally did.
7. What is your anniversary?
April 11, 1998
And for those who've followed the weirdness, no, the pastor never did file the license. So, according to the state in which we were married, we are not married. But we have the signed and witnessed certificate, and warm bodies to testify on our behalf. No worries. We're good.
8. How many people came to your wedding reception?
Um, I don't know. 50-75, I think.
9. What kind of cake did you serve?
Oh, my mother-in-law made our cake. It was sooooo pretty. Three-tiered with ivy designs, and... I'll have to find a picture. She makes amazing cakes.
10. Where was your wedding?
The little Nazarene church in town.
11. What did you serve for your meal?
Um... barbacoa? Beans, rice. I don't remember. I do remember that the reception was at a brewery with frou-frou management who thought we all wanted to be Santa Fe Cool, and I had a hard time getting across to them that we did NOT want the black beans, corn and pimento dish. We just wanted pintos. With nothing sparkly in them. Just. Pintos.
12. How many people were in your wedding party? 8.
13. Are you still friends with them all?
Oh, yes. You can't run from family.
14. Did your spouse cry during the ceremony?
I don't think so. It was hard to tell through all the sweat (it was HOT in that church, and no a/c).
15. Most special moment of your wedding day?
Dancing our first dance together as husband and wife.
16. Any funny moments?
Oh... yes. The one that sticks out the most is that the pastor called me Lindsay. Zorak's family thought perhaps Dy was just a middle name or something. My family thought the pastor had been drinkin' and that's why we should've gone with a good Baptist preacher instead. Zorak and I just needed to confirm that he was, in fact, married to ME, no matter what name I was called in the service.
17. Any big disasters?
Nah. We're married, and we didn't set anything on fire at the reception. Life. Is. Good.
18. Where did you go on your honeymoon?
We didn't have a honeymoon. We stayed at a hotel there in town and headed back to work on Monday.
19. How long were you gone?
:-)
20. If you were to do your wedding over, what would you change?
Ay-yi-yi-yi! We'd have pulled it together enough to get married when we meant to!
21. What side of the bed do you sleep on?
In theory, the right. In reality, in whatever wee little space I can squish out for myself among the bodies.
22. What size is your bed?
Queen
23. Greatest strength as a couple?
We're in it for the long haul. When that's a given for both parties, you can pretty much make it through, or accomplish, anything.
24. Greatest challenge as a couple?
Well, it's a good thing we're in it for the long haul, because as bad as we are with procrastinating and organization, it's gonna take us a while to get it all hauled.
25. Who literally pays the bills?
He earns the money. I dole it out to the people who follow us around asking for it.
26. What is your song?
I don't know. The super-awesome band we had at our wedding learned to play "Fraulein" for us. But when I hear, "My Own Heart's Delight", by Ian Tyson, I *always* think of us. I'll ask Zorak if he thinks we have a song.
27. What did you dance your first dance to?
Fraulein, which is why the band learned it.
8. Describe your wedding dress:
Ivory, with... eh, you can see it for yourself in the picture-of-a-picture up above. I'm bad at that.
29. What kind of flowers did you have at your wedding?
I have no idea. My sister did the flowers. I tried to help pick some out, but after about the fourth time I picked something that evidently would have been disgusting, she handed me the basket and told me not to help anymore. LOL.
30. Are your wedding bands engraved?
No.
31. How old were you when you got married?
I was 24. Zorak was 29.
Wednesday, April 11
Homeschool Blog Awards
Hey, it's that time of year! I heard from KathyJo, who heard from somebody (or perhaps she tracked it down all on her own, the multi-tasking fool that she is) that the nominations for the Homeschool Blog Awards are up and ready to go!
One kind reader nominated me for Funniest Homeschool Blog, which means several things:
1) I cannot think of a single humorous thing to blog about now that I know this.
2) Have ya seen the list? Amy! Chris!
2a) I'm in good company. Really good company. Thank you.
2b) I haven't a chance at winning. And that's okay, too. (See 2a)
And, evidently, I've been showing my, erm, mortality in public, because I noticed I was also nominated for Best Nitty-Gritty Homeschool Blog. I'm assuming (er, hoping) it wasn't the same person, but if it was... Does that mean y'all are laughing at my challenges?
Anyway, all that to say, the nominations are up, there are literally DAYS worth of good blog reading all compiled into wonderful lists, waiting for you to go, enjoy, and vote. (Because we can't always be busy homeschooling, right? I mean, we do get the occasional inservice day, don't we?) Voting ends Friday, so it's a short run. And, as Jessica, at Trivium Academy (who, by the way, was nominated for Super Homeschooler - I suspect due to her ecstasy-inducing book lists and resource files, although it could also have something to do with her terrifying stamina) said, "encourage them to keep encouraging you".
And I am going to just wallow in the fun of it all. I've got a handy-dandy logo, see?
And great readers who make it fun to blog, make me laugh and think, and encourage me to kiss my babies, too. It's good stuff.
Thanks,
Dy
One kind reader nominated me for Funniest Homeschool Blog, which means several things:
1) I cannot think of a single humorous thing to blog about now that I know this.
2) Have ya seen the list? Amy! Chris!
2a) I'm in good company. Really good company. Thank you.
2b) I haven't a chance at winning. And that's okay, too. (See 2a)
And, evidently, I've been showing my, erm, mortality in public, because I noticed I was also nominated for Best Nitty-Gritty Homeschool Blog. I'm assuming (er, hoping) it wasn't the same person, but if it was... Does that mean y'all are laughing at my challenges?
Anyway, all that to say, the nominations are up, there are literally DAYS worth of good blog reading all compiled into wonderful lists, waiting for you to go, enjoy, and vote. (Because we can't always be busy homeschooling, right? I mean, we do get the occasional inservice day, don't we?) Voting ends Friday, so it's a short run. And, as Jessica, at Trivium Academy (who, by the way, was nominated for Super Homeschooler - I suspect due to her ecstasy-inducing book lists and resource files, although it could also have something to do with her terrifying stamina) said, "encourage them to keep encouraging you".
And I am going to just wallow in the fun of it all. I've got a handy-dandy logo, see?
And great readers who make it fun to blog, make me laugh and think, and encourage me to kiss my babies, too. It's good stuff.
Thanks,
Dy
Eight Years Ago
Eight Years Ago, Jess and Geo stayed at our place to watch James for us so we could go out for our anniversary. James was fine. We were a mess. And we went back to the house first thing in the morning for breakfast, then took everybody back to the hotel to swim. Know what I remember most about that whole thing?
Jess said she will never again stay at my house because we had no junk food and it was the healthiest house she'd ever seen.
Jess' quote from this visit?
Well, that year Easter hadn't fallen the weekend before. I swear that's my defense, and you can't prove otherwise!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Jess said she will never again stay at my house because we had no junk food and it was the healthiest house she'd ever seen.
Jess' quote from this visit?
ACK! There is candy everywhere you turn in this place!
Well, that year Easter hadn't fallen the weekend before. I swear that's my defense, and you can't prove otherwise!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, April 10
A Refreshing Visit
But first, a public service announcement for Hillary. Zebra Cakes, made by Little Debbie and her high fructose corn syrup kitchen crew. The official description (straight from Deb, herself):
However, I've had better than Zebra Cake Therapy over the last 24 hours! Yes, better. I've had children *everywhere* - stacked up, spread all over the place, running in and out and up and down. Geo is hilarious. Jess is just as wonderful as always. Her children make me want to scoop them up and pretend I have no idea what she's talking about when she wants to take them home. No. They're mine. Go find some other kids somewhere. I'm keeping these. And now I know for a fact that they'll all fit in the house! (And most of them fit on the tractor, too!)
We didn't get nearly the pictures I thought we would. The bags weren't even unpacked before the children grouped up and dispersed. Did you know you can lose a lot of children on six acres? We couldn't even find them for breakfast. (Although I swear they were all safely in bed last night. Honest.)
I don't know about her children - we'll have to let her tell their side of the story - but mine had a wonderful time.
James was particularly thrilled to find somebody to play Monopoly with him!
This is the only one I have of the two Mommies.
And here's Smidge and Belle, "drivin' to town".
Jess got more pictures than I did, so hopefully she'll share when they get home. And I have a few more to post, but I need to make use of her mad Photoshop skills to remove some redeye first.
We should all have friends in our lives like they are. Friends who will laugh with you, at you, and for you. Friends who'll shoot you straight and love you anyway. Friends who will encourage you and cheer you on. Friends who will not be afraid to tell you if you have eye boogers. Friends who are willing to extend and accept a pre-emptive apology for anything the children may do. The only thing that would make their friendship better is if they didn't live so stinkin' far away. We love you guys!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
"A delicious yellow cake with creme filling covered in white icing and trimmed with fudge stripes.Well, as with most advertising, that's a little misleading. In fact, a better description would be something more like this:
Twin-wrapped 10 to a carton."
"A semi-stale, crack-filled cake wrapped in a concoction of mostly wax and sugar. Five tiny two-packs per carton. Buy two."My blatant coffee addiction aside, these little delicacies may have contributed to the current condition of my teeth in no small manner.
However, I've had better than Zebra Cake Therapy over the last 24 hours! Yes, better. I've had children *everywhere* - stacked up, spread all over the place, running in and out and up and down. Geo is hilarious. Jess is just as wonderful as always. Her children make me want to scoop them up and pretend I have no idea what she's talking about when she wants to take them home. No. They're mine. Go find some other kids somewhere. I'm keeping these. And now I know for a fact that they'll all fit in the house! (And most of them fit on the tractor, too!)
We didn't get nearly the pictures I thought we would. The bags weren't even unpacked before the children grouped up and dispersed. Did you know you can lose a lot of children on six acres? We couldn't even find them for breakfast. (Although I swear they were all safely in bed last night. Honest.) I don't know about her children - we'll have to let her tell their side of the story - but mine had a wonderful time.
James was particularly thrilled to find somebody to play Monopoly with him!
This is the only one I have of the two Mommies.
And here's Smidge and Belle, "drivin' to town".
Jess got more pictures than I did, so hopefully she'll share when they get home. And I have a few more to post, but I need to make use of her mad Photoshop skills to remove some redeye first.
We should all have friends in our lives like they are. Friends who will laugh with you, at you, and for you. Friends who'll shoot you straight and love you anyway. Friends who will encourage you and cheer you on. Friends who will not be afraid to tell you if you have eye boogers. Friends who are willing to extend and accept a pre-emptive apology for anything the children may do. The only thing that would make their friendship better is if they didn't live so stinkin' far away. We love you guys!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, April 9
What was that?
It's only 10-something here, and I'm ready for some intense Zebra Cake Therapy. James has been on Strong Prophet mode this morning. ("But I didn't ask because I KNEW he wouldn't let me", "I KNEW it would work now, because we've talked had a long talk", and my favorite, "If I did that, then I KNOW it wouldn't work." Yep, just call him Jonah.) With that, the plastic egg/land mines on the floor, and the discovery that Smidge "shared" his egg (more specifically, the egg yolk) with Baby Girl this morning... I'm getting a little twitchy. Life, or at least my life, is a fine balance, and I can feel the scale starting to tip.
We've accomplished quite a bit, but it's not been smooth. It's been more like that weird uncle's scalp - bumpy and scaly, with a few hairy bits here and there. And we haven't even done anything that requires a pencil yet! So already, I'm on High Parenting Alert. Some days are just. like. that. I know. I know.
But when James disappeared after history, and I couldn't find him to come unload the dishwasher, I immediately dug out and donned my "Authoritarian Child Herder" hat and went to find him.
"JAMES! Where are you?"
"I'm in my room."
(Oh.) "Well, what are you doing in there?"
"I'm reading."
(Oh. Um. Huh.) "Uh... what are you reading?"
"Something from my 'To Be Read' Shelf. It's really good."
(Now I'm getting suspicious - both of his earlier antics, and my own sanity) "Ah. Very well, then. Carry on."
"OK. *pause* Did you need me to do something for you?"
"No, you're good. Thanks, honey."
(Crap.) Why doesn't he ask that when I CAN think of something I need done? I mean, he'll help any time we ask, but it'd be nice if I could take him up on his offers once in a while. The minute he offers, it's as if he's performed some Jedi mind trick, and I turn daft and can't think of a thing to suggest. I simply turn around, trip over the next load of wash in the hallway, wander past the living room with its Bedouin-style blanket decor in the living room (I think there are camels in there, so I don't mess with the tents), and start unloading the dishwasher myself. But did any of that dawn on me when he asked? Of course not.
This better not be one of those things he confesses to me when he's 30. "You know, Mom, when I used to offer to help out while I was reading? Yeah, I knew you'd never take me up on it if I had a book open. It was just a safe bet and an easy way to score brownie points."
I'm going to go see if I can catch him between pages and get him to hold a pencil.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We've accomplished quite a bit, but it's not been smooth. It's been more like that weird uncle's scalp - bumpy and scaly, with a few hairy bits here and there. And we haven't even done anything that requires a pencil yet! So already, I'm on High Parenting Alert. Some days are just. like. that. I know. I know.
But when James disappeared after history, and I couldn't find him to come unload the dishwasher, I immediately dug out and donned my "Authoritarian Child Herder" hat and went to find him.
"JAMES! Where are you?"
"I'm in my room."
(Oh.) "Well, what are you doing in there?"
"I'm reading."
(Oh. Um. Huh.) "Uh... what are you reading?"
"Something from my 'To Be Read' Shelf. It's really good."
(Now I'm getting suspicious - both of his earlier antics, and my own sanity) "Ah. Very well, then. Carry on."
"OK. *pause* Did you need me to do something for you?"
"No, you're good. Thanks, honey."
(Crap.) Why doesn't he ask that when I CAN think of something I need done? I mean, he'll help any time we ask, but it'd be nice if I could take him up on his offers once in a while. The minute he offers, it's as if he's performed some Jedi mind trick, and I turn daft and can't think of a thing to suggest. I simply turn around, trip over the next load of wash in the hallway, wander past the living room with its Bedouin-style blanket decor in the living room (I think there are camels in there, so I don't mess with the tents), and start unloading the dishwasher myself. But did any of that dawn on me when he asked? Of course not.
This better not be one of those things he confesses to me when he's 30. "You know, Mom, when I used to offer to help out while I was reading? Yeah, I knew you'd never take me up on it if I had a book open. It was just a safe bet and an easy way to score brownie points."
I'm going to go see if I can catch him between pages and get him to hold a pencil.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, April 8
A delightful day
We have so much to be thankful for...
A beautiful family with a world of love.
A world to explore.
A world of adventure, and friendship.
A world of awe.
Happy Easter!
Saturday, April 7
Snippets
Well, the forward-facing carseat is clean and ready to put into the Suburban in the morning. *sniff* The last of my backward-facing carseat days is gone. (Yes, I know, she turned one in January, but her legs are short and we had some wiggle room.) Weird. I still haven't quite let go of the idea that this is what I do. Which is probably even more weird, considering. *shrug* Anyway, life is like that, sometimes.
Now that the guest room is all cleaned up and ready for company, it looks a little barren. I scrounged in the basement for something bench-like, or even table-like that I could put in there to make it less like a hostel for traveling nuns, but to no avail. We were going to raise the bed a bit, so we made risers for it. As we fitted them on, they seemed a bit wobbly. I asked Zorak, "It won't collapse if they, you know...?" He laughed and said if they're comfortable enough to, you know... then we've done our job, and what's a little collapsing furniture going to matter. Good point. (But we didn't test the theory. The bed has been returned to its non-collapsing position.)
Smidge petitioned us last night to move him back into the boys' room. He said he misses James and John, and the dragon prints, and the trains. We talked it over, passed it by the boys, and tonight we put his bed back in there. Truly, that room is better suited to hosting three bodies than the nursery is for two. Still, I'm not sure EmBaby really needs to be 1) the only girl, 2) the baby of the bunch, AND 3) always have had her own room while the boys always had to share. Some small, wee voice in my head keeps whispering, "Just start calling her Princess now and get it over with." We'll see. She seems to be holding up well so far. :-) And she makes great sound effects!
The boys actually all petitioned to have EmBaby moved into their room, too, but that room won't quite hold four little bodies and all their accessories. Plus, 8yo boys enjoy toys that pose quite a threat to 1yo babies. Too many logistics to try to finagle just now.
Well, everything's ready to go for tomorrow. The kids' clothes are layed out. The menu is set. The house is mostly done. I've got to go forage for my shoes, iron Zorak's shirt, and then I'm done. WooHoo!
OK, Zorak's channeling the Weird Idea Fairy. Time to go brainstorm with My Love and see what weird, wonderful adventure we're up for next!
Now that the guest room is all cleaned up and ready for company, it looks a little barren. I scrounged in the basement for something bench-like, or even table-like that I could put in there to make it less like a hostel for traveling nuns, but to no avail. We were going to raise the bed a bit, so we made risers for it. As we fitted them on, they seemed a bit wobbly. I asked Zorak, "It won't collapse if they, you know...?" He laughed and said if they're comfortable enough to, you know... then we've done our job, and what's a little collapsing furniture going to matter. Good point. (But we didn't test the theory. The bed has been returned to its non-collapsing position.)
Smidge petitioned us last night to move him back into the boys' room. He said he misses James and John, and the dragon prints, and the trains. We talked it over, passed it by the boys, and tonight we put his bed back in there. Truly, that room is better suited to hosting three bodies than the nursery is for two. Still, I'm not sure EmBaby really needs to be 1) the only girl, 2) the baby of the bunch, AND 3) always have had her own room while the boys always had to share. Some small, wee voice in my head keeps whispering, "Just start calling her Princess now and get it over with." We'll see. She seems to be holding up well so far. :-) And she makes great sound effects!
The boys actually all petitioned to have EmBaby moved into their room, too, but that room won't quite hold four little bodies and all their accessories. Plus, 8yo boys enjoy toys that pose quite a threat to 1yo babies. Too many logistics to try to finagle just now.
Well, everything's ready to go for tomorrow. The kids' clothes are layed out. The menu is set. The house is mostly done. I've got to go forage for my shoes, iron Zorak's shirt, and then I'm done. WooHoo!
OK, Zorak's channeling the Weird Idea Fairy. Time to go brainstorm with My Love and see what weird, wonderful adventure we're up for next!
More Grandkids!
A truck pulled into the drive today. We thought for a minute that it might be the brush hog guy, coming to retrieve the tractor we've been fostering for almost a year, but no. Turned out to be another grandson of Old Mr. Cook, and a friend of his. We suspect they'd heard the place had sold to foreigners and they wanted to check it out, as their initial introduction seemed a little off. (But then, all our initial introductions thus far have been less than encouraging, when it comes to this house and its former owners.)
Zorak popped his head in the house and gave me the Ten-Minute Warning. Then he ducked out to show the guys around while I cracked the whip and got everybody to help me do the panic tidy. It wouldn't have been bad, except we've been working this morning. Wiring, sorting, moving, nailing, sewing, trimming, and washing... I didn't figure "backwoods sweatshop" was a very inspiring theme for visitors.
The guys came in, and they were very nice. I'm sure all the changes were a bit of a shock. The first thing the young guy said when he came in wasn't "check out that cool arch" or "wow, it's so open and inviting". Nope, he swore under his breath and said to himself, "I can't believe you took out the bookshelves". Um, yeah, the bookshelves that harbored billions of mold spores. The bookshelves that had rotted away under years of bong water spills and incense smoke. Yeah, they had to go. Sorry. But still, it's hard to reconcile memories with reality. And even though *we* love all the things we've done to the house, we really don't like being the harbingers of death for fond memories.
After a while, though, hanging out at the island, drinking coffee, sharing stories of the place, seeing the work, and hearing about how all the choices had been made, he was happy to know that his family home is being loved. He dug the coat closet conversion, and could appreciate why we took the laundry out of the kitchen. He understood the importance of having the floor vent in the bathroom *not* wedged between the toilet and tub.
We now have two standing offers to buy the place should we ever decide to sell it. Both would put the property back in the hands of the original family, which gives us warm fuzzies. But that's not an option for a long, long time. We understand and appreciate that it was their home, but it's also our home now. Our Forever Home. And it means more to us with each month, each memory, each new discovery. One day it'll be our children who have all those memories attached to the creek, the barn, the Scary Room. And, like the young guy said, we "aren't from here, and aren't family, and no matter how nice (we) are, (we'll) never be from here". That's okay. The children are, and this is their heritage just as much as it is someone else's.
It does make me miss the Southwest a bit more, though. You don't have to be "from" there to be From There. You can be naturalized into the Southwest, by loving it and living it, by absorbing it and sharing with it. You don't stay a foreigner long in the Southwest. And while we do love it here, and this is where we're putting down roots, our roots don't go back three generations on this soil. So, no, we probably won't ever be From Here. But at least we're here.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Zorak popped his head in the house and gave me the Ten-Minute Warning. Then he ducked out to show the guys around while I cracked the whip and got everybody to help me do the panic tidy. It wouldn't have been bad, except we've been working this morning. Wiring, sorting, moving, nailing, sewing, trimming, and washing... I didn't figure "backwoods sweatshop" was a very inspiring theme for visitors.
The guys came in, and they were very nice. I'm sure all the changes were a bit of a shock. The first thing the young guy said when he came in wasn't "check out that cool arch" or "wow, it's so open and inviting". Nope, he swore under his breath and said to himself, "I can't believe you took out the bookshelves". Um, yeah, the bookshelves that harbored billions of mold spores. The bookshelves that had rotted away under years of bong water spills and incense smoke. Yeah, they had to go. Sorry. But still, it's hard to reconcile memories with reality. And even though *we* love all the things we've done to the house, we really don't like being the harbingers of death for fond memories.
After a while, though, hanging out at the island, drinking coffee, sharing stories of the place, seeing the work, and hearing about how all the choices had been made, he was happy to know that his family home is being loved. He dug the coat closet conversion, and could appreciate why we took the laundry out of the kitchen. He understood the importance of having the floor vent in the bathroom *not* wedged between the toilet and tub.
We now have two standing offers to buy the place should we ever decide to sell it. Both would put the property back in the hands of the original family, which gives us warm fuzzies. But that's not an option for a long, long time. We understand and appreciate that it was their home, but it's also our home now. Our Forever Home. And it means more to us with each month, each memory, each new discovery. One day it'll be our children who have all those memories attached to the creek, the barn, the Scary Room. And, like the young guy said, we "aren't from here, and aren't family, and no matter how nice (we) are, (we'll) never be from here". That's okay. The children are, and this is their heritage just as much as it is someone else's.
It does make me miss the Southwest a bit more, though. You don't have to be "from" there to be From There. You can be naturalized into the Southwest, by loving it and living it, by absorbing it and sharing with it. You don't stay a foreigner long in the Southwest. And while we do love it here, and this is where we're putting down roots, our roots don't go back three generations on this soil. So, no, we probably won't ever be From Here. But at least we're here.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
High of 44?
I don't think I'm the target audience for most gardening books. Me-Tae gave me this wonderful book on gardening in Alabama, and it is just filled with great information. I do love it. But there's a disconnect for me in the author's style that I just cannot get over. It happens when the author makes comments such as,
There is also one phrase I keep running across which, I suspect, is designed to weed out the transplants from the natives. In discussing when all danger of frost is past, she says, "The weekend of the Auburn - Alabama game is a sure bet."
Do you have ANY idea when the Auburn - Alabama game IS? I don't. Or, I didn't. So I googled it. That took a while. Best I can figure, it's over already. And yet, last night's low was 25, and tonight's temps are going even lower. I know, I know, it's just a rule of thumb. But my thumb isn't green, my home isn't decrated in orange or crimson, and to be honest, I don't even know which is which. So, obviously, I need something a bit less intuitive. Right now, I just know it's cold, and the little greenhouse we planted during The Week of the Hormones isn't faring well *at all*, and what was I thinking??? We'll give the County Extension Office a call on Monday. Hopefully, they use a slightly different means of averaging. We've got amateur beds waiting for amateur gardeners! And I know what we'll do with all those plants, too!
In other news, we'll be trying a different church this Sunday. I don't want to leave our church, but it's getting more and more difficult to attend as a family. If we go on Sundays and Wednesdays, it takes about $200 in gas each month, and it's just not working for Zorak to come with us as often as we'd all prefer. I am thankful that he will come at all, and it doesn't help to make it more difficult for him to agree to go. The killer point was when I mentioned "sunrise service" to Zorak. He instantly calculated drive-time, child-wrangling time, and food, and realized we'd have to leave here around three AM to make it. In that split second, I could see the "Not just no, but..." phrase forming in his head. So I called Claudia (they're back - did I post that? They are! Yay!) to see if she and her herd wanted to come with me and my herd to the PCA church in Hartselle. It's only 11 miles from the house, instead of 50. I hope it's where we need to be, but boy, oh boy, do I hate uprooting everyone *again*.
Zorak is putting baseboard down in the bathroom this morning!! We were going to go outside to burn more leaves and spray the poison ivy, but, as I've mentioned, IT'S COLD. So we'll be working inside. I'm off to tidy and see if I can kick a path in the guest room for our guests. (Joking! It's more of a nudge than an all-out kick.)
Kiss those babies, and stay warm!
~Dy
"Sometimes you find a really great plant and just have to buy it, although you don't know where you will put it. It happens to all of us."Oddly enough, I've never had that happen. I don't think I've ever walked through a store and said, "AH! Something else to leave laying around because it has no home! I MUST buy this! And even better, it's something I'll have to keep alive in the interim!" Just doesn't happen. Truthfully, I hope it never happens. Zorak may call a time out for mental health reasons if it does.
There is also one phrase I keep running across which, I suspect, is designed to weed out the transplants from the natives. In discussing when all danger of frost is past, she says, "The weekend of the Auburn - Alabama game is a sure bet."
Do you have ANY idea when the Auburn - Alabama game IS? I don't. Or, I didn't. So I googled it. That took a while. Best I can figure, it's over already. And yet, last night's low was 25, and tonight's temps are going even lower. I know, I know, it's just a rule of thumb. But my thumb isn't green, my home isn't decrated in orange or crimson, and to be honest, I don't even know which is which. So, obviously, I need something a bit less intuitive. Right now, I just know it's cold, and the little greenhouse we planted during The Week of the Hormones isn't faring well *at all*, and what was I thinking??? We'll give the County Extension Office a call on Monday. Hopefully, they use a slightly different means of averaging. We've got amateur beds waiting for amateur gardeners! And I know what we'll do with all those plants, too!
In other news, we'll be trying a different church this Sunday. I don't want to leave our church, but it's getting more and more difficult to attend as a family. If we go on Sundays and Wednesdays, it takes about $200 in gas each month, and it's just not working for Zorak to come with us as often as we'd all prefer. I am thankful that he will come at all, and it doesn't help to make it more difficult for him to agree to go. The killer point was when I mentioned "sunrise service" to Zorak. He instantly calculated drive-time, child-wrangling time, and food, and realized we'd have to leave here around three AM to make it. In that split second, I could see the "Not just no, but..." phrase forming in his head. So I called Claudia (they're back - did I post that? They are! Yay!) to see if she and her herd wanted to come with me and my herd to the PCA church in Hartselle. It's only 11 miles from the house, instead of 50. I hope it's where we need to be, but boy, oh boy, do I hate uprooting everyone *again*.
Zorak is putting baseboard down in the bathroom this morning!! We were going to go outside to burn more leaves and spray the poison ivy, but, as I've mentioned, IT'S COLD. So we'll be working inside. I'm off to tidy and see if I can kick a path in the guest room for our guests. (Joking! It's more of a nudge than an all-out kick.)
Kiss those babies, and stay warm!
~Dy
Friday, April 6
I don't think that's what it means.
When the Bible says we should encourage one another, I don't think that means encouraging them to do certain things...
like dropping stuff in your milk,
or putting tabasco on your cereal,
or eating something you found and cannot identify.
Funny, but you'd think that would be a somewhat instinctive understanding.
Evidently not.
Ah, well, this is why they don't live on their own, right? ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
like dropping stuff in your milk,
or putting tabasco on your cereal,
or eating something you found and cannot identify.
Funny, but you'd think that would be a somewhat instinctive understanding.
Evidently not.
Ah, well, this is why they don't live on their own, right? ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, April 5
Sweet Success
Today, John finished reading Fun With Dick and Jane. Smidge was so proud of him that we all got hugs. Then we got ice cream. (I love Cerrone Cones - wheat free ice cream cones! As you can tell from John's face, he's not accustomed to eating from an ice cream cone. Obviously, he views this as some type of edible makeup applicator.)
The ice cream wasn't a reward for finishing a book; the excitement of finishing a book, of knowing a story, of meeting the characters, is reward enough for that. The ice cream was a big pat on the back for the hard work John has put into his reading skills so far this term. By the last chapter of Dick and Jane, he'd added character voices, made up jokes and puns on the reading as he went along, and generally had a delightful time of it. Since the second chapter of the book, he's been reading it to Smidge, and that's become their special time each day.
What cracks me up is that he thought that was his reading "lesson" each day, yet all the while he's been reading aloud to me, Among the Forest People, by Clara Dillingham Pierson. Yeah, check it out. Not quite Dick, or Jane. He has worked his furry little forest tail off on these. He works hard to put the story out there, to absorb it into his mind, and to put into practice all he's learning along the way. He enjoys them, but he knows they're Work. And while he doesn't read these with the silly, completely fluent inflection he's able to apply to the basic readers, he is gaining invaluable skills along the way. He's improving his decoding and comprehension skills in a way that allows him to read the brain candy for fun, and to know it's fun. To read the more challenging material, and know that it, too, is good.
It's like that with everything we try. The things worth achieving and perfecting, are worth the effort it takes to attain them. Sometimes it's pure fun.
Sometimes you have to stretch yourself to reach your goal.
This Spring has been John's season to soar, to stretch his wings and see what he can do on his own. He's doing so beautifully (if a bit stickily), and I couldn't be more proud of him. This is why we do what we do.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, April 4
Funny, What's Important
I'd intended today, after...
But you know,
I was too busy
enjoying my life
to really be bothered.
I suppose that's enough, in itself.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
*Garden note: I actually know what those are all pictures of!! WOOHOO!
The first is an iris. I'm so excited to have an iris!
The second is a tulip. It's pretty beat up from the storm, but it is one of THREE now. Each one a different color, and each one on a different side of the tree. :-D
The third... oh, this is my favorite. See the heart? That's the leaf of the redbud. They grow wild out here! The flowers are a gorgeous purple, growing all down the branches, and then the tree erupts in hearts! Isn't that beautiful?
And that final one is the elusive North American Smidge. While not difficult to find, Smidges are often quite difficult to photograph. They move quickly and make very little noise, so you have to shoot fast.
working in the garden, doing my math and Latin, setting up the school room (yes, finally - but no pictures yet, it looks hideously cramped at the moment), running numbers and investment options for the finances, wading through miles of laundry, listening to stories, reading stories, taking a walk around the property to see it through Little Eyes, attending baseball practice, preparing supper, reading more stories, tending to the character training (for me and them, right?), writing letters, and finalizing lesson plans for the rest of the week,to blog about the various knocks and dings being dished out this week to stay-at-home moms and homeschoolers.
But you know,
I was too busy
enjoying my life
to really be bothered.
I suppose that's enough, in itself.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
*Garden note: I actually know what those are all pictures of!! WOOHOO!
The first is an iris. I'm so excited to have an iris!
The second is a tulip. It's pretty beat up from the storm, but it is one of THREE now. Each one a different color, and each one on a different side of the tree. :-D
The third... oh, this is my favorite. See the heart? That's the leaf of the redbud. They grow wild out here! The flowers are a gorgeous purple, growing all down the branches, and then the tree erupts in hearts! Isn't that beautiful?
And that final one is the elusive North American Smidge. While not difficult to find, Smidges are often quite difficult to photograph. They move quickly and make very little noise, so you have to shoot fast.
Tuesday, April 3
Great Paper Folding Site
OK, one more post and then I'm going. I've been trying to jump start my creative battery, but it looks like it isn't going to happen this morning.
Somebody posted this link on one of the boards, and it's really quite neat. Paper folding projects of the Wonders of the Ancient World! You can have your own Colossus of Rhodes. And I know you've been wondering just what centerpiece to put on the dining table. Now you have it.
This blurb from the main page tells a little about the project's inception:
Neat stuff, no?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Somebody posted this link on one of the boards, and it's really quite neat. Paper folding projects of the Wonders of the Ancient World! You can have your own Colossus of Rhodes. And I know you've been wondering just what centerpiece to put on the dining table. Now you have it.
This blurb from the main page tells a little about the project's inception:
The Small Wonders Project was originally planned to provide free paper models for rehabilitation therapy purposes to hospitals and rehabilitation centers. This idea came up after Delta 7 Studios chief designer saw how building models helped his Father in Law recover important motor, reasoning and reading skills in the wake of a major stroke. Since the inception of the project many others including educators have asked that we make these models available to everyone.
Neat stuff, no?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
New Card, No Photos
Zorak grabbed a new XD card for the camera so we could take pictures of the kids playing ball over the weekend. He got a big card, too (so now I can go years between uploads!) and we took a bazillion pictures. Some movies. Lots of fun shots, too.
We put the card in the uploader, presumably to upload. Nothing. We got crickets. With a lot of wiggling and finagling, we did get a message that we don't have a high-speed USB port, and it'll be slow. OK, how slow? (I honestly doubt we could tell the difference. We aren't big 'puter fiends.) Well, two days seems a bit on the ridiculous side, but still nothing happened.
Then we found it.
"Would you like to format this card?"
Honestly? No. No, we wouldn't. We'd like to get to the pictures that are currently ON it! ACK.
And so, no pictures. I know we'll most likely have to format the darned thing and will lose the pictures. And that makes me cry. We didn't know. We put the card in the camera, and the camera recognized it. The camera and the card worked together beautifully. Was it all a hoax?
ARGH.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We put the card in the uploader, presumably to upload. Nothing. We got crickets. With a lot of wiggling and finagling, we did get a message that we don't have a high-speed USB port, and it'll be slow. OK, how slow? (I honestly doubt we could tell the difference. We aren't big 'puter fiends.) Well, two days seems a bit on the ridiculous side, but still nothing happened.
Then we found it.
"Would you like to format this card?"
Honestly? No. No, we wouldn't. We'd like to get to the pictures that are currently ON it! ACK.
And so, no pictures. I know we'll most likely have to format the darned thing and will lose the pictures. And that makes me cry. We didn't know. We put the card in the camera, and the camera recognized it. The camera and the card worked together beautifully. Was it all a hoax?
ARGH.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Garden Update
Hey, hey, what do ya know, the guys were busy while I was gone yesterday! They got the border to the melon patch levelled. Zorak laid the first row for a retaining wall down there. He and the boys moved about a ton of sand and a few wheelbarrows of manure into the boxes in the upper meadow, and down to the barn. They played a lot of catch, and ate a lot of otter pops. In all, it was a very productive day for them.
Those kids slept HARD last night.
It's good to be productive. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Those kids slept HARD last night.
It's good to be productive. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Dentist Update
Well, it went okay. They are pretty upfront, which is nice. There's still a lot of work to be done, which I knew, and yet the other dentist had said, "You're all caught up!" Huh.
This dentist seems to think that root scaling would be a better route to go than the flaying-grafting process the other one wanted to do. I don't know if the damage isn't as bad as the first guy thought, or if the things I've been doing to help repair some of the tissue damage have actually had an impact. He also recommends extracting three teeth. I started to freak when he said that, BUT, they're the same three teeth that two different orthodontists have told me would need to come out in order to do braces.
So, now we've got to get going on it. I am glad to be healthy, but please pardon me if I don't leap about and do the happy dance. I'll dance when it's done.
Dy
This dentist seems to think that root scaling would be a better route to go than the flaying-grafting process the other one wanted to do. I don't know if the damage isn't as bad as the first guy thought, or if the things I've been doing to help repair some of the tissue damage have actually had an impact. He also recommends extracting three teeth. I started to freak when he said that, BUT, they're the same three teeth that two different orthodontists have told me would need to come out in order to do braces.
So, now we've got to get going on it. I am glad to be healthy, but please pardon me if I don't leap about and do the happy dance. I'll dance when it's done.
Dy
Monday, April 2
Almost Productive
"Now that fear of yours makes more sense."
-Zorak, to me, as I lay sprawled out on the ground today in the melon patch.
I'm just not cut out for things that require coordination. Simple tasks, such as baking, installing brake pads, or chasing herds of small children, I can do. The more complex tasks, like, say, pulling weeds while keeping my balance, will do. me. in. I had a good one, too. I pulled and yanked and hauled. I braced my feet and bent my legs. Perhaps that was my undoing, because no sooner had I thought "It's coming up! It's coming up!" than I began to lean and twist and slide... in slow-motion, too. Up, up, aaaannnnnd, OVER. Face first into the freshly turned dirt in the middle of the patch.
And my brain, ever ready to defend me and prove that I am fit to survive, warned me that I was about to impale myself on a sapling stump on the way down. Wasn't that nice? Of course, did it also send the message to LET GO of the rooted devil plant that was taking me down? No. No, it did not. Evidently, my ever ready brain is only wired for one signal at a time. Thank God we don't have tigers here.
And when I landed on my side, with a most satisfying thud, I looked up, laughing, at Zorak, who looked either bewildered or concerned. And that was when he, oh so eloquently, referenced my big hairy fear of malevolent vines creeping in to kill us while we sleep. I would like to get offended and huffy over it, but it was funny, that was a stoopid thing to do (on my part, not his), and really, I'm just glad he understands me a little better now. I'm also glad we're a family that can laugh at ourselves (and, obviously, each other). That we can have fun doing what we do.
And we worked today. We worked hard. We dug half a dozen tree stumps out of the melon patch, and easily ten old railroad ties. Some of the trees had grown up through the wood. That was wild. The melon patch (13'8" x 22') is now ready for a border and compost.
If I've learned nothing else in this adventure, it's that landscaping should be kept simple. Sure, those trellised wisteria vines looked great behind three tiers of monkey grass and blackberry bushes. And yes, the whatzits definitely set off the dogwoods -- back when they weren't 30 feet tall. If the next people who own your home don't happen to have the Better Homes and Gardens Gene, well, a decade can make for some pretty nasty wrangling for the ones who follow after that. So we're learning to keep it simple and easy to maintain.
Well, that, and "let go" when you're going down.
Never stop learning!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
-Zorak, to me, as I lay sprawled out on the ground today in the melon patch.
I'm just not cut out for things that require coordination. Simple tasks, such as baking, installing brake pads, or chasing herds of small children, I can do. The more complex tasks, like, say, pulling weeds while keeping my balance, will do. me. in. I had a good one, too. I pulled and yanked and hauled. I braced my feet and bent my legs. Perhaps that was my undoing, because no sooner had I thought "It's coming up! It's coming up!" than I began to lean and twist and slide... in slow-motion, too. Up, up, aaaannnnnd, OVER. Face first into the freshly turned dirt in the middle of the patch.
And my brain, ever ready to defend me and prove that I am fit to survive, warned me that I was about to impale myself on a sapling stump on the way down. Wasn't that nice? Of course, did it also send the message to LET GO of the rooted devil plant that was taking me down? No. No, it did not. Evidently, my ever ready brain is only wired for one signal at a time. Thank God we don't have tigers here.
And when I landed on my side, with a most satisfying thud, I looked up, laughing, at Zorak, who looked either bewildered or concerned. And that was when he, oh so eloquently, referenced my big hairy fear of malevolent vines creeping in to kill us while we sleep. I would like to get offended and huffy over it, but it was funny, that was a stoopid thing to do (on my part, not his), and really, I'm just glad he understands me a little better now. I'm also glad we're a family that can laugh at ourselves (and, obviously, each other). That we can have fun doing what we do.
And we worked today. We worked hard. We dug half a dozen tree stumps out of the melon patch, and easily ten old railroad ties. Some of the trees had grown up through the wood. That was wild. The melon patch (13'8" x 22') is now ready for a border and compost.
If I've learned nothing else in this adventure, it's that landscaping should be kept simple. Sure, those trellised wisteria vines looked great behind three tiers of monkey grass and blackberry bushes. And yes, the whatzits definitely set off the dogwoods -- back when they weren't 30 feet tall. If the next people who own your home don't happen to have the Better Homes and Gardens Gene, well, a decade can make for some pretty nasty wrangling for the ones who follow after that. So we're learning to keep it simple and easy to maintain.
Well, that, and "let go" when you're going down.
Never stop learning!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, April 1
Holiday fun
I wanted so very much to write a fun April Fool's Day post. A few things stopped me, though. First, I truly detest April Fool's Day. Not a big trickster at all. And second, lacking inspiration, I couldn't think of anything good. I'd thought about saying we were going to send the boys to Orme Academy, a boarding school in Arizona, but was afraid that might start rumors in the family that it would take the rest of the year to quell. Then I thought perhaps I'd come clean that Zorak is moving to Mexico to join the Partido del Trabajo, but I couldn't bring myself to even joke about that. *shudder*
And when I'm not inspired, all I can think to do is plagarize. Every time I began to write, I'd think of last year, and start giggling.
Then I thought I'd post a bit about the history of April Fool's Day. Plenty of mystery and conjecture. Looks like the change of the calendar was as popular when it first came out as Daylight Savings Time is today. But still, nothing concrete. The best I could come up with was a little anecdote about the origin of the "Kick Me" sign on a person's back. (Authorities seem to blame that one on Scotland. They're a tough crowd, those Scots.)
Now the children are up, the ground is soft, and Spring is coming! So, however you celebrate April Fools' Day, have a very happy day. And if you do have big news to share, please wait until tomorrow, for you may not be believed today. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
And when I'm not inspired, all I can think to do is plagarize. Every time I began to write, I'd think of last year, and start giggling.
Then I thought I'd post a bit about the history of April Fool's Day. Plenty of mystery and conjecture. Looks like the change of the calendar was as popular when it first came out as Daylight Savings Time is today. But still, nothing concrete. The best I could come up with was a little anecdote about the origin of the "Kick Me" sign on a person's back. (Authorities seem to blame that one on Scotland. They're a tough crowd, those Scots.)
Now the children are up, the ground is soft, and Spring is coming! So, however you celebrate April Fools' Day, have a very happy day. And if you do have big news to share, please wait until tomorrow, for you may not be believed today. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Saturday, March 31
Ufda!
Man, this whole having-to-be-places-regularly thing is a challenge!
John's team had two practice games back-to-back last night. Seemed a bit on the trial by fire side to me, to have the little guys out there so long, so late. But they're not... you know... babies... *sniff**sniff*
His team got wallopped pretty thoroughly the first game. The other team knew what the ball was for, and how to stop it, and all those pesky details of the game. *grin* Fortunately, we've got a great bunch of kids, a great team of coaches, and parents who can keep it positive. The overall enthusiasm stayed high for the second game, and they all did better. Still got trounced, but definitely better.
I'm still the only one who laughs herself into total debilitation, though, and am pretty certain there will be an intervention for my drinking problem before the season ends. HOW they can not laugh is beyond me. One boy hunkered down in the dirt and built dust castles. (It was windy; he had to keep starting over.) One boy spun around in circles until he tipped over. Another boy (*ahem*, mine) spent a good portion of the game doing some sort of leaping, kicking, toe fluttering ballet maneuver. One little sweetheart of a guy hit the ball, scrambled to first and kept on running - straight. We have no clue where he was going. This is funny stuff, folks. You just can't get this kind of entertainment from Hollywood. And someday all these children will be proficient, aware, and together enough that they won't have the adorable "puppies tumbling pell-mell" thing going, anymore. I have no desire to wish that away. It'll go quickly enough.
You'd think with all that activity, we wouldn't have been up until eleven with the boys (and until two with Baby Girl - what is UP with that level of stamina?) but we were. They were tired, but way too wired to stop vibrating and chattering.
And this morning? Up 'n at 'em with one more game. Not bad. None of us expected to see an improvement this morning from yesterday's games, but the kids did a great job. They can hustle. They can hit. They can mostly run. (John, not so much on the running. He's more of an ambler. Would've made a great cowboy.) They shouted and encouraged each other. There were high-fives and thumbs-up gestures all over the field. They lost by only one point. It was a sweet, sweet morning.
Now we're home, but only for a little bit. We've worked the compost, cleaned the kitchen, and now Zorak's fixing lunch. Easter Egg hunt is at two o'clock, so we've got to eat and get going. (I'm having a cup of coffee. This crazy schedule has my caffeine maintenance schedule all out of whack.) J and I were talking about scheduling multiple children for activities, and I kinda like her game plan. She laughed and said, "One child per year. Not one activity per child per year, but one kid gets to do one thing this year. Next year, the next child gets to do something, and so on." Doesn't sound like much fun for the kids, but I'll bet I go grey before she does! Smart lady. *whew*
OK, off to be helpful.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
John's team had two practice games back-to-back last night. Seemed a bit on the trial by fire side to me, to have the little guys out there so long, so late. But they're not... you know... babies... *sniff**sniff*
His team got wallopped pretty thoroughly the first game. The other team knew what the ball was for, and how to stop it, and all those pesky details of the game. *grin* Fortunately, we've got a great bunch of kids, a great team of coaches, and parents who can keep it positive. The overall enthusiasm stayed high for the second game, and they all did better. Still got trounced, but definitely better.
I'm still the only one who laughs herself into total debilitation, though, and am pretty certain there will be an intervention for my drinking problem before the season ends. HOW they can not laugh is beyond me. One boy hunkered down in the dirt and built dust castles. (It was windy; he had to keep starting over.) One boy spun around in circles until he tipped over. Another boy (*ahem*, mine) spent a good portion of the game doing some sort of leaping, kicking, toe fluttering ballet maneuver. One little sweetheart of a guy hit the ball, scrambled to first and kept on running - straight. We have no clue where he was going. This is funny stuff, folks. You just can't get this kind of entertainment from Hollywood. And someday all these children will be proficient, aware, and together enough that they won't have the adorable "puppies tumbling pell-mell" thing going, anymore. I have no desire to wish that away. It'll go quickly enough.
You'd think with all that activity, we wouldn't have been up until eleven with the boys (and until two with Baby Girl - what is UP with that level of stamina?) but we were. They were tired, but way too wired to stop vibrating and chattering.
And this morning? Up 'n at 'em with one more game. Not bad. None of us expected to see an improvement this morning from yesterday's games, but the kids did a great job. They can hustle. They can hit. They can mostly run. (John, not so much on the running. He's more of an ambler. Would've made a great cowboy.) They shouted and encouraged each other. There were high-fives and thumbs-up gestures all over the field. They lost by only one point. It was a sweet, sweet morning.
Now we're home, but only for a little bit. We've worked the compost, cleaned the kitchen, and now Zorak's fixing lunch. Easter Egg hunt is at two o'clock, so we've got to eat and get going. (I'm having a cup of coffee. This crazy schedule has my caffeine maintenance schedule all out of whack.) J and I were talking about scheduling multiple children for activities, and I kinda like her game plan. She laughed and said, "One child per year. Not one activity per child per year, but one kid gets to do one thing this year. Next year, the next child gets to do something, and so on." Doesn't sound like much fun for the kids, but I'll bet I go grey before she does! Smart lady. *whew*
OK, off to be helpful.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, March 29
ACK - it's dead!
Our memory card for the camera is dead. Well, not quite dead, but needs to be shot. Of all the photos I took today, only three uploaded. And of the three that uploaded, only one is even visible. And of that one that's visible, well...
...that's just not good.
Believe it or not, there's a funny story that goes with that photo. But it doesn't make much sense now.
Life is like that sometimes.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
...that's just not good.
Believe it or not, there's a funny story that goes with that photo. But it doesn't make much sense now.
Life is like that sometimes.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Not At Bad As It Sounded
No, none of it is as bad as it sounded. I was tired, and rather than going to bed like a normal person might, I stayed up blogging and chatting wtih J and Dee. Actually, that was cathartic. I wish J and I still lived in the same town - she's a wonderful friend, and I miss her. I miss her wonderful children, her funny husband (Ok, he's Zorak-funny, so it's probably not always funny to *her*, but he makes me laugh), and I miss her sweet, gentle nature. And her snarky side. But mostly just - all of them.
We'll head in to town today to make a Costco run. Payday is the day *after* Pioneer Club, so once a month I have to make two runs into town, and that's... well, *whine*whine*whine*. (ahem) Not bad. Really. The boys are dying to take flowers to Me-Tae, and if I can get moving quickly enough, perhaps we can stop by the art museum or at least Big Spring park and enjoy a nice day out.
John has practice today (that's somewhat like saying, "we're going to be breathing today", or "we thought we'd eat today" - I'm really thankful the ball field is just a few miles down the road!) and it's *team pictures* day. He gets to wear his full uniform. Oh. My. Word. The ANTICIPATION! I just hope we can find the socks. Smidge had them on as gloves the other day, and we had a heck of a time trying to convince him they're off limits.
Need to come up with some crockpot recipes this week. Want to share your favorites?
Aunt B's friends' son and his family are moving to the area, and we hope to be able to feed them this weekend sometime. (That has nothing to do with crockpot recipes. We have our "feed company" menus ,and they're all about the process and the fun of preparing food for enjoyment. If you leave our house hungry, it's not our doing, know what I mean? The crockpot thing is for our practice nights that happen to fall on errand days.) Anyway, they're doing the whole hectic "find a house and move" process. We'd like to help make the transition more enjoyable if we can. And we look forward to meeting them. Good people.
OK, I've got some fun things to post, but the Small Ones seem to need a little direction, and they've come running to the tapping of the keyboard like cats to a can opener. So, I'm going to go enjoy my little kitten-y Small Ones and have a productive, wonderful day. Y'all do the same!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We'll head in to town today to make a Costco run. Payday is the day *after* Pioneer Club, so once a month I have to make two runs into town, and that's... well, *whine*whine*whine*. (ahem) Not bad. Really. The boys are dying to take flowers to Me-Tae, and if I can get moving quickly enough, perhaps we can stop by the art museum or at least Big Spring park and enjoy a nice day out.
John has practice today (that's somewhat like saying, "we're going to be breathing today", or "we thought we'd eat today" - I'm really thankful the ball field is just a few miles down the road!) and it's *team pictures* day. He gets to wear his full uniform. Oh. My. Word. The ANTICIPATION! I just hope we can find the socks. Smidge had them on as gloves the other day, and we had a heck of a time trying to convince him they're off limits.
Need to come up with some crockpot recipes this week. Want to share your favorites?
Aunt B's friends' son and his family are moving to the area, and we hope to be able to feed them this weekend sometime. (That has nothing to do with crockpot recipes. We have our "feed company" menus ,and they're all about the process and the fun of preparing food for enjoyment. If you leave our house hungry, it's not our doing, know what I mean? The crockpot thing is for our practice nights that happen to fall on errand days.) Anyway, they're doing the whole hectic "find a house and move" process. We'd like to help make the transition more enjoyable if we can. And we look forward to meeting them. Good people.
OK, I've got some fun things to post, but the Small Ones seem to need a little direction, and they've come running to the tapping of the keyboard like cats to a can opener. So, I'm going to go enjoy my little kitten-y Small Ones and have a productive, wonderful day. Y'all do the same!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, March 28
Just...Stuff
(You know, I have to work very hard not to abuse that category!) It's been one heckuva week around here, folks. Not all bad, but please allow me to whine a bit, first.
All that dental work we've had done over the last year? Not a bit of it has worked. Not. One. Bit. I've got an appointment Monday with a new Dentist For Big People. I'm in so much pain right now from bad work the first dentist did. Gah. I hate this. I hate going in blind. Of course they're going to say they can help you. They want your business. But can they help? I've asked around, stalking people who have lovely teeth, but they either don't have a dentist locally, or they don't have anything yay-or-nay to say about their dentist. "Eh, he's okay. He's on my insurance." *sigh*
Well, being the eternal optimist *snort* (Yeah, I know, but it sounded good, didn't it?) I'd think some dentist, somewhere, is capable of filling a cavity and not leaving the edges sharp enough to break those teflon flossers. (Had those "fixed" by him, twice. And three of 'em are still breakin' floss.) Or perhaps of putting on a temporary crown that doesn't protrude so far out of whack that it forces the patient's jaw out of line. (My favorite memory of this guy will always be when I mentioned that particular one, and was told, "Oh, well, that's only for six months." Wha--? And it hurts now. Well, it hurt then. NOW, it's more than mere inconvenience.)
I had a delightful dentist once. He did an amazing job. He got it right the first time, every time. He was gentle, thorough, honest. Well, mostly honest. Turned out he had a pretty rabid cocaine addiction. But even with that little glitch, I find myself wishing I could make a quick run up to PA to get the rest of my work done. Yes, I know that's wrong on so many levels. But it just serves to illustrate how desperate I am.
Then, this morning Balto had a Grand mal seizure. Whooo boy. Of course, I didn't look at him vibrating on the porch, and think, "Oh, looks like a seizure episode." I looked at him and thought, "Holy cow, can fresh rabbit do that to you?" Actually, my first concern was that he'd been poisoned. The boys helped me get everybody shod and loaded in less than ten minutes (WOOHOO) and off we went to the Wonderful Vet, who did a thorough check and said he's in perfect health and shows no signs of toxicity. He said it looks like epilepsy. Huh. So, I looked into whether we need to worry about Baltoid's mental stability (such as it is) and general personality changes (could he, by chance, be a little more calm after a couple of these things?) From there, it's just a matter of learning to live with epilepsy.
Wonderful Vet did touch base about letting him go down to the creek, but when we described it - nothing like Melissa's creek, which is a real creek - we just call ours a creek, but the other creeks would shun it and deny it membership in the AW-CRAP (Associated Waterways - Creeks, Rivers, Aquaducts, Ponds), he gave the a-ok. Poor BaltoDog. He's been a big clingy since then, and I don't blame him. Seizures are freaky enough for a fully functioning human who can listen to an explanation and process the whole thing. What's that like for a dog? Ugh. I can only imagine, "Oh, man. It was awful. One minute I'm chasing robins off the porch and chewing on my feet, and the next minute, I'm belching foam and peeing all over myself. Then they made me get in the CAR! What's that all about? I don't know what happened, but... I don't ever want to be alone again, man." Plenty of gentle lovin's and snuggles seemed to make him feel better. If he plans to stay inside more often, though, he is SO getting a bath tomorrow. He's such a good dog, and I feel bad for him. We'll see if we can identify any triggers he may have, and help him develop a safe spot for when he's feeling punky. He's our Balto-Dog, and we love him.
Oh, the finger? Almost healed! I still can't put any real stress on it, or it makes a wretched tearing sound - similar to velcro being pulled apart - and somehow, that doesn't seem like it should be happening. But it's significantly better. I thought it was lookin' pretty good, until I showed it to Zorak and he said, "Aww, a FrankenFinger!" Um... yeah, thanks, Love.
AND, we made it to Pioneer Club. We made it home. We got everybody snuggled and loved on. And in the end, I'm sitting here typing with my FrankenFingers (it's okay, I never planned to be a hand model, really), with my goofy dog draped across my foot. My wonderful husband is passed out cold with Smidge, and there's probably no way I will be able to wiggle in there with them, but it's such a snuggly, inviting scene, I may try anyway. The big boys are big. They did well this week. They've really learned how to work together (when they must) and how to be caring for those who need it. Really, it has been quite a week. But not as bad as it sounds. I'm thankful.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
All that dental work we've had done over the last year? Not a bit of it has worked. Not. One. Bit. I've got an appointment Monday with a new Dentist For Big People. I'm in so much pain right now from bad work the first dentist did. Gah. I hate this. I hate going in blind. Of course they're going to say they can help you. They want your business. But can they help? I've asked around, stalking people who have lovely teeth, but they either don't have a dentist locally, or they don't have anything yay-or-nay to say about their dentist. "Eh, he's okay. He's on my insurance." *sigh*
Well, being the eternal optimist *snort* (Yeah, I know, but it sounded good, didn't it?) I'd think some dentist, somewhere, is capable of filling a cavity and not leaving the edges sharp enough to break those teflon flossers. (Had those "fixed" by him, twice. And three of 'em are still breakin' floss.) Or perhaps of putting on a temporary crown that doesn't protrude so far out of whack that it forces the patient's jaw out of line. (My favorite memory of this guy will always be when I mentioned that particular one, and was told, "Oh, well, that's only for six months." Wha--? And it hurts now. Well, it hurt then. NOW, it's more than mere inconvenience.)
I had a delightful dentist once. He did an amazing job. He got it right the first time, every time. He was gentle, thorough, honest. Well, mostly honest. Turned out he had a pretty rabid cocaine addiction. But even with that little glitch, I find myself wishing I could make a quick run up to PA to get the rest of my work done. Yes, I know that's wrong on so many levels. But it just serves to illustrate how desperate I am.
Then, this morning Balto had a Grand mal seizure. Whooo boy. Of course, I didn't look at him vibrating on the porch, and think, "Oh, looks like a seizure episode." I looked at him and thought, "Holy cow, can fresh rabbit do that to you?" Actually, my first concern was that he'd been poisoned. The boys helped me get everybody shod and loaded in less than ten minutes (WOOHOO) and off we went to the Wonderful Vet, who did a thorough check and said he's in perfect health and shows no signs of toxicity. He said it looks like epilepsy. Huh. So, I looked into whether we need to worry about Baltoid's mental stability (such as it is) and general personality changes (could he, by chance, be a little more calm after a couple of these things?) From there, it's just a matter of learning to live with epilepsy.
Wonderful Vet did touch base about letting him go down to the creek, but when we described it - nothing like Melissa's creek, which is a real creek - we just call ours a creek, but the other creeks would shun it and deny it membership in the AW-CRAP (Associated Waterways - Creeks, Rivers, Aquaducts, Ponds), he gave the a-ok. Poor BaltoDog. He's been a big clingy since then, and I don't blame him. Seizures are freaky enough for a fully functioning human who can listen to an explanation and process the whole thing. What's that like for a dog? Ugh. I can only imagine, "Oh, man. It was awful. One minute I'm chasing robins off the porch and chewing on my feet, and the next minute, I'm belching foam and peeing all over myself. Then they made me get in the CAR! What's that all about? I don't know what happened, but... I don't ever want to be alone again, man." Plenty of gentle lovin's and snuggles seemed to make him feel better. If he plans to stay inside more often, though, he is SO getting a bath tomorrow. He's such a good dog, and I feel bad for him. We'll see if we can identify any triggers he may have, and help him develop a safe spot for when he's feeling punky. He's our Balto-Dog, and we love him.
Oh, the finger? Almost healed! I still can't put any real stress on it, or it makes a wretched tearing sound - similar to velcro being pulled apart - and somehow, that doesn't seem like it should be happening. But it's significantly better. I thought it was lookin' pretty good, until I showed it to Zorak and he said, "Aww, a FrankenFinger!" Um... yeah, thanks, Love.
AND, we made it to Pioneer Club. We made it home. We got everybody snuggled and loved on. And in the end, I'm sitting here typing with my FrankenFingers (it's okay, I never planned to be a hand model, really), with my goofy dog draped across my foot. My wonderful husband is passed out cold with Smidge, and there's probably no way I will be able to wiggle in there with them, but it's such a snuggly, inviting scene, I may try anyway. The big boys are big. They did well this week. They've really learned how to work together (when they must) and how to be caring for those who need it. Really, it has been quite a week. But not as bad as it sounds. I'm thankful.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, March 27
Is it really only 9:30?
I lured Zorak into proof-reading for me last night. It was painful, for both of us. But he's such a trooper, and I really appreciate him for going that extra ten thousand miles for me. Anyway, by the time all was said and done, we were too tired to gather the trash before bed. But our trash men are shockingly punctual, and when they recommend you have your trash out by six o'clock Tuesday morning, they mean it.
Of course, we live amongst the raccoons and stray dogs and other country varmints, so you can't just haul it to the road before bed. Well, you could... but, ew. (We know about the boxes. We'll make one. Eventually. The work on the property just hasn't radiated all the way out to the road yet.) So, we usually just gather it Monday night before bed and then Zorak trails it to the road as he leaves for work in the morning.
This morning, I got up and stumbled around gathering trash while he asked me questions, as if I were awake. "Have you seen my belt?" Honey, I love you, but I haven't seen anything other than the lower half of my right eyelid since I rolled out of bed. I'm gathering the trash on pure radar. Let's just pretend I'm not actually up, and go from there, shall we? (We did find another belt, though I have no clue, even now, with three cups of coffee under me, where his usual one went. I probably did it, but I don't know what I did. Or where.)
I stumbled back toward the hallway, bounced off the arm of the couch (that's my radar at work), and heard a giggle. Huh? James was up already. Smidge was up already. Look at them, there, all curled up and chipper.
Do y'all know it's still dark out?
...You do?
...And that doesn't mean anything to you?
Oh... I'm not going back to bed, am I?
And so, we've gone non-stop since whenever that was. I thought for sure it was time for lunch and a nap, only to check the time and see that it's only 9:30. Theoretically, we should be quite productive today. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Of course, we live amongst the raccoons and stray dogs and other country varmints, so you can't just haul it to the road before bed. Well, you could... but, ew. (We know about the boxes. We'll make one. Eventually. The work on the property just hasn't radiated all the way out to the road yet.) So, we usually just gather it Monday night before bed and then Zorak trails it to the road as he leaves for work in the morning.
This morning, I got up and stumbled around gathering trash while he asked me questions, as if I were awake. "Have you seen my belt?" Honey, I love you, but I haven't seen anything other than the lower half of my right eyelid since I rolled out of bed. I'm gathering the trash on pure radar. Let's just pretend I'm not actually up, and go from there, shall we? (We did find another belt, though I have no clue, even now, with three cups of coffee under me, where his usual one went. I probably did it, but I don't know what I did. Or where.)
I stumbled back toward the hallway, bounced off the arm of the couch (that's my radar at work), and heard a giggle. Huh? James was up already. Smidge was up already. Look at them, there, all curled up and chipper.
Do y'all know it's still dark out?
...You do?
...And that doesn't mean anything to you?
Oh... I'm not going back to bed, am I?
And so, we've gone non-stop since whenever that was. I thought for sure it was time for lunch and a nap, only to check the time and see that it's only 9:30. Theoretically, we should be quite productive today. ;-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, March 26
A tulip?
You tell me. I have no clue.
Other than that, school, composting, books (oh, I've GOT to blog about the books!), ball practice. Pictures Thursday. John gets to wear his whole uniform. He thinks it's almost as good as Christmas.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Other than that, school, composting, books (oh, I've GOT to blog about the books!), ball practice. Pictures Thursday. John gets to wear his whole uniform. He thinks it's almost as good as Christmas.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, March 25
Hi.
You get no title, but I'll post pictures. :-) I got up at some unholy hour the other day and figured I'd just run with it, so when the sun began to rise, I grabbed my coffee and camera and went out to take pictures. By the time I stopped wandering about like a lost child in Wonderland, the sun was pretty well up. Oh, well, it was still nice to just be there, in the quiet, the beautiful, sparkling, dewy quiet of it all.
Zorak wasn't feeling well when he went to bed last night, but I figured it was just allergies. (OK, posting flower pictures alongside an illness post, when the flowers aren't in a bedside vase, seems a little wrong. Poor post planning. Sorry 'bout that.) Anyway, he figured it was too much sun. Either way, no biggie. Then he slept pretty late this morning, and when Me-Wa called to see about going fishing, he wasn't up for it. I started to ask why, but then I looked up to see him sitting on a barstool, phone dangling from his hand, just sort of staring at the counter speckles and weaving back and forth. hooboy. That's one sick Daddy. He went back to bed and hasn't moved all day, save for two brief attempts to eat. Oh, and I'd slip in every few hours to rotate his pillows and get him to sip some water, but he didn't ever really wake up for that. He is SO sick, and so out of it. No fever, just chills, sweating, and total lethargy. I'm terrified to google those specific symptoms, but if he's still like this tomorrow, I plan to drag him to the doctor. At least on the upside, he'll be too weak and exhausted to kick and scream. 8^O
In other news, we are inundated with blooms and buds! The dogwoods and redbuds are all in full bloom, and it's BEAUTIFUL here! We have a lone flower in bloom, down among the bulbs, too. I thought it was a tulip, but the boys checked it out and said they don't think it's a tulip. It does look a little more starry-shaped than tulip-shaped. We'll have to post a photo, though. Whatever it is, it's the kind of flower that makes people say and do silly things in response to it.
Speaking of silly things, I've turned into "that woman". You know, the neophyte gardener, who is just beginning to get a feel for it. Or, as Zorak put it the other day on the drive into town, "Plants have become your Gamecube, you know." (I believe this was after the ninth or tenth time since leaving the property that I pointed and exclaimed, "OH, would you LOOK at THAT tree!" Um, yeah, we live in the south. There's more foliage here than probably anywhere else this side of Cambodia. Pleasant drive for him, I'm sure.) But it's fun, and it's wonderful, and I am *finally* beginning to understand how people can tell the difference between things like bulbs and ivies! It's much, much easier when you live among them, and can get to know them. Delightful!
Surprise!
Our digital camera doesn't take very good video, and I think our memory card is about to go t-u on us because the audio/video is out of synch. But we just couldn't resist trying to capture EmBaby's singing on video. She stopped singing the second the camera came out, and this is what we got, instead: her surprised look.
Oh, and that's Smidge in the background, singing "Mango", which you can find and then embed in your head, too, simply by clicking, here. That's also what EmBaby was singing, until it was time for her close-up.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Oh, and that's Smidge in the background, singing "Mango", which you can find and then embed in your head, too, simply by clicking, here. That's also what EmBaby was singing, until it was time for her close-up.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, March 23
What are you bad at?
That's what the boys asked me today. The actual question was, "What do you enjoy doing that you're *really* bad at? And I don't mean, just *not good*, but truly awful."
Uh...
Well, there's a lot I'm just not good at. Some of it I do enjoy, anyway. Some of it, not so much.
But something I'm really bad at and still enjoy?
That would have to be singing. I've been asked not to participate in church choirs, recommended for transfer from school choir to another elective, and all four of my children have screamed like they're being eaten alive when I've tried to sing them to sleep. I think that probably ranks right up there in the "truly awful" category.
But, oh, how I love to sing!
That got me thinking, though. How do we view the enjoyment-competency relationship? I think it's natural for us to enjoy doing things in which we succeed. But do we lose touch with the enjoyment of doing? Or lose sight of the potential to accel, if we press on, and find enjoyment? Is there much room for enjoying an activity or venture that you are truly, deeply bad at doing?
Worth thinking about.
There's probably a song about it, too.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Uh...
Well, there's a lot I'm just not good at. Some of it I do enjoy, anyway. Some of it, not so much.
But something I'm really bad at and still enjoy?
That would have to be singing. I've been asked not to participate in church choirs, recommended for transfer from school choir to another elective, and all four of my children have screamed like they're being eaten alive when I've tried to sing them to sleep. I think that probably ranks right up there in the "truly awful" category.
But, oh, how I love to sing!
That got me thinking, though. How do we view the enjoyment-competency relationship? I think it's natural for us to enjoy doing things in which we succeed. But do we lose touch with the enjoyment of doing? Or lose sight of the potential to accel, if we press on, and find enjoyment? Is there much room for enjoying an activity or venture that you are truly, deeply bad at doing?
Worth thinking about.
There's probably a song about it, too.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Music in the House
This year, I've made a concerted effort to include more music in our daily pattern. We used to have music playing in the background almost constantly. Then, I think between all the change and chaos and noise, well, I admit I liked the quiet places between conversations and questions. But a day without music, even for people who don't play music, or write music, or consider themselves connoisseurs of music... still kinda quiet. It's been nice to get back to the sway of background music. It's also been nice to make our choices a little more intentional.
Now, we don't have iPODs, or nanos, or slingwhatsits. Just a very old stereo with the radio, a double tape player (although don't put tapes in the one on the left, it eats them), and a CD player. Simple. Old. The kids can operate it (which probably explains the situation with the tape player). But perfectly useful, and fun. We've been listening and talking and looking things up. It's active learning, but feels passive in that it's just part of the day, rather than anything structured.
Yesterday, I popped in our "From Dublin to Dakar" CD, and the kids surprised me by striking up a conversation about the music. John said, "This sounds very Egyptian." James said, "No, I think it's got more of an Indian sound." Smidge said, "HAHAHAAAAA!" (?? We don't ask.) We talked about the artists and their backgrounds. We danced a little and picked favorites. I asked them what about the music gave each of them the impressions it did - about its origin, its authors. What instruments do you think you hear? Some of their instincts were right-on, some were a little oh... really? but that wasn't the point of it. It wasn't a pop quiz. It was why we do what we do.
So they can learn.
So we can explore the world around us, and expand the world within us.
We'll take some things along permanently, and some we'll savor and discard later.
It's okay. We can enjoy this delicious life together. (If I were to dust off my food-related review guide, I'd say it was a musical sampler for a light afternoon's repast. Tapas, perhaps. Good stuff.)
Times like that, I'd give body parts to have a pocket musician I could pull out and set up on the futon. Wouldn't that be wonderful? He'd come with a full array of musical instruments, a broad background in various forms and music theory. Ah, yes, that's just what I need. I wonder if you can order one of those in a catalog somewhere? Can you see the ad:
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Now, we don't have iPODs, or nanos, or slingwhatsits. Just a very old stereo with the radio, a double tape player (although don't put tapes in the one on the left, it eats them), and a CD player. Simple. Old. The kids can operate it (which probably explains the situation with the tape player). But perfectly useful, and fun. We've been listening and talking and looking things up. It's active learning, but feels passive in that it's just part of the day, rather than anything structured.
Yesterday, I popped in our "From Dublin to Dakar" CD, and the kids surprised me by striking up a conversation about the music. John said, "This sounds very Egyptian." James said, "No, I think it's got more of an Indian sound." Smidge said, "HAHAHAAAAA!" (?? We don't ask.) We talked about the artists and their backgrounds. We danced a little and picked favorites. I asked them what about the music gave each of them the impressions it did - about its origin, its authors. What instruments do you think you hear? Some of their instincts were right-on, some were a little oh... really? but that wasn't the point of it. It wasn't a pop quiz. It was why we do what we do.
So they can learn.
So we can explore the world around us, and expand the world within us.
We'll take some things along permanently, and some we'll savor and discard later.
It's okay. We can enjoy this delicious life together. (If I were to dust off my food-related review guide, I'd say it was a musical sampler for a light afternoon's repast. Tapas, perhaps. Good stuff.)
Times like that, I'd give body parts to have a pocket musician I could pull out and set up on the futon. Wouldn't that be wonderful? He'd come with a full array of musical instruments, a broad background in various forms and music theory. Ah, yes, that's just what I need. I wonder if you can order one of those in a catalog somewhere? Can you see the ad:
What delights have you found in music lately?Get your own pocket musician! Amaze your children, astound your friends! Choose from many schools, and training levels. No bands or wholesalers, please.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, March 22
Getting Out The Door
A friend observed once that in order to get out the door at seven, she has to start the process at three. She wasn't joking, but the only ones in the group who knew that were the ones with more than two children. (This friend has six, and she's *good*. I want to be her when I grow up.) If you have children, you'll laugh because this wasn't you. If you don't, hopefully it will inspire you to have tenderness, and a flexible time frame, for your parent-friends. The friends in today's story are just such friends, and I love them for it.
Zorak calls at lunch and says, "Hey, they're gonna have the boat at the dock right after work. Can you have the boys ready?" (Me-Wa and Me-Tae bought a little fishing boat and wanted to surprise the boys. Totally awesome idea.)
Um... sure?
Now, I was planning to do all this on Friday. Or Saturday. This is Wednesday. What, in our ten-plus years together, made him think I am capable of this task on such short notice, I do not know.
But I gave it a good shot, and thought, for a while, that we would make it. I let the boys off the rest of their studies under the condition that they would please go find socks and some kind of shoes and meet me at the door. (Yes, this was around one. No, we didn't have to leave the house until after four. It takes that long.) Walk with me through the afternoon.
The three big ones shout, "OK, Mom!" and we're off!
Five minutes later...
I've scrounged up some empty bottles, filled them all carefully 2/3 full with water and set them (mostly) upright in the freezer.
I found a cooler. (Huh? This isn't ours. Where did this come from? *sniff* Well, it smells clean. It'll work.) Wiped it down. Threw in some cheese sticks. And some ice. Eight cubes of ice, to be exact, because somebody has - once again - turned off the ice maker.
John is standing in the front yard, wearing church pants. And pirate boots. And no shirt. "John, sweetie. You're going fishing. Don't you think you might not want to wear your navy Dockers?" With a cheerful, "OK, Mom," he heads inside to change. I'll deal with the boots later.
Smidge, honey, let's get your socks... why are you naked?
"Me wants to have JAMMY DAY!"
OK, that would be a place to start. Where are your jammies, then?
"No me no."
Alrighty, get some socks, sweetie. I'm going to go find Baby Girl.
"OK, Mom."
(I haul screaming BabyGirl in from the precipice of death that is our front porch, while yelling down the hallway, "JOHN, Honey, you can't leave the front door open. BabyFlash is an escape artist!" He yells back, "OK, Mom!")
As I set ScreamingBabyGirl down in the nursery, a pair of underwear lands on her head. *Huh?* Smidge has his head *in* the drawer, flinging skivvies, hand-over-hand. James enters, fully clothed in a sweater, jeans, thick socks, and boots. He immediately starts trying to intervene. (He's trying to help. He's trying to help. He's trying to help.)
Smidge is screaming, BabyGirl is screaming (and apparently stuck in the leg hole of a pair of whities). James is getting irate, shouting, "Stop it! You are NOT a cartoon character!" (I can't help but think he wouldn't say that if he could view this scene objectively...) I see movement from the corner of my eye, through the foyer and out the front door. Leaving it open.
That was John, now wearing his tan Dockers. And cowboy boots (because pirate boots just don't go with tan?)
"Smidge, why are you crying?"
"No me have socks."
"*sigh* James, can you catch BabyGirl (she's back on the porch now, and heading for the steps) and take her to your room while you change out of that sweater? You're going to roast."
"OK, Mom."
"And Smidge, let's get you some socks."
"OK, Mom."
(Yelling out the door,) "John, Honey, I was thinking something more along the lines of your cargo pants or jeans. Remember, not church pants, okay?"
"OK, Mom."
"And shut the door!"
"OK, Mom."
We get Smidge some socks. I direct him to find the clothes he was wearing prior to the JAMMY DAY announcement, and put them back on. James has BabyGirl safe and sound... I bolt to the basement to find the life jackets. Find them, just in time to hear a thump and some kind of wailing noise. (I have a game I play sometimes, where I try to guess the incident before I get to the scene of the crime. Was it Smidge, in the nursery, with the corner of a drawer? Or was it Emily, in the boys' room, with the ladder to the bunks? Kinda breaks up the tension.)
It was Smidge, in the nursery, on the doorknob. I was close. More crying. James announces he's ready. And he really is. Oh, bless that child!
(You do know, though, that we're not even CLOSE to being able to head out the door, right? But at least they're cheerful, and their hearts are in the right places. I can't get angry about that.)
John informs me that his shoes have no laces. Why? Who has taken them, and where are they now? (We launched a full-scale man hunt for the laces, but I ended up calling Zorak. "Are you still at the store? Oh, good. Can you please get John some shoe laces? Thanks!")
Smidge is dressed. But his feet have grown. Since last weekend. (Call Zorak back. "And Smidge shoes? I don't know. Hang on. Um, they're six and a half inches long... *screaming erupts in the background as BabyGirl claws at the front door and perfoms an opera about the orphan child locked in a dungeon - while Smidge starts yelling at James, who is digging through the craft things, searching for shoe laces* Can you convert from that? I've really got to go. Love you!")
James? Still good to go. Thank God.
Baby girl? She's okay, although exuding some kind of weird slime that's going to make her look dirt-breaded after five minutes on the bank of the river. But otherwise? She's fine.
Smidge? Still mostly dressed. I didn't even ask about underwear. He had pants. A shirt. Socks. Life is good.
Quick head count - 1, 2, 3, 4. *whew*
Check the water in the freezer. Only two spilled. Still no ice cubes. Stupid gremlins. Pack. Load. Wrangle. Wipe. Clean. Tidy. Pray. Pretty simple routine once you get the hang of it.
Zorak pulls up and it's a flurry of lacing and fitting and wiping and loading. Me-Wa calls. They've been at the dock for a while. They're waiting for us. What's taking so long? Zorak rushes. I do one last once over. Nobody is wearing anything too weird. Nobody's naked. Ah... I no longer care. "Load up!"
Zorak tells me we're taking the Suburban. Oh.
Yell out the door, "Wrong car!" Smidge cries again. Three hours ago, I would have bothered to ask. Right now, I can tell he's not bleeding, not stuck in the pickup, doesn't have a pitbull stuck to his head. He's fine.
And that's when Zorak looks at me and says, "You ready?"
Me? Oh, Honey. (Don't cry. Please don't cry, Dy. Deep breath.) I'm wearing one of your shop rag t-shirts, soccer-shorts-as-boxers, no bra, and I haven't showered in three days. I have zits. My finger isn't healed yet, and it hurts. Until you'd called, I'd been cleaning and teaching all morning long. And did I mention that I have PMS? Listen, I know where to find you. But there is No. Way. NOWAY I'm passing up the opportunity to wait until you leave so I can take a shower. Alone. With no "help". No stray drafts. No on-off-on-off of the vent fan. Nobody crying. Nobody screaming. No worries that someone has set BabyGirl adrift.
I. Am. Tired.
He shakes his head, but smiles. "OK, Mom."
I smile and wave. "OK, Dad. Love you!"
Ten years ago, a story like this would have scared the living daylights out of me. Now? Not it's not so bad. I wouldn't trade it for all the quiet, calm, or free time in the world.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Zorak calls at lunch and says, "Hey, they're gonna have the boat at the dock right after work. Can you have the boys ready?" (Me-Wa and Me-Tae bought a little fishing boat and wanted to surprise the boys. Totally awesome idea.)
Um... sure?
Now, I was planning to do all this on Friday. Or Saturday. This is Wednesday. What, in our ten-plus years together, made him think I am capable of this task on such short notice, I do not know.
But I gave it a good shot, and thought, for a while, that we would make it. I let the boys off the rest of their studies under the condition that they would please go find socks and some kind of shoes and meet me at the door. (Yes, this was around one. No, we didn't have to leave the house until after four. It takes that long.) Walk with me through the afternoon.
The three big ones shout, "OK, Mom!" and we're off!
Five minutes later...
I've scrounged up some empty bottles, filled them all carefully 2/3 full with water and set them (mostly) upright in the freezer.
I found a cooler. (Huh? This isn't ours. Where did this come from? *sniff* Well, it smells clean. It'll work.) Wiped it down. Threw in some cheese sticks. And some ice. Eight cubes of ice, to be exact, because somebody has - once again - turned off the ice maker.
John is standing in the front yard, wearing church pants. And pirate boots. And no shirt. "John, sweetie. You're going fishing. Don't you think you might not want to wear your navy Dockers?" With a cheerful, "OK, Mom," he heads inside to change. I'll deal with the boots later.
Smidge, honey, let's get your socks... why are you naked?
"Me wants to have JAMMY DAY!"
OK, that would be a place to start. Where are your jammies, then?
"No me no."
Alrighty, get some socks, sweetie. I'm going to go find Baby Girl.
"OK, Mom."
(I haul screaming BabyGirl in from the precipice of death that is our front porch, while yelling down the hallway, "JOHN, Honey, you can't leave the front door open. BabyFlash is an escape artist!" He yells back, "OK, Mom!")
As I set ScreamingBabyGirl down in the nursery, a pair of underwear lands on her head. *Huh?* Smidge has his head *in* the drawer, flinging skivvies, hand-over-hand. James enters, fully clothed in a sweater, jeans, thick socks, and boots. He immediately starts trying to intervene. (He's trying to help. He's trying to help. He's trying to help.)
Smidge is screaming, BabyGirl is screaming (and apparently stuck in the leg hole of a pair of whities). James is getting irate, shouting, "Stop it! You are NOT a cartoon character!" (I can't help but think he wouldn't say that if he could view this scene objectively...) I see movement from the corner of my eye, through the foyer and out the front door. Leaving it open.
That was John, now wearing his tan Dockers. And cowboy boots (because pirate boots just don't go with tan?)
"Smidge, why are you crying?"
"No me have socks."
"*sigh* James, can you catch BabyGirl (she's back on the porch now, and heading for the steps) and take her to your room while you change out of that sweater? You're going to roast."
"OK, Mom."
"And Smidge, let's get you some socks."
"OK, Mom."
(Yelling out the door,) "John, Honey, I was thinking something more along the lines of your cargo pants or jeans. Remember, not church pants, okay?"
"OK, Mom."
"And shut the door!"
"OK, Mom."
We get Smidge some socks. I direct him to find the clothes he was wearing prior to the JAMMY DAY announcement, and put them back on. James has BabyGirl safe and sound... I bolt to the basement to find the life jackets. Find them, just in time to hear a thump and some kind of wailing noise. (I have a game I play sometimes, where I try to guess the incident before I get to the scene of the crime. Was it Smidge, in the nursery, with the corner of a drawer? Or was it Emily, in the boys' room, with the ladder to the bunks? Kinda breaks up the tension.)
It was Smidge, in the nursery, on the doorknob. I was close. More crying. James announces he's ready. And he really is. Oh, bless that child!
(You do know, though, that we're not even CLOSE to being able to head out the door, right? But at least they're cheerful, and their hearts are in the right places. I can't get angry about that.)
John informs me that his shoes have no laces. Why? Who has taken them, and where are they now? (We launched a full-scale man hunt for the laces, but I ended up calling Zorak. "Are you still at the store? Oh, good. Can you please get John some shoe laces? Thanks!")
Smidge is dressed. But his feet have grown. Since last weekend. (Call Zorak back. "And Smidge shoes? I don't know. Hang on. Um, they're six and a half inches long... *screaming erupts in the background as BabyGirl claws at the front door and perfoms an opera about the orphan child locked in a dungeon - while Smidge starts yelling at James, who is digging through the craft things, searching for shoe laces* Can you convert from that? I've really got to go. Love you!")
James? Still good to go. Thank God.
Baby girl? She's okay, although exuding some kind of weird slime that's going to make her look dirt-breaded after five minutes on the bank of the river. But otherwise? She's fine.
Smidge? Still mostly dressed. I didn't even ask about underwear. He had pants. A shirt. Socks. Life is good.
Quick head count - 1, 2, 3, 4. *whew*
Check the water in the freezer. Only two spilled. Still no ice cubes. Stupid gremlins. Pack. Load. Wrangle. Wipe. Clean. Tidy. Pray. Pretty simple routine once you get the hang of it.
Zorak pulls up and it's a flurry of lacing and fitting and wiping and loading. Me-Wa calls. They've been at the dock for a while. They're waiting for us. What's taking so long? Zorak rushes. I do one last once over. Nobody is wearing anything too weird. Nobody's naked. Ah... I no longer care. "Load up!"
Zorak tells me we're taking the Suburban. Oh.
Yell out the door, "Wrong car!" Smidge cries again. Three hours ago, I would have bothered to ask. Right now, I can tell he's not bleeding, not stuck in the pickup, doesn't have a pitbull stuck to his head. He's fine.
And that's when Zorak looks at me and says, "You ready?"
Me? Oh, Honey. (Don't cry. Please don't cry, Dy. Deep breath.) I'm wearing one of your shop rag t-shirts, soccer-shorts-as-boxers, no bra, and I haven't showered in three days. I have zits. My finger isn't healed yet, and it hurts. Until you'd called, I'd been cleaning and teaching all morning long. And did I mention that I have PMS? Listen, I know where to find you. But there is No. Way. NOWAY I'm passing up the opportunity to wait until you leave so I can take a shower. Alone. With no "help". No stray drafts. No on-off-on-off of the vent fan. Nobody crying. Nobody screaming. No worries that someone has set BabyGirl adrift.
I. Am. Tired.
He shakes his head, but smiles. "OK, Mom."
I smile and wave. "OK, Dad. Love you!"
Ten years ago, a story like this would have scared the living daylights out of me. Now? Not it's not so bad. I wouldn't trade it for all the quiet, calm, or free time in the world.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
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