Will Undergo Surgery for Books

So, I had pretty much just planned to sell my left kidney and send the whole bag of cash to Yesterday's Classics, along with a note (probably written in my own blood) to please send me every book they've printed and launder the change.

Then I remembered that somewhere, deep in the hidden recesses of cardboard and camel crickets in the basement, I have a set of Robinson Curriculum disks. Hmmm. I wonder if... well, yes; with enough coffee, I can find almost anything! So I spent most of the last two days puttering around there to see if there's anything I can use. (Of course there is. Silly me.)

Tomorrow, I get to call Staples and find out if they'll have their binding services on sale any time soon.

But I'm so glad I printed out the book list and looked around for actual copies of the books, first. As handy as it is to have the books printed and bound (and with a laser printer, it really does come out to about $3 a book), we're not really 8.5" x 11"-size-book people. A book that size won't fit nicely on your lap on the couch, and it's horribly difficult to read in bed with a book that's wide enough to poke your husband in the head every time you turn the page or reach for chocolate. Not that these books are for me. Not all of them, anyway. *ahem*

Turns out there are just shy of a trillion places now re-printing old books! Of course, there are the Usual Suspects, but thanks to a little poking around on Amazon, I also found a few others. For instance, 1st World Publishing seems to have a nice selection of books. (I found them while looking for The Rover Boys series - the precurser to The Hardy Boys, et al.) There's a company called IndyPublishing, which has a big "get your book back in print" promotion going. There are quite a few options now, it seems. How fun!

Tom Swift? Back in print!
Rover Boys? Back in print!
Famous Men of _____ series? Take your pick of publishers!
Pyle? Synge? Pollard's histories? All in print.

*happy sigh*

So now I will have to divvy up the kidney funds among various vendors, but that's okay. We'll get more use out of a good pile of books than I would out of that one organ.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Productivity?

I have to get this out of my head, where it's ambling about, making me nauseous. Zorak took the boys to the field tonight. (For a 7 o'clock practice. Do these people not have jobs they have to go to in the morning?) EmBaby and I stayed home, namely because she was up past midnight last night, and had a whopping ten minute nap in the car today between the market and the video store. Wouldn't that be a pleasant scene at the field?

"Who's torturing hogs in the bleachers? What? It's that little Precious Moments child? What are they DOING to her?"

And when the media gets ahold of those people, they'll be the very ones to say,

"They seemed like such a nice, quiet couple."

So. She and I stayed home. (Also, slightly less pressing, but in the spirit of full disclosure, my rear hurts and I'm tired, I don't have the snack-bag packed, I don't have any 3T clothes to take for the Little Red-Haired Girl to change into, and I didn't wanna go! There you have it; I am not up for being SuperMom, or SuperAnythingElse. Sorry.)

Obviously, if Zorak hadn't been home, or had a horrible accident on the way home and was in full body traction, yeah, I'd have gone. And I think that's my problem. Not that I'd have gone, but I feel guilty about not going. I always feel guilty about not going, even when my presence is not required. Even when I leap joyfully through the air as they pull onto the road, leaving me behind. I feel like I'm... well, not doing what I ought to be doing.

They left. EmBaby and I ate strawberries and chatted a while. Then she yawned. I know that yawn. In one fluid movement, I swiped her, changed her, dropped a nightgown over her head, and brushed her teeth. She was too confused to resist. We read a bit, and then I laid her down.

And then...

And then...

And then I wanted to come blog and hang out. I wanted to go read books in bed and eat chocolate. But I didn't. Partly because we don't have any chocolate (hard to buy that under the radar when all of them are with you, and wide awake). Mostly, though, because I FEEL GUILTY if I do nothing while they're gone. I feel as though, when Zorak returns from having taken the children away for a while, I need to have a clean home, fresh tea, a dead mouse to lay at his feet. Something. Something that says, "See? I didn't abandon you. I've been industrious and worthy while you were gone." (Please note: he didn't do this to me. He'd be glad for me if I'd just lay down and sleep. Or read. Really, he understands that sometimes a body just has to stop moving. No, this is aaaalllll me.)

So I cleared the dinner table, cleaned the kitchen, tidied the pantry, put the whites in the wash, cleaned up the bathroom, tidied our room, pulled all the curtains, gathered the bills to be paid, and made Zorak's lunch for tomorrow. The house wasn't dirty to begin with - it's not like I had a lot of work to do. But, I found work until some (previously unknown) internal mechanism kicked in that said, "OK, you've done enough. You can relax now."

Where did that come from? And how do I make it go away? Or should I make it go away? (It's quite possible this sensation is the only thing keeping me from collapsing into a Very Lazy Coma the second I'm left unattended, and I acknowledge that.)

It's disturbing to think that any of my good, productive habits have been formed from guilt. But then, entire nations have been build upon guilt and they lasted a lot longer than I'm likely to... so, there's that. It's just so completely foreign to me, as I know me to be. I don't get it. I just don't. But the house sure feels good now, and I think I'm going to go read for a bit. (I didn't say this quirk is without perks, did I? Just that it's a little jarring at first.)

Kiss those babies (and that one is never done out of guilt!)
Dy

Because he loves us,

Today, for no other reason than that he loves us, Zorak...

let the boys "help" make fried okra for supper (when it would have been much easier to do on his own)

packed a cooler and loaded the wagon into the Suburban (when he would have preferred to be sanding and prepping the eaves),

drove in horrible traffic (which he hates)...

to go to a Large Public Gathering (which he also cannot be classified as being "fond" of)...

to watch fireworks (which he doesn't hate, but could live without if he isn't going to be the one lighting them off - the whole display thing, eh, "pass".)...

fireworks that wouldn't begin until ten o'clock (on a weeknight - and although they ended before ten-thirty, it was still nearly midnight before we got home)...

When traffic was backed up for miles, he never complained (he thought it, but he didn't say it)...

When we had to loop into what we thought was paid parking, then loop back out, then realized there was no charge, and looped back in...

and he didn't snap at me.

And even when I snapped at him (because by the third bit of looping, I was pretty done, as well), he didn't snap back (too much).

All because he loves us. He likes to make us smile. And when he can make us smile, make us know we're safe and loved, make special memories that will last for years, all is right with his world.



And suddenly, it was all worth it. Simply because he loves us.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey

Well, EmBaby was really mad. But John had a great practice. Almost three hours long. Thank God for DEET, man, that's all I'm going to say on that subject.

James suffered from some sort of mental palsy at the field that caused him no end of clumsiness - he knocked EmBaby off the bleachers several times, kicked over a box of animal crackers, cracked Smidge in the head with his knee, dropped his book untold times, and then sent my coffee flying when he tried to get out of the way after sending EmBaby down between the steps on the bleachers. Poor kid was so exasperated. He said, "Wow, I guess I'm having a bit of a klutz day, aren't I?" Well, yeah, but like I told him, we all have days like that on occasion. It's okay. Then I directed him to sit, on his butt, yes - both cheeks, over there, a good two body-lengths away from the small ones, while I cleaned up the coffee.

And yet, the kid recovered well. I sent him to the Suburban to look for paper towels, asking him specifically not to lock the keys in the car because Daddy won't be home until after they've rolled up the sidewalks. He returned and I could see he didn't have paper towels. Nor did I see any keys. I froze. I think I whispered, "You don't, by chance, still have the keys, do you?" HE froze. A look of horror-stricken panic spread across his face. I might have thrown up a little bit. Then he burst into laughter and produced the keys from his back pocket, whole and unscathed (but most importantly, NOT still in the car!) "Did you really think I'd locked them in?" Um, yeah. I thought it was a distinct possibility. "*cackle* *chuckle* *guffaw* That's why I thought it would be so funny!" Keep laughing, Kid. I have pictures from the year you thought it was kosher to wear your underwear on the outside of your pants...

And speaking of underwear... I think I got peed on by one of the little siblings. Not one of mine. Mine don't pee on people. But I'm pretty sure the Little Red-Haired Girl who plays with Smidge and EmBaby peed on my lap while we were playing. (If I didn't come with my own children, you'd think I was some kind of Child Catcher - while all the Moms Who Know Each Other hang out and talk salons and bbq plans, their younger children, left to fend for themselves, end up with me and my crew at the other end of the bench. I look like the woman with eighteen kids all disturbingly close in age, and all with different fathers.) Anyway, when she got off my lap, the tops of my pantlegs were soaked. So where her britches. Her mother left shortly thereafter. Ew. So, um, I think Thursday I'll bring extra clothes - some for her, and some for me.

And it's over. And we lived. And I still have four children. And nobody got left at the park. And Zorak is on his way home! YAY!!!!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

We Made It, But It Hurt

You know, really, our kids are pretty obedient. If James disobeys, it's usually because he either forgot what he was doing, or forgot that it was/wasn't in the rule book. Very, very seldom is it ever intentional. When John disobeys, it's usually because he didn't understand or got conflicting directions from each parent and he panics. He would gladly oblige, IF he could tell what he was supposed to do. Smidge - eh, he's three. And EmBaby may or may not inadvertently off herself by diving from the rooftop well before she gets the whole obedience thing down.

That said, there is one directive that will inevitably cause all four of my children to turn to plaster. Hollow, unthinking, unmoving plaster. The deadly directions? Seemingly simple:

"Eat up, kids. We have to go soon."

You can hear the brakes screeching all along their central nervous systems, and watch some little man pull down the shutters in their eyes. It doesn't matter HOW early we get them started, that phrase will guarantee that we complete a meal (or at least have to leave it partially-eaten because it's Time. To. Go.) amid a non-stop stream of panic and mayhem, with them moving in bad-dream-slow-motion and me bounding about shedding like I'm three months post-partum and suffering mange. Someday I will learn not to tell them to hurry. I'll just serve smaller portions and remain conspicuously quiet. By the door. With the keys and a stack of wet wipes.

SO.

We got there on time. 8:30. We left from Smidge's appointment after 11:00. He did so much work on that child, I could not believe it. I've never, ever seen a more productive dentist. Again, we left with all the promised work completed, and this time a little more, as well. Smidge has deep crevices in his molars (I was so relieved when the assistant heard me sigh as she started scraping and said, "Oh, no, these aren't your fault. There's nothing you can do about this." I could have cried!) So the dentist cleaned them out and sealed them up. Yay! Insurance won't pay for sealants on baby teeth, but if that'll save him from going through what John and James are going through, I'll pay for it in chickens and homemade moccasins, if I have to. WOOHOO! He did the first half of fixing Smidge's poor front teeth (which have the same problem John's did), and applied a gluey substance to them to keep them until his next appointment. He also filled two cavities. That's a lot of work for a little guy, but Smidge was so happy to be there, seeing Dr. Beitel, getting his teeth fixed, that he never uttered a sound.

We left, ate lunch, spent 30 minutes at one of those hideous "community sponsored projects" - you know, the wooden outdoor playgrounds that, judging from the utter lack of visual contact a parent has once her child disappears into the labrynth, were obviously designed by angry pedophiles. I hate those things. But the kids love them, and this one is fenced in with only one option for egress. (God help us if the thing catches fire - we'll all roast at the bottleneck in the gate.) And then, straight back to the dentist's office!

This time for John, who was not so enthusiastic. He's a bit cynical. He's heard all the feel-good rhetoric before. "This will get you all fixed up." (Yeah, any more fixing and he's going to need dentures.) "Just a little longer." (What is this, a road trip?) He was good, and patient, and didn't say any of the things he was thinking. We were there from 1:00 until 3:30. Three teeth. Seven surfaces. On one of the teeth, the dentist muttered that this was "herodontics". I guess my RCA puppy look tipped him off that this would be a somewhat *new* term to me (and not a comforting one). He said in 99 out of 100 cases, he'd have put a crown on that one, but that John's been through so much already that he thinks he can make this work without putting him through more than absolutely necessary.

Of course, he also said since John's four front teeth are next in the queue to come out, our best bet is to leave them be and encourage him to ride his bike a lot this summer. You know, downhill. (I kid you not. He said if ever there's a time to live dangerously, speaking from a dental perspective, John's in the sweet spot.) I thought that was pretty cool. John wasn't as receptive to the idea of living dangerously for the summer.

And we headed home. All I wanted was to brew a pot of coffee, pee in a non-public toilet, and have a quiet evening at home.

But no. Ball practice tonight. I did sort of hope John wouldn't be up for it, but for some reason, God saw fit to give the child a whole lot of fortitude. I know he didn't get it from me. Anyway, Zorak's out of town today, and EmBaby is going to be SO mad when I have to wake her up to get to the field.

At least it's all a Good Productivity. Right?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Six O'Clock and All's Well. I think.

I know beggars can't be choosers, but really, why did I agree to an 8:30 in-town appointment and a 1:00 in-town appointment on the same day, two days before payday? In the middle of the hot'n'sticky summer? Oh. That's right, because the children need to see the dentist, and this was the soonest we could get them in. Right, then.

So, it's six o'clock, and I'm up. Dressed. Slowly feeling the caffeine drip kick in. Staring at the kitchen, thinking I should have made bread last night, and wondering how bad the mid-day meltdown would be if the boys didn't get protein with their breakfast... Stoopid birds have been up and at it for two hours already. This might be why they don't live long.

OK, so I'm no longer a morning person. I might be, if I got to bed earlier last night, but I had paperwork to shred and finances to fuss over. It's probably a good thing we don't have a cow or a goat yet because I'm afraid it'd explode before we got down to the barn to milk in the mornings. It's going to take a lot of work to get into a more agrarian-friendly schedule. A. Lot. Of. Work.

And while I'm sitting here, looking suspiciously around at My Life, I've got to ask, "How can it be July 3 already? Where'd that come from?" It seemed such a long time away when I made the appointments. Really it did. But, here it is again, that time warp thing. OK, we have books, paper, diapers, snacks, water. Packed and good to go.

I guess all that's left to do is rally the troops. That'll be fun. James came out last night around ten with his eyes wide open and a tortured look on his face as he said, "Mom, I get what you mean now about the tooth grinding driving you nuts. It's bad in there!" Heh. I know, kiddo. I know. So I let him lay down in our room to fall asleep. We waited and waited. He popped out at eleven with a bottle of calamine lotion - the Missing Bottle of Calamine Lotion. He found it "behind the nightstand"... (Um, sweetie, I hate to point this out in such a short manner, but why, exactly, were you behind the nightstand at eleven o'clock at night? Do you like being miserable or did you think I was joking about waking you up three hours before you normally arise in the morning?) Judging by the look on his face, that never dawned on him. He went straight to bed, and to sleep. But I still don't relish waking that one up this morning.

Well, perhaps the smell of sausage will lure them out... or I could just set fire to something in the hallway and hope the smoke alarms do the trick? Hmm. This could be fun. Ok, I'm off!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh fun!

Got this in my email.

We thought you'd like to know that we shipped your items, and that this completes your order.

Yeah, that was nice to know.

This is downright euphoric.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

This 'n That

We had such a productive weekend. We hit a fire sale at the nursery and bought three flats of vegetable plants for .25 per plant. WOOHOO. They were a bit root bound, but we figured that's okay. Better to try than to just let them get thrown into a compost heap somewhere. Of course, it would've worked better if we'd researched just *how* to transplant root bound plants properly before we dove right in... still. You know. We never said the learning curve isn't steep, right?

We finally put the watermelons and pumpkins in the melon patch down by the barn! That felt good. It'll probably feel even better if we can get anything to come up, flower, and then actually produce fruit.

We played ball, walked in circles, read great stories, played video games, and ate well. It was a great weekend. I even cleaned, but without having to neglect the children, since they were outside playing ball with Zorak. Talk about guilt-free time alone! Yeah, that's good stuff.

Tonight, Zorak and I went through all the paperwork, sorted, purged, sifted, purged, and then purged a little more. Oh, I can breathe again! (I hate paper clutter, and yet, that's the sort I seem to collect. Terribly self-defeating. Superman didn't mine kryptonite. Pffttt.) And then, just as I sat down to set up my notebook (July through September - I've actually been keeping this thing up-to-date and good to go, with budgeting, scheduling, lesson plans, book lists, and hometending information!)... the printer no printy. What the--

*sigh*

Toner light is on.

And when this thing says it needs toner, it means now.

So, in a fit of desperation, fighting the sense of utter isolation in knowing I don't have toner and I can't print books, and NOTHING IS OPEN AT MIDNIGHT HERE IN THE COUNTRY (yes, at which point, even I whispered, "um, der!" *sigh* I know...) I signed up for the free trial of Amazon Prime. Because they had my toner cartridge. And it made perfect sense to do that for the free two-day shipping. Yes, things will be open in the morning, but by morning, my panic will have subsided. And the children will be up and expecting food and attention. And... I just don't leave the house unless I have to. Now, I don't have to!

So, no lesson plans or Baldwin reading until Wednesday. But that's okay, we have plenty of other things to enjoy in the meantime. (Right, like math and Latin, you say? hee hee)

No, we have a lot to keep us busy. We've got work in the garden, and soil samples to finish gathering and test. We have the hummingbird feeder up (yes, finally - one flew by yesterday, stopped and looked right at us, as if to say, "What? You think we can't see that feeder sitting in there on the counter? Where's our FOOD, people?!?" Guilt can be quite the motivator.) We have another bird feeder to finish cleaning (who knew you could get that much grime on such a small surface area? Ew.) A birdhouse to hang. Birds to watch, and things to draw.

There's so much to be done, no matter how much or how little we have to do it with, we will always have plenty. And plenty to do, as well. So exciting!

Here's to a fantastic week! Kiss those babies!
~Dy

New Reading

Arousing from the most profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet in a second afterward (so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed.

(Poe. How delightful. Who knew?)

I think I have discovered a new (to me) delight in this season of my life: the short story. OK, OK, I'll admit it: I've been a bit of a snob about the short story. It is useful for guiding writing classes, for draining the life from high school English Lit classes, perhaps for filling the gaps in an anthology. Too short to be a novel, too long to be an essay, the short story seemed to lack purpose. It never fed a portion of my reading heart in a way that merited remark, either good or bad.

Now, before you *tut-tut* and begin making disdainful clucking noises, hear me out. (I still remember the collective gasp when I admitted I was never a big fan of fiction. We all learn. I'm learning. Growing. Bear with me.) It's not that I hadn't read Poe, Conrad, or Chesterton (although, ok, Chesterton is new to me -- within the last few years -- and it is to him I owe my latest foray into short stories). I think it's that I hadn't quite understood how best to approach a short story. By it's very name, I suppose, I always expected it to be, well, shorter. And so, I hadn't the attention to last much beyond the first page or two. Yet, to gear up for the seminar-length of a novel seemed a bit of overkill, really. So I developed my pace for reading through a short story - I'd sprint. Sprint through it, suck it up, get it over, and try very hard not peek at the last paragraph becuse honestly, is is THAT difficult to show some self-composure? Truly, when you must grasp your reading moments in the quiet lulls between needs and demands, who wants to sprint? Not I!

Children get it. Children get the thrill of a short story. They understand, almost intuitively, that the master of a short story can make his readers wonder, follow, care... all of the things a well-written novel will do, but with far fewer words and far less time to accomplish those things. How did I forget that part? It's a pretty big part. However, due to my love affair with GK Chesterton (it's okay, Zorak knows - I'm only after his words), I picked up a book of *sigh* short stories. Because one of his stories was in there. And it's one I love. Enough to read it over and over again. Enough to buy a book I'm not otherwise interested in owning.

And I began to read the other stories. I read, for the first time in my life, The Pit and the Pendulum. With a bit of context thrown in. And... and... I may not stop making adolescent "quoth the raven" jokes because of it. But I did enjoy it. Not in an uplifting-let's-read-Poe-daily sort of way. But moreso than ever before.

Did you know he wrote of hope?

In so many ways, I am thankful that I can continue my own education. I cannot imagine being in ten years the same as I am today. I am not now what, ten years ago, I thought I'd be. Yet this isn't (really, it isn't) about the journey of self-discovery so much as it is about my utter joy that I've found something I can read, and savor, and enjoy. Before they find me. (I'm running out of hiding spots.)

So, aside from Joyce Carol Oates (who I refuse to subject my soul or mind to ever again, as long as I live - I simply cannot. take. her), who are some of your favorite short stories written by? What are some of your favorite short stories?

And which do you look forward most to sharing with your children?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

More Surprises

Me-Tae says these are Tiger Lilies. I'm glad she knew, because I had no idea. Just looked out the back window one day to find a huge orange pouf on the end of a tall, tall stalk. There are a dozen or so in the front yard, too. They're wider than my hand. And they're much more vibrant than the picture lets on.
I wish they had a scent. Don't they look like they ought to smell delicious? Yeah. But there's nothing.

Am I supposed to deadhead these things to keep them flowering? (And yeah, she suggested watering them. Said hers just glowed after she gave them a little water.)

You know, I am *never* going to be able to find all these bulbs to pull up this fall. The house, the meadows, the woods, even the rock hole that's filled with trash - none of it overwhelms me quite so much as this little patch of earth between the upper and lower drives.

Kiss those babies! And take time to smell the... well, not the lilies. But we give everything a quick sniff. You never know when you'll be pleasantly surprised, right?
~Dy

Rain! Rain!

YIPPEE, rain! It's still a bit odd to look out at acre upon acre of lush, green land and think, "THIS is a drought?" We don't water anything. We haven't watered anything since we moved here. Gah! That'll make it grow! And then we'd have to mow it, or risk losing the smaller children in the underbrush. But still, it grows. Residentially, the drought hasn't affected the way we run our home or tend to our land. (Mentally, we still live like we are in the desert with a nearly dry well.) But it's been hard, very hard, on the farmers in the area. And just today we noticed (well, Danger Girl noticed) that the grass is awfully crunchy and pokey in the upper meadow. (The rest of us mere mortal were wearing shoes and didn't notice so much.)

But yesterday, it rained. Oh, how it rained. And today, again, it rained. And we all sat out on the porch, reading books, eating otter pops, enjoying the smell of rain. (Not so much the smell of wet dog, but sometimes it's a package deal.) It's beautiful, and although it delayed the painting of the eaves for us, I hope it keeps up for a while. The area really needs the rain.

All is well here. It's simply been too hot 'n sticky to do anything worth blogging about. Somehow, "Got up too late to catch the cool morning. Dang. Moved slowly. Ate otter pops. Did lessons. Laid in bed, reading quietly. Ate Supper..." that's, well, that's difficult to dress up, then, isn't it?

John's summerball league is going well. A little sticky on the town politics, but we're trying fervently not to make eye contact and if anyone approaches us directly about it, we both plan to spout off entirely in Spanish. LOUD Spanish. With lots of hand movement and facial action. Hopefully, if nothing else, they will leave us be. (We would go for a less well-known language, but Spanish is the only other thing we're fluent enough in to be able to respond without accidentally saying something embarrassing.)

We're reading some good stuff right now. That deserves its own post. Right now, though, Zorak is insisting he hasn't seen Radio yet. (But we have. Or, at least, I have. I don't know where he was, though, if he didn't see it, too. Weird.) So I'm going to go kiss those babies one more time, grab my book and my cup, and score some snuggle time while he watches a movie.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Mid-Week Hump

Not much scares me, really. I may get creeped out by quite a few things, but they haven't been enough to make me move yet, so I think we're okay there. But there is one thing, one phrase, which I live in total fear of every waking moment:

IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME.

This is Zorak's Spicoli-like response to most of the less-than-solid decisions he made in the mid-to-late 80's, and I have to admit I'm terrified it's a genetic pre-disposition the boys may have inherited.

The boys finished all their work today with very little oversight on my part. John had a mild panic-attack when he didn't recognize his review from last week, but once he recognized it, he sucked it up and was good to go. James, slow and steady, is getting the hang of "housekeeping" in math. WOOHOO! Aside from a quick re-introduction, and the occasional reminder to stay on task, though, they worked independently today. And that worked out well, as Smidge for some reason decided today would be a Very Good Day to dump every bin from the toy shelf (six large bins and eight little ones, to be precise - plus two dorm boxes from beneath the beds, and the play clothes chest) into one large pile in the bedroom. MegaBlocks Fire & Ice Dragon set, and all. Oh. My. Word.

Me: Uh.. what happened here?
Smidge: *smiling charmingly* I did it!
Me: Yes, *breathe* *breathe* I figured this was your work. *breathe*...*breathe* *breathe* This... this... *breathe* this was your idea?
Smidge: *smile kinda starting to droop a bit* It's not a good idea?
Me: *exhale* *breathe* No, this was not a good idea.
Smidge: Huh. *looking around a bit* It seemed like a good idea--

And this is proof that I'm getting better at this parenting gig - I did not yell. I wanted to. Oh, yes, I wanted to kick toys and throw bins and use up all the bad words I hear on the playground. But by the grace of God, I didn't. And I'm so glad. Partly because Nocturnal Parenting Regret really stinks, to be honest. You already feel bad, so you slink into their room only to find that the demons who'd inhabited your children that afternoon have left and those wee beds now cradle angelic beings. Sometimes they even seem to have a faint glow. (Though that could just be the nightlight beside the bed, so don't quote me. But still, the overall effect is pretty powerful.) And the guilt, the often well-deserved guilt, over what a total jackass you were earlier that day, just gnaws its way right through your liver. Yeah, that stinks. And tonight, I don't have any. Yay!

But I did breathe deeply enough to come close to passing out. And when I muttered quietly, in a Tired and Resigned Voice, "Oh, Honey, you even pulled all the labels off the bins," Smidge helpfully picked up one bin that still had a label, and said, "Not all, Mommy." And he smiled a hopeful smile. And even then, ankle deep in sharp plastic rectangles and small model cars, I was glad I hadn't yelled. You don't ever regret the times you didn't lose it, you know that?

So we started with that bin. And we managed to put the whole room back together. And we ended up having, if not a good time, at least a not-bad time. Smidge got to help sort. Always a plus for the OCD-stage. I got to declutter without detection. Always a plus for, well, for me. At any stage.

The boys popped in when they'd finished with one task, took a quick look at the work going on, and disappeared with lightning speed to start on the next task. I think they were terrified I'd beg for help. Come to think of it, I may owe Smidge a Thank You tomorrow, if that was the cause of their self-directed learning for the day! (Well, probably not. He doesn't ever need to know. Not until he has children of his own, and he's tempted to yell. Yeah, I'll tuck this one away for later.)

And partly because Zorak, in spite of his years of adventures that seemed like a good idea at the time, turned out okay. More than okay. His good ideas now, really are good ideas. Maybe that'll be a genetic pre-disposition, as well? Wouldn't that be nice!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Math-U-See

Did y'all know MUS has a worksheet generator, keyed specifically to the chapters of the books?

Sure comes in handy when *somebody* cannot find his workbook.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Freakily Accurate

Got this from Hillary. Kinda creepy how right-on it is. It was a toss-up between Edward and Knightley, it seems, as the quiz gave me a two-question tie-breaker.

You scored as Edward Ferrars, Your husband/boyfriend is like Edward Ferrars of Sense & Sensibility. He is quietly impulsive, with an understated hint of romance. But once you get to know him, he's very affectionate, caring, and faithful. The two of you enjoy a calm, joyful life. Knightley 80% Edward Ferrars 80% Tilney 75% Captain Wentworth 75% Edmund Bertram 70% Col. Brandon 70% Darcy 40% Who is Your Jane Austen Boyfriend/Husband? created with QuizFarm.com

Now, if he only read Jane Austen, he'd know what this meant, right? *grin*

What can I say, I think Zorak is far finer-looking a man than Hugh Grant. Hmpf. Pfftt. Yes. When I read Austen, I do envision my beloved (although he doesn't make a very good Darcy). I'm rather thankful we aren't Victorians, though, because I don't think I could do the garb. On me, nor on him. ;-)

Kiss those babies! (This would probably be why we have several babies to kiss. *grin*)
~Dy

Edited (repeatedly, because I'm not good at this) so that it quit bleeding into the sidebar.

Back to Business

Well, today we hit the books again. Of course, it helps to have leftover birthday cake for breakfast. (Then watch Mom frantically cram fruit and grains down your gullet for the next four hours, as if to purge the evidence from your crusty little faces... it was a weird day.)

The big boys did pretty well with their lessons. Math, reading, Latin, and science all got done with a minimal amount of confusion or delay. Smidge is kicking their butts in history, though. Today we read the chapter on Marcus Aurelius, from Famous Men of Rome. As we go along, we talk about how certain men compare with previous ones we've read about, or how policies change with the new leadership. It's good stuff. It also assures me they're paying attention, even if they are having foot wars beneath the table. Well, today, Smidge was just on. the. ball. He remembered things I didn't even remember, and he was so proud of himself to be "getting an A+ in history".

(Which is doubly humorous, because I didn't start assigning grades. That all started with Mr. WhatIsTheExactPercentageOfTheQuestionsIGotCorrect, also known as Mr. SoWhyIsThisJustAn"A"AndNotAn"A+"? The worst correction he could ever receive would be a "C" on a paper. And, as all Good Big Brothers are wont to do, he shared the horrors of the numbers with his brothers... *sigh* So, we are now a family of timed tests and percentage points, and letter grades. And they're happy as clams about it. Freaks.)

They did earn back bonus points, though, when we all sprawled out in the living room after lunch for some reading time. I'm still working my way through The Prince, and both James and John at the same time saw the cover and blurted out, "Hey! Divide et regna, right? Cool!" I beamed. (Because I am a freak, as well. We're a happy family with strange tastes.)

Lest anyone read this and think, "Oh, my. We can't homeschool. We're not *like that*." Relax. They also absolutely fell over themselves to finish their lessons by lunch today so that, while Danger Girl was napping and I was cleaning, they could have video game time. Nothing like a little Super Smash Brothers to really make them kick it into high gear. (Oh, and Melora, John has discovered Link. He wants to know more! MORE! MORE!!!! I knew I couldn't avoid it for long, and figured you would understand my, erm, joy? Acceptance? Something, right? *grin*)

We needed some fun and active downtime this afternoon, so I sucked it up and brought out the balloons that I hadn't the heart to let the children have yesterday. (I really hate balloons. If Stephen King were to write a story about balloons, he would probably manage to distill my feelings about them into a truly chilling book.) But we did it. And there was much laughter and spinning and sword play. And then I couldn't hang any longer and bolted, er, slipped off for some quiet time. Aside from the giggling over my somewhat rapid exit, the children hardly noticed my absence.

Everything else is coming along swimmingly. I'm just beginning to look at plans for the coming year. Since we don't break, or have an obvserved passing from one grade to the next, we simply complete one thing and do the next thing. But we do tend to keep a basic clip that finds us about ready for the next thing sometime mid-fall. And my Rainbow Resources catalog arrived (finally! I'd thought they'd forgotten about me!) So far, I've got a wish list from Yesterday's Classics. And there's one more, but I cannot for the life of me remember it off the top of my head. I really like to buy from the publishers, such as Peace Hill Press (but I've already bought all next year's stuff from them! Maybe they'll come out with something new before September? One can hope.) Where are your favorite places to buy books? (Besides Amazon and The Others, that is - have any great secret hidey holes you'd like to share?)

And so another day comes to an end. It comes too quickly, sometimes.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Little Fear

Just a little, that's all I'm asking for, here. I mean, I'm glad she knows she's safe and loved and all that good stuff, but really. Come on. In the last week, this child has...

* Mastered the ladder and the slide in the yard. (Perhaps "mastered" isn't the right word - she hauls herself up the ladder, flings herself down the slide. Down she goes, on her back, limbs akimbo, rotating as she descends. She FLIES off the end, lands a foot or two past the end of the slide, flat on her back. Gets up, shakes it off, and goes back for more.)

* Fallen into water over her head - not once, not twice, but three times - without so much as complaining, or deciding perhaps it would be better to stay, oh, ON the LAND. Nope, just kept scootching out until she was in up to her neck and then *ploop* stepped right into the deep water. (Yes, I was *right there* to grab her. No, she was not in danger of drowning, but she doesn't need to realize that, does she? Sheesh, the other three refused to take baths for a week after they got water up their noses.)

* Climbed to the top bunk, and fallen off the ladder. (Again, not an isolated incident.)

* Shimmied up the outside of the step railing on the front porch (you know, the railing we put up so she wouldn't plummet to her death...)

And then, the Grand Performance, Zorak went in to retrieve her from her nap, opened the door and found this:



GAH.

OK, aside from the fact that we obviously need to be a little more proactive about keeping an eye on this child (but this is so new - the other three were afraid of their own shadows - even John The Bold knew he couldn't fight gravity!), I would really like just a little fear. A little respect for velocity. Matter. Gravity. Basic. Laws. Of. Physics, folks. And does she mind the occasional bruised forehead, or bashed lip? Nope, not one little bit.

I swear I will starch the underpants of the first person who uses the term "extreme sports", (or any variation of) in front of this child when she's old enough to understand.

(Yeah, the mattress is as low as it can go - that'll buy us, oh, another two days while we reconfigure the nursery.)

She's the joy of my heart, but she is a bit hard on the ol' ticker.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

That was fun!

Ok, that was actually fun. We didn't get some of the food prepared in time (although the scurvy prevention table was out and heavily stocked - and that's what really matters on any sea venture, right?) We really do need to work on our overall timing, but we are getting better, and the rest of the day turned out okay in spite of ourselves.

As the guests arrived, each received a pirate sword to decorate (for ID purposes, since all the swords are identical otherwise), and picked a bandana (this was easier than making hats, and the kids seemed to like them, but in looking through the pictures, it does look like the theme was more "Urban Gang Boy Band" than "18th Century Pirates". Eh.) We brought out the eyeliner and gave the kids their choice of facial hair. Too bad John got started before he knew he didn't have to use the permanent marker...

To join the crew, each recruit took a Pirate Test (ran an obstacle course). This was so easy, and so fun. The trash bags hanging on the swing set in the above picture aren't some neglected hillbilly part of the yard - they're swinging pendulums to duck. There's a moat to swing over, a balance beam, and a little knife throwing practice.
The crew found buried treasure (coins in the sand pit - who knew they'd spend half an hour there? Even the big kids got into the act.) Then, according to pirate law, they divvied up the loot evenly among the crew.
I have no idea why Danger Girl (aka EmBaby) does that. None of the boys did that. I don't do that. Or at least, well, I don't do that, okay? But she does. Weird.

The pinata was a big hit, and it turned out beautifully. Zorak made it, and he did such a great job of it. (Particularly considering his purchasing agent couldn't procure the appropriate pinata tissue paper. She should probably be fired. But he rocks! It even had skulls.)


And now, the dishes have been done, the presents set gently upon the shelves. The children are bathed and loved on and sound asleep, and I'm thinking that sounds like a pretty good idea. This is one pooped pirate-mom. But it was worth it, every blasted second of preparation was worth it. What made it better, though, was having good friends to come and share it with us. Yep. It's good, good stuff.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey.

Just one more swig of coffee and I've got to get back to work. But I needed to take a little break and relax. It's been a busy few days, folks!

Thursday, Zorak had to go out of town, I had to go to the dentist, and John had to sign up for summer ball. All at the same time. And yet, we pulled it off. (And we owe Ben & Claudia big time for coming to watch Danger Girl and her minions of impending death while I was at the dentist's.)

Friday, we drove up to Nashville to visit with Jill (Crib Chick) and her clan en route back to the Land of the Free. Harried day. Awesome visit. Way too short, but we're so, so glad they took the time to stop and see us. They are truly awesome people. Oklahoma's lucky to be getting them back.

We raided the Russell Stover outlet. Yes, we're going to put the sugar-induced-coma theory to the test! WAHOO!

And for the past two days, we have worked like men possessed on the Forever Home. The house and yard have been de-hillbillified. For the most part. (We're having people over who are not in our Inner Circle. Yes, if you're in our Inner Circle, you get to wallow in our hillbilly shack love. But for foreigners, we clean. It's a complex ritual.) Aside from the flaking paint on the eaves, and the sidewalk/gauntlet combo we haven't torn up yet, this place could be in AnyNeighborhood, USA. Pretty cool. Even the saw horses have been put away!

The menu is planned. (Although we stopped at three different grocery stores today and not one of them had root beer in bottles. Every store is sold. out. Is there a pending FDA ban on I.B.C. we haven't heard about?) The swingset has been cannibalized for an obstacle course. The back porch is clean and ready for stain. (Which we won't probably ever get around to putting on it, but hey, it's ready just in case someone takes pity on us and comes to paint it one day. It could happen.)

Zorak is in the basement, painting the pirate ship. (Would you believe we have looked at FIVE different stores, and not a one of them had black or brown tissue paper? We can't have a pink pirate ship!) I'm trying not to make eye contact with the kitchen. It scares me, and the intimidation factor is pretty high right now. But soon, I will go clean. And I will win. Or Zorak will drag my dead body out of the kitchen before the guests arrive. I just hope he runs the dishwasher first.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy Birthday, John!

I haven't the words to do justice to him this year. He's just such a great kid. He's grown this year in confidence and stride. (Not to mention size - he is officially bigger than his big brother.)

He has developed a comfortable sense of where he is in this world, and where he's going. He seems to understand that it's a process, and the goal is to remain in upward motion - growing, learning, exploring, laughing, loving. Rinse. Repeat. It just doesn't get old. Not for him.

"What can I do to help?"

"You did a great job!"

"I'll take care of that."

"Let's do something together."

"I've got BabyGirl."

"Can I read it for you?"

If you take statements like those, douse them in a constant stream of humorous anecdotes and wise-cracks (this was his year for figuring out the parameters for humor vs. line-crossing, but I think he's got it now), and sprinkle the day thoroughly with a lot of affection and laughter, you'd just begin to have a peek at living with John.

He's the first one to offer to help. He's the first one by your side on the couch. He's the first one to suggest a game of ball in the meadow.

He gets the jokes that go over the rest of our heads. He makes up some pretty great stories, and tells them over and over again to entertain his little brother and sister. (The Orange Monster stories are still alive and well because of this.)

He wears his great big ol' heart on his sleeve. It gets bumped from time to time, but he's not about to put it away. That just wouldn't be The Way To Live.

And laugh. Oh, you've got to laugh. Sometimes I probably shouldn't, but, well, he's funny. He's literary funny. He's abstract funny. He's frat house funny. He's an all-around humorist. God help us once he masters satire. But, oh, he's hilarious.

He dreams big, and yet he's pleased and thankful for the littlest things, as well. He *gets* the pleasure of delayed gratification in a way I've never seen in someone so young. He's not only willing to stick it out for the long haul, but he really wants you to make it, too.

His father is his gold standard, and every step he takes, every task he takes on, he measures it by "Like Dad". If it'll get him one more step closer to being "Like Dad", he's good with it. If it's not "Like Dad", then his internal filter kicks in. So each step he takes, he takes with care and adoration, his eyes set high.

I just don't know how to express the way this child makes my heart soar. Every. Single. Day. Whether it's his laughter, his empathy, his wit, his noble heart, or his gentleness... it's all a part of Being John. And we get to live that each and every day. I'm so thankful. So humbled. So in love.

 

This morning he summed up how he feels about turning seven:

Well, it's pretty exciting to be in my Late S's.

(He had to explain that one to me, but it's funny.) And he's right. It is exciting.

Happy 7th Birthday, John! We love you, and are so proud of you! Always.

Love,
Mom & Dad

Fruit Pizza

 

As you can see, it ends up looking better than it starts out. We were too impatient to wait for the crust to cool completely before adding the toppings. This was so easy to make, and the boys enjoyed both the making and the eating.

The crust recipes I found in my searches were, of course, all useless for a wheat-free crust (pre-made pie crust, cookie dough, etc.), so we used the Breakfast Foccacia recipe in The Gluten-Free Gourmet Bakes Bread. This recipe also makes a delightful danish!

The "sauce" is actually the cheese - equal parts cream cheese and whipped cream, beaten until smooth.

Top with your favorite fruits. In this case, I went with canned fruit - pineapples, mandarin oranges, and triple cherry fruit cocktail. This is the one and only time my children have willingly eaten fruit cocktail. (Our Wonderful Neighbors in MD would be so proud! *sniff* *sniff*) The oranges didn't make it onto the pizza. We fell to temptation. So good!

And in going with the whole cheese-as-sauce, sauce-as-cheese theme, the final product got drizzled with your basic, cooked, sugar-water-oj-vanilla sauce. There's some left over. We may have to make doughnuts tomorrow.

Birthday Countdown Time

*whispering*

Hi. It's me. It's almost three, and I've got to get some sleep, but I wanted to blog anyway. I'm so excited! My JohnBaby turns seven today. Seven! This is the child who keeps getting caught in age-warps. I swear he was two for almost three years. Five for only a month or two, and now *poof*, he's seven. I'll wax philosophic after I've had a little sleep.

In the meantime, we've got all the ingredients for John's birthday breakfast (he requested pizza - insert nauseated, confused Mom look here). I didn't think the rest of us could stomach pepperoni before noon, so I tweaked the plan to make a fruit pizza, instead. I think they'll all get a kick out of that. Zorak had a Very Cool Idea to pick up a Pirates t-shirt for him while I was at the store, so it's now wrapped and laid at the foot of his bed. It'll be his birthday suit. *grin* We may start a new tradition. It's not like any of them are going to stop growing anytime soon, so a new t-shirt is pretty much a necessity at any time. But this can be something we wouldn't normally buy, something a little different, something they've expressed an interest in. Just a little something. Sometimes that can bring the biggest smiles.

Today, we go bowling with two of our favorite Big People in the world, Me-Wa and Me-Tae. It should be a lot of fun, and a nice, low-key way to enjoy the day. James and Smidge and EmBaby bought him the Pirates of the Caribbean chest with three action-figures set, and he'll have that to open at the bowling alley.

The party itself is scheduled for Saturday. I have no clue how that's going to go. I have no clue if any of the children will be able to make it -- this is the week when everybody always seems to be going out of town for their Big Summer Trip. Well, whoever can come will have fun. Zorak's been making a Pirate Ship Pinata this week, and it's looking really good. I'll post pictures of the process once it's done.

We didn't make the mark of having it all done and ready well ahead of time, but at least this year it didn't sneak up on us. That's some improvement.

Ok, too tired to think. Talk to you later!
Kiss those great, big, growing babies!
~Dy

From Our Visit With Verena

As promised, here are a couple of pictures from our visit with Verena and her crew when they came through. Her husband kindly took the photos with both their camera and ours, so we could get the moms and all the kids in, but then we didn't get any with him in there!

I don't think any of our children are this red, naturally, but by the time we both said, "Oh! Wait! The camera's in the car!" Well, they'd been playing hard for quite a while.



Isn't she just lovely? She exudes grace and gentle strength, folks. She's just very neat. And so pretty!

And since the boys were all so good about posing nicely for the group shot, we just had to take a silly one, too. That's a fun bunch of kids, there!



And now, I must go. I've been so good about getting to bed before midnight, and it's starting to help!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy Father's Day!

The cake tasted delicious. Fortunately, you cannot taste "concave".

The carrots, while wholly experimental, were a big hit, too.


Mostly with the boys. But that's good. Happy is the Daddy who knows his children are loved as well as he is.

Kiss those babies, and Daddies, and anybody else who needs a little extra love today!
~Dy

Man, I am on a roll!

First, the Nightmare on Elm Street Team Cake.

New, for Father's Day: Give the man in your life something that says You Must Really Love Me!

Erm, no. How about, Look, Ma! No Skills!

Nah.

The sales blurb for this particular gem (you know, in my imaginary baked goods store) would be something along the lines of, "two hollowed-out cake layers, filled to the brim with delicious cream cheese icing, held together with three or four tons of additional cream cheese icing, and topped with rolled buttercream carrots."

Ah. Well, the icing tastes good. The cake does, too. (What's left of it.) It just... exploded... in the oven. I'm not... entirely sure... what happened.

We'll see what miracles can be performed with the adhesive properties of grease and sugar!

Happy Father's Day!
Kiss those Daddies!
~Dy

Who's On First?

Communication has been called an art. Words, the most common form of communication in society, have been called "the most powerful drug used by mankind." (Kipling)

So why do we speak? Write? Read? What is the goal of our communication? If we are not understood, is it we who have not done our job properly? Or is it our audience who must hash it out until understanding is reached?

In our home, we take a clear and simple stance: your goal, when you speak or write, is to convey your thoughts, ideas, and questions in such a way that others are capable of comprehending you.

It's why we tell Smidge, "Use your words."

It's why we told the older two the same thing.

It's why Emily will hear the same. exact. phrase.

It's why we read, read, read. Talk, think, discuss. We want them to have the vocabulary and thought processes to communicate well, and not have to rely on the flippant, rude, and useless, "whatever."

Let's illustrate.

If you feel I've called you a toad, (perhaps, because I've said, "Your amphibian roots are showing,") you would most likely question me about it. And if I said I was only thinking aloud, or that I was only attempting to have an honest dialogue, but meant absolutely no harm at all... we could probably move on with the discussion. But, if my references continually pointed toward an implication that I believed you to be a toad (caught any flies today? is that a wart? don't lick her, kids, you know how she is!) It's probably a fair assumption that I'm not being entirely honest with you when you call me on the carpet for being a bit of an ass, and I deny it. It would behoove me to

a) admit that I think you're actually a toad, and be willing to discuss my reasons for coming to this position,
b) admit that I'm busted, I'm being a jerk, and knock it off,
c) just shut up, already.

There is no real option d) continue to berate you for jumping to wild conclusions, as I simply happen to *adore* toads.

At least, not with any intellectual honesty, there isn't.

On the flip side, if you speak to me in German, beyond words such as "strudel" or "schnitzel" or possibly "guten tag" (but with all the proper decorative punctuation that I don't know how to type in Blogger), I will have no idea what you are saying. You can say it more slowly. You can say it more loudly. You can even s-p-e-l-l it out for me. It won't help, because I do not speak German. Yes, I could learn it. (If I ever go to Germany, I'll give it my best shot.) However, if you'd like to communicate a thought, an idea, an opinion, (not just to me, but to anyone) you are the one responsible for putting it in such a way that I am (we are) capable of gleaning your meaning. Don't move closer and cover us in angry spittle in the hope that we will somehow "get" what you mean. Oddly enough, that does not work.

We tell the children that if they would like to be understood, it is their job to make themselves understood. We hold ourselves to the same standard. That does not mean we do not occasionally say something confusing. (For instance, if I were to say, "This is stupid," Zorak might want clarification. Is this whole plan stupid? Is this part of the plan stupid? Is this specific detail stupid? Or am I just being a jerk about it and can't think of anything articulate to say? If I get angry with him for asking for clarification, it's pretty obvious at that point that I was just being a jerk.)

That, right there, is a matter of personal responsibility. It means that when we do convey something that makes our audience look askance at us, we take it as our responsibility to re-phrase what we've tried to convey. We wouldn't allow our children to shout at their friends, "Oh! You plebes! Whatever!" We wouldn't allow ourselves to do that to one another in a dialogue, a discourse, a discussion. We. Simply. Wouldn't.

No more would we accept an out-of-left-field, unrelated comment from one of our children as a legitimate portion of our discussion. (At least not without pointing it out.) For example,

This is a difficult task. I could use help,

would not be answered appropriately with,

The human head weighs eight pounds and emits carbon dioxide from the nostrils.

In fact, the next thing you would most likely hear is something along the lines of,

What? That was just weird. Please don't do that. If you're going to join the discussion, then your contribution needs to have something to do with the discussion.

We do guide our children away from behaving like that. Why? So they learn how to communicate appropriately. They learn that it's their job to communicate appropriately.

When people behave inappropriately in their communications, discussions devolve quickly into one-sided conversations that leave the rest of the group fairly uncertain. Those who don't know the meter of that verse are accused of choosing not to hear it. Or of being too stoopid to understand it, too thin-skinned to be worthy of responding with any rationale, too antagonistic to be reasonable.

Or maybe, just maybe, they aren't *not getting it*. They've seen enough, and are smart enough to know that, sometimes, it is what it is. That does happen, from time to time. If they're wrong, they might ask the speaker, "Please, clarify."

It is, after all, the speaker's responsibility to make themselves understood. Isn't it?

So please, if I'm unclear, help me uphold my end of the communication deal and let me know I've been unclear. I'll do the same for you.

Dy
People can only hear you when they are moving toward you, and they are not likely to when your words are pursuing them. Even the choicest words lose their power when they are used to overpower. Attitudes are the real figures of speech.
~Edwin Friedman

A Quiet Saturday Afternoon

Too beautiful this morning to stay in. So we went outside. And worked. And read. And talked. We laughed. Commiserated. Thought. It was good.

Too warm this afternoon to stay out for long. For us. So we came inside. And played. And read. And ate. I hung some wash. He played with the boys. The baby napped. Again, we laughed, we thought, we did. It was also good.

Makes me wonder what delights this evening will hold. Whatever it is, it will be good. That much I know.

And I'm thankful.

Kiss those babies.
Dy

The Twelve Tasks of Hercules

It's a good thing neither of the boys has ever been called upon to perform such duties. This afternoon, I kicked them outside to go play, dig in the dirt, do something different. They went outside happily.

And in five minutes, they were back inside.

"*phew* Man, is it HOT out there! Can we come in?"

*raised eyebrow* "And you want to play football? Football, which begins in August. August, which makes mid-June look like February. Really?"

John considered and said, "You know, I don't think I would."

James said, "I think I can do it."

Zorak chimed in, "I know you *can* do it. The question is, do you *want* to?"

*long, drawn out pause*

James, "Yes. Yes, I want to do it. And I will do it with a good attitude."

WHY??? What has this child decided football is going to be? It's going to be hot, sticky, mosquito-infested hell! That's what it's going to be! *whiiiine*

OK, it's probably a good thing I've never been called upon to perform the tasks of Hercules. James might pull it off. But personally, I suspect John's the smart one of the bunch.

Oh, and summer ball begins in July. So we have some recovery time. Yay.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

US Stuff

If you've ever wondered, "Is anything still made in the USA?" Evidently, yes. Check this out.

US Stuff

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The views of the above linked website do not necessarily reflect those of the moderators of this blog, or our subsidiaries. This link is provided for the sole purpose of saying, "Hey, look, I found a place that has a conglomeration of businesses that manufacture things in the United States of America!" Any attempt to find proselytization and or pandering will be mocked on sight. I am not a doctor, I just play one at home. As with any diet or exercise program, please consult a physician before you begin. Not eligible in Hawaii, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, or small towns in Ohio. Please try this at home, but know that you do so at your own risk. Oh, and don't run with scissors.

So Where Was I Last Night?

I went to the Carnival! The Carnival of Principled Government, which I found at Consent of the Governed.

There are some interesting and thought-provoking articles from the left, the right, the middle, and the lone anarchist.

Zorak let me read articles aloud to him for a while, then he gave up and went to bed. I couldn't get my IM to work, and that's probably a good thing or I'd have stayed up until four o'clock reading and talking and sharing links.

One blog that kept me going for quite a while is Tales of Modernity. Saul presents a thought-provoking dialogue of philosophy, mathematics, science, and politics. I'll blog more about some of the thoughts that gained a little momentum last night, but that'll have to be done at another time.

For now, the Small Ones need direction and affection, and we need to prepare to spend the afternoon on the water with friends. Yeah, this is the good stuff.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Forever Home Update. Sorta.

The front of the house is now fully cleaned.

And it's still ugly.

But now it's clean and ugly, and has a lot less green on it.

Thank you, and good night.

Dy

We Got to Meet Verena!

*Said in my best sing-song voice*

Verena is one of the sweetest ladies who posts at one of the forums I, erm, frequent. (It's not an addiction. Shush. Now blogging, that's an addiction.) Anyway today, she and her Totally Good Sport of a Husband, and their Three Precious Boys stopped in our little town to visit with us while they were on the road.

And she's just as interesting, if not moreso, in person.

And none of my children did anything horribly mortifying in her presence (for which I thanked them profusely when we got back in the car). They're good kids, but I'm always worried they're going to do something strange at the most inopportune moment, like peeing on the bushes right there in front of God and everybody, or declaring their knowledge of homebirth procedures for the uninitiated, or farting the alphabet. I don't know. You just never know what a child will come up with, but you can bet it will not have been included in the Quick 'n Easy List of 1,001 Things You Went Over With Them Before You Let Them Out of The Car. Guaranteed. They're sneaky like that. So, perhaps I should amend my statement. OK, officially, they did not do anything horribly mortifying that I am aware of.

The boys had a lovely time. Smidge cried when he realized they weren't coming to our house and we weren't going with them. Verena and her husband and I had a nice visit, and I do hope they will take us up on the Open Door Invitation. We'd love to have them anytime.

Anyhow, we did get pictures, but I've got to email her and ask permission to post 'em first. (I forgot to ask before we left the park.)

Ah. What a fun day. Tomorrow, it's back to the grindstone!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Answer The Phone

'Hi, Dy! This is J---. I was just callin' to let you know they've put together a Summer Ball League."

heh.

Yeah.

Thanks. :-)

A Few Things

This has been quite a week, and it's only Tuesday. First, there was the team party cake. I offered, I know. What was I thinking? It baked up beautifully, and even came out of the pan in one piece. I was SO jazzed.

I made a "rolled buttercream fondant" for the main icing. Tinted it deep yellow/gold and rolled it on. Oh, beautiful! Then, I needed to make a dark navy blue. Hmm, there's no blue-blue in this box of many colors. Only Sky Blue. Well, what do I mix to make it work (there's always a way to make it work!) After several panic-stricken hours online, and one rather cryptic phone call to Wilton:

W: Oh, honey, you can't make Navy Blue with sky blue. You need Royal Blue to make Navy Blue.
ME: Ok, but I don't *have* Royal Blue. I *have* Sky Blue, because that's what you put in your eight-pack.
W: Well, you'll need to get some Royal Blue.
ME: I'm an *hour* from the only store that both carries your stuff AND is open for the next 48 hours.
W: You need Royal Blue and Black.
ME: So, um, do you have anybody there who'd be willing to get a little crazy and wing it with me?

That's when she threw the rule book out the window and helped me figure it out. In case you ever run into this problem, it takes the ENTIRE tub of Sky Blue and a few dabs of Violet, and you will get Navy Blue. Oh, sure, I may be a bad influence on CSR's, but hey, we both learned something, and that's good.

Now, for the record, if you try to decorate a cake at home, make sure you turn the AC down. 80 degrees might feel nice and comfy *for you*, but your buttercream may beg to differ. It doesn't seem to matter how stiff you make it, it's gonna wilt, and sag, and probably streak. So, John's team got a lovely blue and gold Nightmare on Elm Street cake. *sigh*

EmBaby's rear seems to be on fire from the inside, and she's been rather miserable and clingy in a hold-me-only-by-the-armpits sort of way. She awoke this morning in such pain that she couldn't get up. Turns out she'd had a blowout sometime during the night, and that didn't help. She just lay there, trembling and crying, but unwilling to go through the torture of sitting on anything in order to stand. We spent a lot of time the last few days airing out, bathing in cool water, and eating bland, bland toast. I thought it had to be teething, and sure enough, there are two more on their way in. So, she should be better soon. I hope so!

Then, the Very Nice Lady from the dentist's office called yesterday. The conversation went like this:

VNL: Hi Mrs. Dy. I'm just calling to let you know that we have an opening for Tuesday at 5:30, and see if you'd like to take it.

ME: Um, TOMORROW?!?!?

VNL: ...Or would you rather keep your Thursday appointment?

ME: THURSDAY?!?!?!

VNL: ...Or did you completely forget you had an appointment this week?

ME: THIS WEEK!?!?

VNL: (who by now knows me well) So Zorak can take the kids and we'll see you tomorrow at 5:30?

ME: *whimper* OK. *sniff* Thanks. *sob*

So Zorak came home and I grabbed my current read (The Prince) and headed off for the root scaling.

I've gotta say, it's worth it. I'm actually (and no, not just blowing smoke, here) looking forward to next week. And it's not just so that the other side of my mouth will match, either. (Although that will be rather nice.) It. Is. Worth. It. If you've been putting off going to the dentist because you just *know* he'll tell you something horrible, well, here you go - short of doing meth, my teeth seem to have been about as bad as they can be, and the worst they can tell you is that they can help you. Go. And I'm going to go to bed. :-)

Oh, if I owe you an email, give me until tomorrow night to respond. I haven't checked email in a while, and now that the novacaine is wearing off, I'm not checking it tonight, either. Please know I'm not ignoring you. I'm simply overwhelmed with wilty icing, dental visits, some computer trouble, and erupting toddler. Things should be back down to a dull roar by tomorrow.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Garden Boxes

Well, y'all have been tremendously patient about all the Forever Home renovation pictures. Tonight, I'm too tired to face the deck/eaves/rotted wood/paint sample horror that is the current project, so I thought I'd finally post about the garden boxes. Yes, I know, we built them back in March. If it's any consolation, they still pretty much look like just the same as in the last photo of this entry. Zorak and I are writing this together, so to differentiate our voices, we'll bold his technical notes and zippy commentary.

First, these are built almost exclusively from salvaged wood on the property. The plywood, the pressure treated posts -- all stuff laying around from the renovation or from the previous owners. That did wonders not only for the landscape, but for our pocketbook, as well.

The boxes are a combination of rectangles, squares, and angled pieces. We did this because we have grand plans to build up a maze garden with sitting spots, inviting play areas, and a gazebo, all incorporating these shapes. Hillbilly Zen, if you will. We are of a philosophy which observes strict conservation of energy (ie. kinda lazy), and so they're fairly modular, easy to build, and ought to last a long, long time.

The sides are all constructed thusly:

(Technical specs: 3/8ths plywood sides, 9-1/4" high - which we did just so we could get five strips per sheet; pressure treated 2x4 bottom; regular 2x4 top board. The rabbet joints were cut with a circular saw with a strip of wood clamped to the base of the guide to set the 3/4" depth and 1/2" width of the joint. The half-inch width allows the 2x4 top [and bottom] to overhang the sides by about an eighth of an inch, and leaves a 2-1/2" wide hollow core.)

*psst* You can see it in action *here*.)

Assemble with child labor, using galvanized nails...

The sides attach to the corners with a nifty little insert, jointy thing. (Zorak will fill us in on the details in the next technical note.) The boards are cut to fit just inside the cross section of the side pieces, and then you can secure them. Again, with the children. (Conservation of energy rule #326 - your children have far more energy than you do. Use it well.)

This one is for an angled piece -->

And this one is for a straight 90' corner. Handy for all those squares and rectangles, no?

(The posts extend beyond the height of the sides so that they can be set into the ground. They do that on the top for purely aesthetic purposes. The bevels, for example, help hide some of the hazards of using salvaged material. The cleats, what Dy refers to as "boards," are 2x3's, which allows them to fit inside the 2-1/2" hollow-core sides.)

Once the individual bits and pieces are assembled (and inspected by the dog and the baby), you're ready to let the kids finish building the box. (Again with the child labor!) Simply slip the pieces into place and nail or screw the sides to the cleats (see, I got it right this time!)

Then it's time for the really fun part! We used deck stain, namely because we had some on hand, and wanted to see how it would look. But also because we would rather not be replacing these things before we're done with the rest of the renovations. Conserve, conserve, conserve.

By this time, the boxes are too big for the kids to drag out to the garden, so you'll probably have to do that part yourself. OR, you could load the box on a red wagon and have the children haul it to the top of the hill. Not that we actually did that... we're just sayin'.

(Once the deck stain dried, the boxes were lined with polyethylene landscaping liner to keep the interior of the boxes from rotting.) Obviously, if you're going totally organic, you'd skip this part. And the one just before it. Well, and the pressure-treated... come to think of it, if you're going totally organic, this is going to be no help at all.

Now it's just a matter of placing your boxes, making sure they're level,


And filling them in with nutrient-rich goodness! (A little sand, kitchen compost and manure from the barn, in our case, to supplement the heavy clay soil we have. Yum! Yum!) The sticks are just for decorative purposes. Plus, they give the children something to do when the children decide to try the "I'm bored" line on us. So far, the sticks are still there. Smart kids.


And there ya have it - Forever Home Garden Boxes. Yet another family project we've started but not finished, erm, survived.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh, my.

The Very Cool Older Cousin mentioned in the previous post (we'll call her T) brought her boyfriend (we'll call him P) up to the City of Rocks with us. The kids loved him. The adults loved him. In fact, we jokingly told T that even if she didn't keep him, we would. She (jokingly, we hope) said that now that he'd been introduced to the Libertarian Hillbilly contingent of the family, we'll just have to see if he takes off running.

She mentioned that he's said that he'd like ten (I think it was ten) children, but would be happy with six, so, of course, never one to let a potentially awkward moment go by, we lined them up with five of the six cousins in attendance (we thought there were all six, but I can't find that last one in the photograph) and got a group photo. Sort of a time-lapse "this could be your life".

Two children...

five children...

He didn't flinch.

As a matter of fact, take a look at how he's looking at her there in the photo on the bottom left -- the one with all the children.

 

So really, is it any surprise that this weekend, when he brought her supper from Nopalito's (a sign of true affection and care in our clan), he also brought her a ring?

And that she accepted?

And we are so very glad at this news.

It's a big world out there, and they're about to embark on an incredible journey together. Is there anything you'd love to have known when you started out? Would you all help us celebrate by sharing the wisdom about marriage and life together that you've garnered over the years? Either leave your thoughts in the comments section, or blog about it and leave us a link. If you'll be so kind to do this, I'd love to print it out and share it with them: a guidebook for the scenic route, if you will.

Personally, I hope they have many babies for us to be kissing for years to come! ;-)

But tonight, let's kiss those spouses, and the babies, and take a moment to savor this wonderful life we have, and all it's taken to get here.
~Dy

Group Photos, The Hard Way

On the last day of our trip, we all went out with the kids to help them hunt for the elusive Kokopelli paintings. While we were there, we figured we'd give the ol' Group Photo thing a try. So we tried...

And we tried...

Almost made it!

NINE shots later, we got a great picture!

One to make copies of and frame.

Oh, that's just exciting.

But wait...
What's that?
What is he DOING?!

Nooooooooooo...

And how, I ask you, HOW, did we not see this branch the first eight times?

BAH. This is why people pay professionals to take these pictures.