Saturday Coffee

My goodness, I think our house is a place of lore: Where Insects Go To Die. Blech. The windows are vile! It's time for a coffee break.

Zorak and John are out dove hunting today. I've never seen a child more excited about anything. Ever. That includes Smidge's full-body vibration when he's thrilled with something. John was simply abuzz with activity, packing, checking, loading, double checking. He was understatedly serious, yet eager. He's still a little guy, but he's veering into the next port, and it's never been so obvious as it was this morning. He loaded the Suburban, then climbed in and waited. I didn't get the chance to kiss him good-bye, and had to give his travel mug of hot chocolate to Zorak. He was off and ready. Then, I stood on the porch and waved good-bye to a child who had already turned his mind and his heart toward the awaiting adventure as they headed down the drive. He's spending the day with his hero, doing something that beckons of high adventure. My heart is bursting with joy, with thankfulness, and with a wee bit of wistfulness that my JohnBaby is fading so quickly. (Not too much wistfulness, though, because this Young Man is a wonderful person, as well. And I am thankful that Zorak has both the opportunity to spend time like this with him, as well as the desire to do so. That's good stuff for both of them.)

I've got the dining room, living room and kitchen windows (insides only) washed, as well as the sills, stoops, and aprons. It feels delightful (particularly as I've interspersed the cleaning with a little time at sea with Hornblower, and some fresh bread with peanut butter and honey!) However, my stomach is queasy from being eye-ball-to-spinnerettes with all the spiders that live between our storm windows and our house windows. It's like living on the INSIDE of a spider farm. Thankfully, our current "moving forward without much cash" project is the windows - still stripping, priming, glazing the windows, and repairing/replacing the storm windows. They do need a lot of work. I wish we could just replace them all in one fell swoop, but that would require much cash, and then we wouldn't be doing the "moving forward without much cash" aspect of it, would we? *grin* Actually, Zorak Of The Indomitable Spirit is insistent that we replace the windows *ourselves*, and... that's just not a horribly enticing concept for me at present. So, well, I'm not going to complain (too audibly) about having to repair/replace and clean the storm windows. Plus, it's that savings that'll pay for the new windows in the long run, so it's all good. And it will be wonderful once they've all got properly fitting screens and have been reinstalled w/ the proper gaskets so that the spiders cannot get in there to set up house at all.

The remaining Smalls are out back, digging for things I probably won't want brought into the house. Particularly not after I've finished cleaning. But they'll come in. And it'll be fascinating to see and hear all about it from their perpective. I really must find a place to put things like that. The bookshelf isn't conducive, as I realized while vacuuming the school room the other day -- cicada shells don't survive the shopvac well, at all.

And so, my coffee break is over, and it's time to turn our attentions back to the day at hand. Thanks for taking a break to visit this afternoon.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

*edited to correct my typographical stuttering problem :-) *

Vaccines, delays, and disease, Oh, my!

Thanks to the threads recently at the WTM forums, I found this article on delayed vaccinations. It includes a suggested schedule, as well, which is why I'm including it here. Sometimes it's difficult to get an idea for the "how" or the "what now" once you've come to a point where you say, "OK, that's not going to work." Hopefully, if you're looking for more information, this will help.

Kiss those babies!
Dy

Well, that didn't work so well.

You know, we've kept the shopvac out for our daily vacuum jobs on the laminate floors. It's more efficient than sweeping, and does a better job than our "normal" vacuum does on the bare floors. One of these days I'll buy the carpet attachment for it, and then I can do away entirely with the "normal" vacuum. In the meantime, however, it's just my hard floor vacuum.

Well, one of the things I *love* about the shopvac is that it will suck up ANYTHING, from about six inches away from the opening of the hose. That makes it so easy to get into the crevices and crannies, beneath the tea cart and the corner hutch... just, easy.

One of the things I *don't* love about the shopvac is that it will suck up ANYTHING, from about six inches away from the opening of the hose. That means I may have to sieve through the bin before dumping it, in order to retrieve stray socks, tinker toys, chess pieces, and matchbox cars (man, can those things move, though, when they fly across the floor to the hose! It's quite a sight, really. Kinda fun, too, but don't tell the boys that.)

Ok, I don't actually try to suck up the toys. But there are so many of them. And they're small. And my eyesight isn't what it used to be. Nor are my reflexes (which were never stellar to begin with). And so, most of the time, it's the clunk-rattle-schlooop, followed by the kathunk-thud-thud of a solid object pinging it's way up the hose that alerts me to the fact that I've just sucked up Something That Oughtn't Be Sucked Up. I sucked up something just the other day, as a matter of fact. But it didn't have the distinctive sound of any previously identified objects. So I didn't really worry about it.

And now, we cannot find the key to the corner hutch.

I wonder if Rigid sells a 1/4" screen attachment for the floor attachments? Might be a good investment on their part. I can't be the only one who uses the shopvac for daily cleaning? (Andie, back me up, here!)

Well, it's grocery day, so I'll handle that, and then, perhaps, Zorak will take pity on me and check out the shopvac this evening? I'd probably better make sure supper is FANTASTIC, huh?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

It's COMING!

Fall. Is. Coming!

I'm so excited, I can hardly restrain myself. Or spell. I had to put on a *hoodie* this morning, people! Well, I suppose I could have just gotten dressed, instead, but where's the fun in that? It's so much better to sit on the porch and watch the oppossums destroy the garden when I'm in my comfy jammies. Come to think of it, where was the dog while that was going on? Hmpf. Probably inside, wallowing on the couch.

It was DARK when I got up this morning. At six. It was still dark at six! It was foggy, and chilly, and dark. Oh, the joy! The sun didn't actually come up. The air lightened, the fog glistened, the birds went absolutely nuts. The neighbors' rooster did his thing. Repeatedly. Ah, here comes the dog, once he heard the rooster. (The rooster likes to strut into our upper meadow. He's not horribly bright, that one.) All of it, except the potential for rooster mutilations, was absolutely beautiful.

We've been on a pile-claiming rampage this week. I think it's working. Zorak mentioned something last night about the progress of the "house reclamation project". Sounds like it ought to be subsidized, doesn't it? Heh. Better that it's not. At least this way, we know we're making headway and we can work when we need to. Yeah, we're getting there.

It's not all about the grand adventures. Sometimes it's the great adventures. The melons slowly swelling in the patch. The sound of the pickup heading down the drive in the morning. The things that become normal, commonplace -- birds at the feeder, little children draggin fleece blankets out from the closet and into the living room, getting up in the dark -- that really cement this life of ours and make it Real. So I watched the pickup head down the drive, gave thanks for yesterday's rain, and watched the little guy drag his blanket to the living room. And I smiled at all that's real. All that's mine. I feel so lucky!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

It's 5:00 -- Do You Know Where Your Wife Is?

I got to bed at such a decent hour last night, that I awoke this morning around 4:15. Bright-eyed. Ready to go! That's wrong on more levels than I can name right now.

So, I gathered the trash (right day, this time), finished pre-reading The Story of Marco Polo, cleaned up from supper (we had company, and the guys talked into the night, so I just put the kids down and crept into bed for some reading time to let the guys have a little "me time", or the male equivalent. What is that? "Us time" sounds a little bizarre, though. You know, "guy time".)

ANYway... I'd been at it about half an hour or so, when I heard footsteps shuffling up and down the hall. Shuffle to the bath. Pause. Shuffle to the guest room. Pause. Sounds too big to be one of the boys. Balto's outside (and besides, he doesn't shuffle, he goes "clickety-clickety"). Zorak?

I peeked up from cleaning the stove to see Zorak checking the lock on the front door (he's a checker. he loves us.) "Honey? You okay?"

"AH! There you are. Are YOU okay? I woke up and... there wasn't anybody."

*chuckle* Yeah, this is what happens when I have enough sleep. I actually get up before you. Weird, isn't it?

"Mmpf. Yeah." shuffle, shuffle back to bed.

All is well.

Just checking.

Maybe I shouldn't get to bed *quite* so early next time, eh? heh. Oh, but this quiet time in the morning is nice, nice, nice.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

And Then He Was Four

Saturday night, I kissed Smidge "three kisses" for the last time. Sunday morning, he came to get "four, now, Mom!" It's gone so quickly, and it's been such fun. What would we do without our Smidge?

So, Sunday, we headed into church with a pirate ship cake, a pirate ship pinata, and a Very Happy Boy. We had lunch with friends from church -- she's from Japan, and oh, dear me, I'm glad she didn't make more food than she did, because it was fantastic and we'd have kept eating until we embarrassed ourselves. The kids ran around and had a fantastic time. And then, we headed back to the church for cake and ice cream.
Me-Tae and Me-Wa came, and another family with littles. It was a good crowd, not too big, and everybody very laid back.

Me-Tae is so. much. fun. I swear, everybody should have a Me-Tae. Like I told her, we do these things because, well, we sort of have to. But she does fun things because they'll be fun for the kids. She brought an ice cream bar - ice cream, sherbet, strawberries, caramel, and several kinds of sprinkles. What a great idea is that! The kids loved it. The adults loved it. We're going to have to start paying her for this stuff. It'd be worth every penny.



My batteries were just about dead, and I didn't get all the pictures I'd wanted to get, but the day was nice. And now, he is four. Happy Birthday, Sweet Smidge!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Book Stuff

Some interesting things have crossed my desk this week.

The Myth of the Teen Brain -- on the heels of a recent article citing a belief that the human brain isn't capable of making consistently good choices until around age 25, this article seems timely, and offers some interesting mind-fodder for discussion.

Also, after Mere sent me some links on Permaculture and its founder, Bill Mollison (and then I stayed up WAY past my bedtime watching the entire series of videos), I spent some time poking around Alabama's agricultural/permacultural communities. Interesting stuff, there.

And enjoying the music at Pandora. (Gee, thanks, Steph...) That site was very aptly named. *grin*

Offline, the boys and I are enjoying some of the Arabian Nights tales, as well as Celtic Fairy Tales (Jacobs), and the Young Jack Sparrow books John received for his birthday.

Smidge has fallen in love with The Easter Pig, and EmBaby is completely entranced by a new Carl book. (We love Carl. We can make up beautiful stories for the littles, and when they get a bit older, and wise to our humor, we can cut loose and get a little wild with that ol' dog. Carl's good stuff.)

Have any of you ever read The Virginian, by Owen Wister? I just finished it. So well-written, but I've got to say, if Zorak were to come home from work Monday and say, "So what do you think of BFE, Wyoming?" I'd be packed and en route before he could bother applying for the job. *sigh* Beautifully written. A definite must-read for the boys' in a few years' time.

There was more, but I've been invited to go enjoy a crossword puzzle with my honey. We used to do crosswords together quite a bit, and tonight I wondered aloud why we don't. Then it hit us - we aren't getting the paper, scouring for jobs every week. Oh... yeah, that would do it. We read our news online, or from the radio. And by default, we stopped doing the crossword. But tonight, he found one. So we're off to play! Have a lovely Saturday!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Whew

Well, tonight I'm the proud owner of two 13-gal. trash bags, packed solid from top to bottom with shredded paper, and a 16" high stack of papers that's been filed appropriately, to boot.

And I still didn't find what I'm looking for!

But that's OKAY. I still have the papers stored in the master bath to go through. (That's probably one reason I'm not terribly gung-ho to get the master bath completed. It makes a fantastic hidey hole for holiday gifts, and a perfect storage room for luggage, floor fans, and all the paper -- boxes and boxes of paper -- I didn't want to deal with the last umpteen times I picked up before company arrived.) It's going to be a very. long. weekend. But if I can find what I need, life will be pretty durned sweet, lemme tell ya!

We go in the morning to see a guy about a horse. (No. Not really, but that's all I can say about it.) Then we might see another guy about another horse. I really just want to go to the quarry and hang with the gang tomorrow afternoon, but I think I'm going to be stuck here in the afternoon, getting the paperwork together, shredding more stuff, doing the right thing, and being whiny about it. (Please don't tell me it doesn't count if you whine! LOL!)

An inspector for the power company came onto the property today. Of course, I see some guy with a clipboard walking around my place, looking far too interested in things to be a casual visitor, and I just can't let that go. Things get too weird around here, too quickly, when left unattended. Turns out he was doing inspections on the lines and there are "a number of violations" with our power lines. Including several that are strung too low, and a few that "don't go anywhere". They just lead from the transformer and dangle somewhere? *shudder* I believe I mentioned here that I'd spoken with the power company not too long ago, when they replaced our transformer... and they did not mention ANY of this! As a matter of fact, they even "fixed" a wire that had fallen and was laying in the yard. Come to find out, that wire shouldn't even be there at all. *sigh* I keep telling myself that eventually, they can't surprise me anymore. But I can't quite bring myself to believe it. On the plus side, he was trying hard to find something wrong with the pole in our yard (legitimately wrong, something other than the fact that it's smack in the middle of the front yard with huge trees dropping limbs on it) so they'd have to move it. If there's a violation there and he can find it, then they'll move it, on them, and we wouldn't have to pay the second-born child and a quarter of our crops to have a new pole set outside the front yard! That would be rather helpful, actually. I just hope they dilly-dally long enough for us to get our tax refund back, just in case. Once the power is off at the service head, for any reason, our grandfathered meter and lode panel set up are void and we'll have to fix those before they could turn it back on.

Gifts are en route. Party place is planned. Guests are coming. Did ya hear that sigh of relief? Smidge is so excited. This is a big change from the other two, who spent the first few years filled with dread because they loved being their own ages and didn't want to get older. Smidge can't wait to be John's age. Somehow, that's it. That's the pinnacle, for him. He said when he gets to seven, he'll be done growing. Funny boy. Part of me wants to always have a little Smidge, but I know he's going to be such a neat young man, and then a wonderful grown man. And at least I'll always have the memories of the Smidge when he's six feet tall and finally has his pronouns straight.

And so, to bed, before I feel compelled to shred some more. G'night!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy Little Dirt Ball

Chickens love to take dust baths, and so, it seems, do little girls. It's one of EmBaby's favorite outdoor activities. Mostly, I smile and nod, mentally add sod to our list of things to buy, and give thanks that we didn't get the high maintenance, dry-clean-only children.

While a chicken can take a dust bath and come out fine, humans tend to have those pesky sweat glands. The end result is strikingly different.


But does she care? Not a whit. The final bath was just as much fun as the dust bath. At least for her. ;-) There, you've seen the worst of it (well, except for the marshmallow incident, but this is a close second). And now, I can post crumb-lipped photos without guilt or caveat, because this is a truly filthy little face!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Birthday Brainstorming

Smidge's birthday is fast approaching, and we are nowhere near prepared. It dawned on us today that he's pretty much outgrown Thomas, and Bob, and... well, goodness, what comes next?

He's such a happy, contented little guy, and he seldom asks for much. When we're at the store, he doesn't oooohhh-and-ahhhh, doesn't beg for every dodad and shiny-packaged thing on the shelves. For that, we are very thankful. It's nice to have a contented child. But, well, sometimes that leaves us a little clueless as to what he might actually like to have as a special treat.

He is anxiously awaiting the start of T-ball season, which he'll be eligible to play come Spring. So, there's that. A little forethought on our part would have done wonders in procuring a Tee for him at this time of year. (Only eight or nine more children and we might get the hang of that.) I'll try Amazon tonight and see what we can rustle up, there.

We asked him this evening at supper what he might really like. He said a pinata would be nice. Oh, and "a pirate ship, with three pirates on it." (Hmmm, we have one exactly like that, but as he put it when we mentioned that point, "Oh, but that belongs to John, and it is his special ship." Ah. Ok, I get that. Didn't expect it from an almost-four-year-old, but I do get it.)

Whatever we do, he'll have a lovely day, and he'll know he's cherished, and he'll smile and laugh and be a joyful little boy. It would be so wonderful if we were all that contented with what we have in life (talking mostly to myself, here *sheepish grin*) -- but then, he's had that gift from the start, able to revel in Granny's caramel with his tush frozen to the patio, or wallow in snuggling with Dad on Saturday mornings while the bigger boys watch cartoons.

Sitting here thinking about it, I realize he's given us more gifts already than we could even bestow upon him. That's a tucker.

Ah, I'm off to browse for a bit, then.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

*A "tucker" is one of those things that makes you smile, so you tuck it away in your heart and pull it out when you need it later.

Out of the Pile - and a Tirade

Well, nothing sets things aright like a little surprise visit with family -- the Engaged Cousins, on their way to set up their new home and prepare for the wedding. They brought their dog, Miss, who enjoyed the playtime with Balto. Well, no, strike that. Balto enjoyed some playtime with Miss. Miss much preferred to be inside, away from that pesky pup. But in all, they got on well and it was good for both dogs to have time to play.

And I'll tell ya, if you don't have children, a few days spent in a home with children coming out of every nook and cranny will either give you baby fever, or a desire to get your tubes tied at the first available moment. I forget how quirky, vocal, funny, noisy, hectic, and particularly loud our home is, until I get a moment to see it through the eyes of others. Yep, pretty chaotic, when you don't have the chance to gear up for it, one or two children at a time. But oh, when those little ones climb up on your lap for no reason other than to be near you, or hug your legs and give you unsolicited kisses, ah, that's something you don't find just anywhere. I hope the cousins left feeling loved.

Now that EmBaby has a birth certificate, I am trying to get her a social security number. This is proving even more challenging than it was with Smidge. A birth certificate is not enough to validate identity (in spite of the hoops you must jump through in Alabama to get a homebirth birth certificate). The lady at the social security office was somewhat mortified that EmBaby doesn't have a Medicaid card (*sigh*), or a "school ID card" -- a quiet reminder that the child is one and a half didn't seem to sink in.

About the only proof of identification the social security office will accept (that we have any hope in hell of obtaining) is a "medical record" -- namely, the insurance sheet/bill you get when you pay for a doctor's visit. Right. Anybody actually keep those? I mean, if you don't itemize your medical deductions, or file your own insurance claims? Just curious, because the lady at the gubmint office was quite thrown for a loop at our total lack of identification for this little person. It has to be one of those, and it cannot be expired. Did you know they expire? I asked, specifically, what constitutes an "expired" medical record. She said it can't be ten years old, or anything like that. Which, okay, sounds reasonable enough, except that we're talking about a 19 month old child. If it's even two years old, it's fake. Seriously, what constitutes "expired for a 19 month old"? Oh, well, she hemmed and hawed and finally declared that it must be issued within the last month.

*sigh* They don't even know what they want. They only know that you must figure it out if you want to get this done. I am so done with our federal government.

No, the doctor's office cannot run us off a copy from her file (it must be the *original*), and no, they will not accept a letter from the doctor's office, and well, all I have to do is get her medical records, and what's the problem...

She began to chide me for losing EmBaby's card in the first place, and how difficult it is to replace a card. I stopped her. WHOA -- this is a NEW card, a FIRST card. I explained this at the onset. "What? Why doesn't she have one yet?" Oh. You have got to be kidding me. AS I HAVE PREVIOUSLY EXPLAINED, her birth certificate was just issued last week. She has nothing. She's ONE. At this point she said, "Well *exhale* the sooner you get a child into the community, the easier this is."

Ah, and there it is. The community? Oh, she's into the community just fine. They know her at church, among friends, down at the corner market and gas station, at the Pig, at the water company, and even among our homeschooling community. What this woman meant is that the sooner I get my children into gov't sponsored health care, or gov't sponsored daycare, or gov't approved activities of some kind, the easier the government will go on us. This is the way our federal government works on a daily basis, and yet people keep clamoring to the federal level with "help us", "take care of us", "provide for us". And those of us who don't, then we simply must not understand how nice it is there in the Nanny State.

Finally, in an exasperated state, the lady said our doctor's office should know exactly what they need (since she obviously didn't) and offered to transfer me "to the voice mail of the front office", where I could leave a detailed message. I left my message. I called the doctor's office. Twenty minutes on hold, and they have no idea what the social security office needs. They said they'll try to figure it out and get back with me. Like the doctor's secretary said, "Well, all we have is what you gave us? How is that going to help?" Yeah. I know. This is ridiculous.

Don't you all feel safer, now, knowing that law-abiding citizens have so much "security" to go through to be recognized by their own government? Me neither.

Ah, well, whether the government recognizes my children or not, they're here, they're legal, and they're wonderful. Hopefully, they will grow up as far from the reach of the federal government as we can keep them so that they grow up to be competent, thinking, self-sufficient citizens. It certainly won't make life easier on them, not the way this country is heading, but it will make them better off, as people.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Piling Up

Things are piling up right now, and they're doing it right on top of me. I'm pretty sure the boys and Zorak are under here with me, and it sounds like EmBaby is busy scaling the pile so she can check out the view from up there. No fear, that one. Tomorrow is Sunday, a day of rest, a day of family, and a day of worship. I've got everything done that I can get done tonight to help bring about at least a semblance of the "rest" bit.

It's promotion Sunday for the children's Sunday School program, but only Smidge moves up to a new class. The other boys will now be the older ones in their classes (the classes are grouped two grades to a class), and will assume more responsibility, but they get to keep their teachers and their rooms. Not much will change for them, in that regard. But Smidge moves from the 2's and 3's room to the "Pre-K" room. Pre-K? Smidge? Ack. He's plenty excited, but I'm not ready for it. When we first started attending this church, he was nursery aged and he stayed with us all the time. How did he suddenly get old enough to be in a class with a designation to it?

Zorak glazed the bottom windows on the guest room today. They look lovely. Too bad the glazing takes "7-14 days to cure, depending on temperature and humidity" (this translates to: "if you live in the South, it's gonna be a few weeks, folks"). So much of this is on him, now, and he's got a lot on his plate, but one step at a time, and we'll get there. (He bought the heat gun for me, but that was the same week I bought the hpt, and come to find out using the heat gun to remove glazing is a no-no for expectant mamas. It's important enough that that's the one and only decipherable warning in the heat gun manual. I swear I don't get pregnant just to get out of doing work. Honest!)

The compost is composting nicely (this rain has helped with that quite a bit). The watermelons are coming in beautifully. Our pickling cucumbers (which will not be pickled, but it was a nice thought) are still producing regularly. Our regular cucumbers seem to have hybridized, but they're finally producing some interesting fruit. The pumpkins are still sportin' flowers, flowers, flowers, but no pumpkins, pumpkins, pumpkins. They've had flowers for a very long time, now. I've never seen a plant do that before, but they all are. *shrug* Obviously, we're not "farmers", in even the loosest sense of the word, or we'd have some idea why this is. Still, it's fun, and the children have learned so much this summer. So, while we won't be stocking our larder with canned goods from our garden's bounty, it's been rewarding in many other ways that count, and I can't say the adventure wasn't worth it. We all look forward to doing a much more proficient job next year!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A New Challenge

Boning up on bird identification can be quite the humbling experience. Where one thinks one is, perhaps, "observant", one discovers one is... probably due for glasses and a dose of Focusin.

So how do you use your bird guide? Do you just browse it here and there? Do you set out to learn about one bird at a time? Do you wing it (har-de-har) and just go along as you find new birds? How do you make it work for you?

We have two different woodpeckers out there. Somewhere. I hear them, and I've seen them. I know they're there. But I don't know what they are.

I do know there was, at least, one Yellow-Bellied Sapsucker (which I think is one of the best names, ever, for a bird!) Unfortunately, I only know this because of what it did to the alleged apple tree in the back yard:

I don't think I've actually seen it. The only one we see regularly has a lot more red on it than the Lily-Livered Tree Mauler. So. Last night I sat with my Peterson's guide and boned up on the woodpeckers in our region.

This weekend, I think I'm going to catch me a photo of our regular visitor and see if we can give him a name.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Common Threads

Tonight, I read Laura's post on Great Heart: The History of a Labrador Adventure, and I mentally did a little happy dance. You see, in this book, Dillon Wallace joins an expedition group in 1903 that heads up the Labrador coast...

OK, so what? Well, it's the touch of the familiar that made me smile. I'm finding myself on the receiving end of those familiar starts, those enjoyable exchanges, more often these past several years. And I have to thank the books. The books have brought an entire tableau to my kitchen window, and I recognize the faces. That's exciting. It thrills me even more in that I know the more well-read we are, the better we are able to find the more subtle delights which abound in the world around us.

When King Arthur admonished Hank to "make like Horatius", I got a chuckle I'd have missed entirely if I hadn't known Horatius and his story. It's nothing earth-shattering, nothing of compound magnitude which propels me to instant mental celebrity. It's a small smile in the middle of a book. It's a little chuckle in the middle of the day. It's a nod to the familiar, the shared knowledge, the common thread, from age to age.

And that's okay. Just as it's seldom the Big Things that are bound to compel us to throw in the towel (oh, no, it's those Little Things that wend their way about your ankles, one small thing at a time, and then tighten at just the right moment so you hurl face first into the fetal position and beg for mercy)... *ahem* Sorry. Anyhow, as I was saying, just as it's seldom the Big Things that make us cry "Uncle", it's also seldom the Big Things (the Big Good Things) that keep us afloat. It isn't the passing grade in Calculus, or the generous promotion at work that gets us through the inbetween times, although those are certainly handy and often appreciated when they come. It's the private jokes among good friends, the shared memories of delights and discoveries, or of disasters and hilarious squalls, that steady us on when we wear down. It's the line a loved one always sings wrong, or the scent of something that came to you on one particularly beautiful day, at one particularly special moment that illuminate the beauty tucked here and there in the periphery of our vision. Those things, the Little Things, are the things that keep us afloat, keep us connected, keep us attuned.

I just finished, and passed along to James, a book called Arctic Stowaways, written by Dillon Wallace. It's a delightful (if, at times, a touch pedagogic) fictional account of two relatively spoiled American blue-blood, college-bound young men who, by reason of a series of Very Poor Choices, find themselves stowaways aboard an Arctic whaling ship, headed out for a two-year voyage. It reads much like Captains Courageous, but in an easier vernacular than the late 17th Century Massachusettes Fisherman brogue. It reads like every good adventure should, with plenty of detail from the mundane to the insane.

Dillon Wallace, I have since learned, wrote a number of adventure and nature stories set in the far Nor'eastern tip of North America. The land had his heart, and his imagination firmly in its grip by 1917. Reading Laura's post about her book was much like having a friend say, "Well, you know how he learned so much about that area?"

When people find themselves lacking a connection with the rest of the world, I wonder if perhaps they might find themselves, or their hearts, laid bare in the pages of a book written last month, or ninety years ago, or two-thousand years ago. As for me, I pick up every new book now wide-eyed, and anxious for the next little smile, little insight, little chuckle, little connection. I cannot do it justice, but my heart and mind can do it homage.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Overheard

While reading The Seven-Headed Serpent from The Yellow Fairy Book:
"Every year you must bring me from among your people twelve youths and twelve maidens, that I may devour them. If you do not do this, I will destroy your whole nation."

Then I heard a wee Smidge voice say, "Well, that was rude!"


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

James, during a water break at practice the other day:

"You know, I've been thinking. Nuclear power is clean and efficient, but the problem is that the little waste that's left is radioactive. There's got to be some way to use the waste itself to create more energy, and in doing so, destroy the waste."

(OK. Yeah. Good that you're thinking of these things, but perhaps on the field isn't quite the place for pondering this? Although, this does explain how some things simply aren't good combinations.)

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

John, while reading about Augustine's arrival in Britain:

"What was that king's name again, Ethelburp?"

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

And Em, The Great Adventurer, wearing a Toobers-and-Zots crown, armed with a PVC pipe sword she built herself, wearing a cape-backpack combination thing, running down the hall,

"Oh! I pooped! I pooped! Ow! I pooped!"

Her subjects fled in terror.

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

They make me smile. They make me think. They make me laugh. I couldn't ask for more.

kiss those babies!
~Dy

I swear by my tattoo!!!

No, I don't have a tattoo. But Ned does. We love that movie. Do you know that movie?

While enjoying an after-lunch sanity break, I'd drifted almost to sleep when I heard the sound of rushing water. Considering our recent adventures, I thought for sure something truly awful had happened and came bolting up from the couch, upending three children in the process. (As a side note, I now believe early settlers had so many children so they could pack fewer quilts. Two or three of those little guys piled atop you, and you're warmer than you'd ever be with five or six handsewn quilts.)

A quick inspection revealed that no pipes had burst, no neighbors had turned a firehose on our non-flaming home, and Emily was still asleep in her crib. That meant... no, it couldn't be. We looked out the window and YES!! it was RAIN! Glorious, beautiful, wet rain. Rain, coming down in torrents. That meant two good things, in particular: 1) I didn't have to remember to feel guilty about not watering the garden, and 2) the rest of the afternoon could be spent relaxing and enjoying the rain. Well, mostly.

It didn't rain long enough to cancel football practice, of course. But that's okay; James enjoys it, and Zorak had offered to take him today so that he could get a feel for what's going on in practice. There are some, erm, concerns, about the way things are being managed. Personally, I have no desire to be loping onto the field, looking all hormonal and bloated, because no matter what comes out of my mouth, the five men on the field who do not see what's going on will only hear, "Blah-blah-blah... My BAAAAABY!" Zorak, on the other hand, can amble out onto the field, utter the same exact words, and the five men on the field will hear, "You know, we lost fifteen yards in Saturday's game because of holding. Don't you think this ought to be addressed before it becomes habit?" Ridiculous? Definitely. A hill worth dying on? No. I have no delusions that I can somehow undo generations of ingrained gender beliefs. It was enough to remind the coaches that perhaps the mouthguards would do more good IN the children's mouths, eh?

On the upside, James is developing excellent leg muscles from dragging 70-pound kids around the field while they dangle from his sleeves. And, eventually, he's going to get angry enough that he's going to come off the line hard enough to knock them clear out of the way in the first place. So. There are benefits, if you're willing to find them. Or make them up, if necessary.

And did I mention it rained? It was a warm, August rain, too. The boys and I were two steps down the front porch, aiming to play in the rain, when the lightning (evidently, the close, August lighting) made an appearance and sent us scrambling back up under cover pretty darned quickly. Thankfully, we did not have nearly the upheaval Jennie did! So, I'd say it was a quiet, rainy afternoon, and much appreciated.

Baked ham, baked potatoes, steamed broccoli, and fresh bread -- that's what's on the table tonight. Good "Come On Autumn" food, isn't it? It's ready and waiting, and now, while the big'uns are out doing big'things, the littl'uns and I are going to finish a movie and make popcorn.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Football

Well, the boys had their first game Saturday. As you can tell, the siblings were there pretty much for the food. (Pardon That 70's Hair on the boys. John is growing his out so he can be Harry Potter for Halloween, and I haven't mustered the umpf to break out the sheers for just Smidge.) The players gave it their all. It was hot. It was sunny. It was hot. Zorak and Me-Wa thought the game was pretty good. Me-Tae and I thought the kids were just adorable. (I'm guessing some of us didn't get the point of being there? Either way, it was okay.) It'll be a lot better when it's not so hot.

Here's James, lining up. Can't see him? That's okay, neither could I, most of the time.

This was at practice the day before. (Also hot.) They were doing running drills. Not my idea of fun, but the boys do it with a great attitude. And there's gatorade and granola waiting in the cooler.

Also at practice. I've not quite got the Herding of the Cats figured out yet, so the picture taking is a bit off. The football field isn't as sibling-friendly as the baseball field is, and the herding process must be a bit more pro-active at the moment.

This was supposed to be a collage. I don't know why it's not. But I'm up, and the garbage is at the road. The coffee is hot, and life is good. What's a formatting snafu here and there, right?

Kiss those babies!

~Dy

1:40 and still out

Today hasn't been a "quiet" day, by any means. The littles have run bus races up and down the hall. I've made bread (and Sunny, while delightfully helpful, isn't the quietest kitchen helper in the world). John and I have done lessons. EmBaby has stated her position on a number of things. Loudly.

Through it all, James has slept peacefully.

I checked on him at eleven, and he was still alive.
At noon, I made sure he was breathing well.
Just now, I checked his temperature.

He's fine. He's just one. tired. boy.

I can't imagine how his day would have gone if he'd had to be up and out the door by seven to get to school. Ugh.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Beautiful Reprieve

Today
Hi 91°F
Lo 69°F
Precip 30 % (Yes, I'm thrilled about 91. After 100+ for so long, 91 seems downright reasonable. *grin*)


Aug28
Hi 89°F
Lo 69°F
Precip 60 % (SIXTY PERCENT! That's almost wet!)


Aug29
Hi 90°F
Lo 69°F
Precip 50 % (I'll take fifty. Fifty is good.)


Aug30
Hi 87°F
Lo 67°F
Precip 30 % (Was going to bold the "87", but...)


Aug31
Hi 85°F
Lo 66°F
Precip 50 % (LOOKEE!! EIGHTY-FIVE! Heaven! Heaven with the potential for RAIN!)

That's the most beautiful five-day outlook I've seen in AGES!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Wrong Day

Got up this morning at five-thirty. Gathered the trash. Dropped it off the balcony. Couldn't find the bumper buddy, so I asked Zorak about it as he headed out the door. He blinked at me a few times, trying to figure out why on earth I would need the bumper buddy. Then he said I could probably use the pickup when he got back tonight.

"Well, that's silly. The garbage men will have come and gone by the time he gets home tonight," I thought. But he was looking at me so intently, I knew I had to be missing something.

I was.

Trash Day is Tuesday on our street.

Ah. Yes. Well, then, carry on. I'm... I'm up for no reason.

I think I'll just get started on the day, then. Beginning with studies on the porch and some delicious, fresh coffee.

Happy Monday!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Things They Pick Up

 

And her brothers say they "can't wait to teach her things". Heh. If only they knew.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy
(yes, I know, she's dirty. she eats all the time and I can't keep up. think of it as proof that we feed her.)

We're Done!

The last of the children had the last of the dental visits. There is no more work to be done on anybody under 18 in this house. I have absolutely no hope that it will remain that way, but at least I won't have to know about it until October, when they all go in for their routine checkups. So. That's something.

Em stayed in the lobby most of the time, enduring the nonstop administrations and nurturing affections of every girl from 6-9 years old who entered the building.

Oh, I'm sure she didn't mind. It would make me testy to a degree that makes Klingons look warm and fuzzy if I were to have somebody in my face like that for more than, say, the amount of time it takes to whisper through gritted teeth, "Get. Back. Now." Em, however, seems to have not yet developed a Personal Space. She was in heaven. I don't get it.

It was good, but nothing lasts forever. I knew we were nearing the end of our "happy waiting time" when I heard a Comanche war-cry and looked up to see her come barreling down the hall to the treatment arena, waving a stolen disposable nitrous oxide nose piece in one hand and a book in the other. There's a special place in my heart for good pediatric office staff. Truly. They perched her happily on the table beside James and fawned all over her while she pointed at James' head and said, "Ewwww!" and "Uh-oh!" (So comforting for him, I'm sure.)

The front desk ladies are nice, too, but Jess and I were laughing today over the almost Monty Python-esque approach of bookkeeping staff. There were things I did not buy this pay period, simply because I knew we were going to have two whomperdine dental visits today to pay for. So, I came semi-prepared to pay for them. The lady who handles checkout and bookkeeping mentioned there is a balance forward of nearly $400 (what insurance didn't pay, I think. We're not just slacking on our bills.) "Adding that to today's visit *tappity, tappity, tap*, and that'll be $600 and some change. Will that be debit or check?"

*snort* That would be a felony, wouldn't it, if I were to write a check that's that bad? Truly, we've been in several times a month, every month, for the last... what, six months? What would make you think I have ANY money left, let alone a spare six hundred to just pop right on out, here.

Without skipping a beat, she said, "Or, would you just like to pay half today?" Again, I think we're speaking past one another. If you couch it in terms of what I'd "like" to pay today, you may not get much. But in terms of what I'm "prepared" to pay today, I'm prepared to pay today's visit. Today. We'll have to budget for the rest.

*blank stare*
*blink*
Uh-huh. Well, if you're sure...

(As opposed to waiting for you to print out the receipt, whereupon the camera crew reveals itself and I yell, "Surprise!" Yes, I'm sure. Unless you're trying to hint to me that some surprise malfunction is going to befall me for this? You don't have armed hygienists in the parking lot, do you? Because if you do, I can leave the two small ones with you until payday... Of COURSE I'm sure.)

And then, in the blink of an eye, she's the Chipper Desk Lady again. It's pretty wild. I don't know yet what I'm going to do to throw her off next time. Perhaps I'll slip in one day when none of the children have an appointment and pay the balance. :-)

Now, at least, the children are all caught up. And it's all done properly. And that is a mighty fine feeling.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey.

Whew, long day. Longer day tomorrow. Saturday, I think I'll leave a trail of cereal around the kitchen island, and put out sponges soaked in milk. Sort of a deranged breakfast bar. Might stick some fruit on all the chairs, too, for nutritional balance. As long as nobody feels the need to inform the kids that this is a weird thing to do, I'm pretty sure they'll think it's a splendid way to begin the day. (It would be for me, as long as it bought me an extra hour of sleep.)

You know, this week has just about killed me, and I've spent the day wondering why. Why are people doing stoopid things? Why is my husband coming to me with really bad ideas, expecting me to leap at them with gusto and filial joy? Who stuck turkey slices to the couch, and why? (And when, come to think of it? I don't remember serving turkey...) Why are my nostrils stuffed up when I don't have a cold or allergies? Why am I so unbelievably tired all the time?

No answers, but I was startin' to feel like a real pansy.

Then a friend mentioned that she really thinks I ought to play the pregnancy card more often.

*ding-ding*

Oh. I get it now. Not that it's a card to play, but, der-de-der, I'm nine or ten weeks pregnant. I'm nauseaus. I'm hot. I'm hormonal. And I'm not sleeping well. I think we have a winner!

Really bad ideas are STILL really bad ideas, and I'm not going to be happy about them, pregnant or not. And I'd still love to know where the turkey came from.

But at least this answers *some* of my questions. I guess it would be boring to have *all* of them answered, right? (Right?)

Well, then. We're good.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Water and Politics

Wow, there were so many questions and suggestions I think I'd have logjammed the comment thing trying to respond there! Thanks for being so supportive and insightful and helpful. Most of all for making me laugh. It helps to keep a sense of humor about things like this, and right now it would seem there is an inverse relationship between pregnancy hormones and humor in a crisis. So, I'll just kind of address the questions here. The plans, however, are subject to change according to my hCG levels, whether I have creamer, and the direction of the wind.

So what happens now? Do you have to have a confrontation with your neighbors or is the water company going to take care of it? Will you get a credit for water paid for but not used? Is there going to be legal action? ACK! The unanswered questions are driving me crazy!

We looked at several options and have decided to go with "business as usual". There would be, if we were moving our water line, and the neighbors were not, in fact, parasitical thugs, no reason for us to contact our neighbors. It would be weird to contact them before hand, actually, because if they truly were upstanding citizens, we could set our water line on fire and it would not affect them. (Well, except for the burn ban that's in effect until October, but barring that...)

To contact them would accomplish nothing other than to raise the ire of the ignorant (are they going to drop to their knees, beg our forgiveness and ask, "How much do we owe ya for the last two years?" Um, no.), and the law on "theft of services" is pretty much a break even proposition. There are no penalties or fines or jail time. It's simply a reprimand to pay for the actual cash amount they've benefited in this (but "no more than $500"), and absolutely no guarantee that we'd be able to recoup attorney's fees. It's only a class C misdemeanor, so they'd still get off pretty much scott-free, but would have had plenty of time in the courtroom to memorize our features, and it could result in some kind of awkward confrontation which might include the shooting of our dog.

I'll answer the water company questions all at once, at the bottom.

Wait, so the water company knows your neighbors?Will they pursue this? Will they help you at all in fixing this? Is there any way to make sure that if you dig lines again they won't tap into THOSE?Are your neighbors sucking your power too?They put barbed wire and tree stumps across *their* drive? Why? So no one could come to their house?How soon can you dig new lines?

Oh, yes. The water company knows them. The cops know them. The ladies at the corner market know them. And not in the same, friendly, affectionate manner that everybody knew little Opie in Mayberry.

They aren't sucking our power. The house is just horribly inefficient. (Although I did make a point of ascertaining that all is well when the Elec. Co. replaced our transformer earlier this summer. Never hurts to check.) :-) The driveway issue happened the day we first came to look at the place. I'll link it -- well, huh. I thought I'd blogged about that, but I can't find a link to it. I'll have to do it another time. I'll go get pictures -- it's still there. Let's just say we had to build a driveway to get onto the property in order to be able to buy it.

We're relatively certain the water lines were tapped back in 1983, when the neighbors' house was built (family property - "sure you can tie into Daddy's line"). Then, their own line was set when this house was sold to the meth-family that came before us. They most likely just have a valve somewhere so they can switch at will. I don't think they have the wherewithal to tap the line right now. And honestly, while things do grow fast around here, it still takes a good year for a ditch scar to grow over completely. It's not something they could do without our noticing.

Will ANY action be taken against them? How will you prevent it from happening again?

Well, there's no way to forestall a truly determined criminal. But we don't believe they have that in mind. This was "there", it was easy, and nobody said anything until now. Not exactly noble of them, but we aren't concerned about drunk men in ski caps tripping through the poison ivy in the dead of night to tie back into our line. Not at the moment, anyway. And, like I mentioned, the State's coverage of this charge isn't worth pursuing, which really, why bother with legislation at that point? (OK, mostly. But still, pffft.)

The word 'prosecution' has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

*sigh* It does. Too bad the punishment isn't a punishment. I'd demand more of my seven year old in the way of setting things right than the law does of full-grown adults for theft. That is, perhaps, the most disappointing development in this whole case.

I guess the best thing to do is take that family off as dependents on your income tax :)

Now that is a fantastic idea! I like the way you think!

I'd also give a call to the water company and make SURE they are going to pursue action on this. Consider the Water Co's usual scumbag corporate position on this ... as far as they know, your water-grifters are a bunch of scumbag hillbillies who couldn't actually pay for their water, so the Water Co. may be quite content to let sleeping dogs lie since YOU are actually paying for it.

OK, the water, the water company, and so forth. Here's the skinny.

The Water Company is not responsible for this, and that's not some "scumbag corporate position". It's the logical conclusion, and the only right conclusion, intellectually, ethically, and legally. We contract with the water company to deliver water *to our property*. They run the main, they provide the meter. At that point, they've brought us water. It's on our property. The laying, maintenance, and use of the water line from the meter to its end, is our responsibility, just as it is with everything else that is on our property. What we do, or do not do, with that water, once it has been delivered, is up to us. It's ours. We've paid for it. The water company has fulfilled its contractual obligation to us by delivering said water to our property. The amount billed is based on the amount that passes through the meter (or, more directly, from their hands, to ours, at that junction).

A wonderful example is that if we were to come home and find our neighbors have broken into our home and hooked a hose up to our faucet and are stealing our water that way, we wouldn't expect the water company to do anything. That's our home, our faucet, and our water, on our property. It's not the water company's responsibility. Well, whether the water is taken from our faucet or from our water line makes no difference; it's on our property. That's not their responsibility -- it's ours. And the neighbor did not steal from them (it would be a different situation entirely if the neighbors had tapped into the main, which IS the water company's responsibility); they stole from us, so the issue is to be settled between us and the neighbors.

If someone steals from my garden, I'm not going to expect the feed store to replace the seeds. If someone steals from my closet, I'm not going to expect the thrift store to replace my clothing. If somebody comes into my drive and siphons out my tank, I'm not going down to Gina's to demand that she refill it for free. Private ownership of property is something we value very highly, and we do not expect anybody, particularly any business, to maintain liability for the use or abuse of their products once those products are in our possession.

The only reasonable thing that could be asked of the water company would be that they provide documentation that the line at the neighbors' address has been inactive, and the dates during which it has been inactive. Likewise, if one wanted to pursue the case in court, the Postal Service and the Electric Company both could be called upon to testify whether that home has been receiving mail or power, respectively, at that address during the same period of water utility inactivity. I have no doubt that they would gladly provide that information. Beyond that, I have no right to ask anything more of them. They have a job to do and they did it.

Conversely, we have a job to do, and we did not do it. If there must be finger pointing (beyond at the neighbors for stealing in the first place -- I think we all agree they are at fault on their end), we would have to admit that we've dropped the ball on maintaining our water line's integrity and being proactive about investigating the water use. We could have stopped this sooner had we done so. That responsibility lies entirely on us, and while we do not hold ourselves culpable for premeditated theft, we couldn't look to a company that did provide what it was contracted to provide without first looking very closely at ourselves. Due diligence -- it's not just a comfortable phrase to throw around, it's an important thing to practice daily. We've learned our lesson. The hard way.

Zorak and I have NO beef whatsoever with the water company.

And so, hopefully, this will soon come to a quiet, if awkward end. We can move forward into autumn and winter and all the fun that that brings (and hey - at least this winter the pipes will be properly insulated and won't freeze when we have a snap frost I didn't see coming! Yesssss!)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Angela!!

I am SO glad to hear from you! I need your email! Please leave it in the comments section, and I'll get it from there, but not post the comment.

{{hugs}} Dy
*edited to add: Thanks, sweetie!!*

Check, check, 1,2, 3...

Lessons? *check*

Meals? *check*

Practice? *check*
(Sub-check-list for practice:
drinks *check*
uniform *check*
...with all the parts in the right place *check*
snacks *check*
chair!! *check*
cell phone for directions *check*
can-do attitude *check* - ish...
four children leaving the house
four children returning home *check-check*
(Did it have to be the same four children?)

Fret over things I cannot control? *CHECK*

Talk with girlfriends who make me laugh and snort coffee out my nose? *check, thankfully*

Some days are just like that.

Kiss those babies! *check*
~Dy

Mystery... Solved

OK, so the Great Water Mystery of '07 seems to be coming to an end. I can't believe it.

I first blogged about it here. With an update, here. And I blogged when my mental capacity for logical reasoning was put to the test.

Today I went to the Water Co. to pay our past-due bill (because even under protest, you've got to pay it or they'll turn it off, and that wouldn't do any of us any good!) The counter lady finally let me talk to the maintenance guy. He was great. He ran his own numbers and tried to give me the, "Well, we're a household of four, and we use 143 gallons a day." Song. Dance. Whatever. I asked whether all four people shower daily? (Yep.) And he waters his garden, no? (Yes.) And his lawn? (Oh, um, why yes.) And does he, by chance, have a pool? (Yeah, yeah we do.) Well, then he listened to OUR water habits and it clicked. From that point, on, he was very helpful in helping me figure out how to find the problem.

We walked through all of the things to look for, and how we've already looked for them. Down to using the cell phones while one of us stood at the meter and watched as the other one said, "OK, I'm flushing the toilet now." Or "OK, I'm filling a one gallon jug right now." The meter works, down to the gallons. (It might have an error of <10%, which isn't something we can do anything about.)

I steeled myself, and asked, "Could you give me the reading for 123 Forever Home Rd.?" They pulled it up. There's no account for that address. There IS an account for 127 Forever Home Rd., but it's not active. Been listed as "vacant" for a couple of years. (On the county GIS, 127 IS the house next to ours. I don't know why their mail box says 123.)

The silence in the office was painfully loud, as the implications of this information sank in. People looked at one another and raised their eyebrows. I stood there, praying for all I'm worth, that none of the people standing there are related to either of the families historically associated with this property.

EmBaby broke the silence by slamming into the glass door and yelling at the baby who'd hit her in the face. Then the maintenance guy, with one look around (as if for confirmation or the go-ahead) raised an eyebrow at me and said, "So, um, can you go out of town for a week, or so? You know, lock your meter with a padlock when you go."

That broke the spell. The room erupted in nervous chuckles, and the knowing looks as people said, "Well, we know the C's and the H's, don't we?"

There's no well on the neighbors' property, so they aren't getting their water from a well, and now we know they aren't getting it from the county.

The general consensus is that we've been paying for their water all along. And that they knew it. They had theirs turned off sometime before we bought the place. With the shared power lines, and all of the other "oddities" we've encountered so far. (Strange cars in our meadow, down by the water lines, the barbed wire and tree stumps and spray paint across the drive, the guy who switched out our meter not able to say where the neighbors' meter was at the time, the water never being turned off while we were negotiating the purchase, it goes on and on... one oddity after another, all compiling to make it look like our neighbors are, well, less than stellar citizens. Certainly not good neighbors.)

I was able to choke out, "Well, 'not being from around here,' I never know when I'm about to step into a hornet's nest. But yes, that was our original thought." Nobody jumped me for it. They said from our records, our logs, the reputation that family has for grifting and such, along with everything else we've shown, it's almost a certainty that the neighbors are tapped into our water line.

So.

Huh.

Well, good to know I'm not imagining things. Or thinking we're so water-savvy, when, in fact, we're water-sucking buffaloes. That's good.

So why doesn't the knot in my stomach feel any smaller? Hmpf.

I'm gonna go kiss my babies, and try to remind them that they are always, always responsible for their actions. Be truthful, be kind, be diligent. It's so, so important.

~Dy

Divested of the plague, we carry on...

We've had a wonderful first week back to school. No, really, the little things that happened are little things that, well, happen. Life is funny; it does that. We simply pause, adjust, and move on.

In our Baldwin readings,
...we finished the couple of stories we had left of The Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said. We were all sad to see it end. It feels like there should be many more stories to be told. I suppose that's the sign of a gifted writer, and I look forward to more of Padraic Column's work. (His book, The Children's Homer, is one we've enjoyed more than once over the years.)
...and then we began Celtic Fairy Tales. The boys have noticed that these stories have a different tone, different themes, and different morals to them than the Greek and Roman stories we've been reading. A fun beginning. (Oh, James just came to me and said, "Wait! We don't have to print that one. We have it." I thought he meant we'd already printed it out, but, no, it was in 'the box in the car'! A real, bound copy! WOOHOO!)

We finished The Return of the Indian. Abrupt ending, there, but that left plenty of time for discussions about magic and mystery, people and places, and where we'd go with a magic key. (Because, seriously, they're 8, 7, and three -- how could we pass up all those lovely ideas?)

We finished The Railway Children. I did not, contrary to rumors spread by certain small males, cry as much as with The Littlest Angel. At least I could actually finish The Railway Children aloud, okay? Hrumpf. Okay.

Beowulf has slain Grendel (I'm guessing I don't need to post a spoiler alert with this, right?), and last night he sank to do battle with the Water Witch. Emily is not so fond of this story, but the boys? Riveted. Absolutely riveted. "His men were so loyal," said the boys. Yes. Yes, they were. What a lovely quality to notice, isn't it?

And I, in my Mommy Reading Time, just finished an enchanting journey through India with the Little Friend of All The World, Kim. It took a bit for me to delve into, as Kipling really does require more mental acuity than I willingly put forth in my personal reading time. But it's always, always worth the effort, and in the end, it was such a delightful way to spend a few summer evenings.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Ah, and this is where we diverge...

So far, there have only been a couple of instances where I've found myself completely unable to connect with the football folks on any level at all. Of course, we haven't even had a game yet, so who knows what that means. Both of these situations have left me pretty jaded toward the football community, and more confident in what we're doing with our overall philosophy toward life.

First case:
This little guy we'll call Dexter. (No, of course it's not his real name - I could use his real name because there are about 6.8 million of them in the South, but that's okay. I like Dexter.) Poor kid cries. A lot. He's not used to this, he's never played sports before at all, and we've had record-breaking heat. He's probably 30 pounds overweight, but I think they weigh on a curve down here, anyway. His parents seem to be accustomed to his crying, and he gets about as much empathy from them as, say... well, none. He's a sweet boy. He cries and cries, but he gets out there and tries. Gotta give the little guy credit.

His Dad was a little encouraging. His Mom turned out to be one of the women I had avoided studiously at the football camp. You know the kind, her kids are harder on her than any other mother's children, her labor was more damaging/difficult/dangerous/etc. than anybody else's ever, her husband is a bigger slacker/less observant/stoopider than any other man on earth. These women, I Avoid. Like. The. Plague.

So, last week, Dexter is practicing, but he's favoring one arm. And he's crying. (He hadn't cried in two days!) His mother starts telling me that he'd hurt it the day before (Monday, I'd missed that practice), but that she'd made him keep practicing, using the argument that he'd "just sprained it real bad". She'd told him not to show the coach. And Tuesday morning, she had made him write his name, and he could do it, although he cried the entire time and "he couldn't eat", but she sent him to school anyway. I looked over at the boy, and could see from several yards off that his wrist was bigger than my ankles are 8.5 months into pregnancy! And there was a huge bump. My immediate thought was, "That kid has broken his arm!" As I turned to ask his mother just how stupid she really was (not normally something I'd actually do, but I'd reached a saturation point with this woman over the last two weeks), the boy walked up to tell his mother the coach had called him over and told him to go get it x-rayed. Right. Now.

She was a little put off that they had to go to the hospital. I don't know if it even dawned on her that she wasn't treating her child very well. Or that, perhaps, she was wrong. She wasn't in a hurry to pack it up, and made him carry all his gear. We haven't seen him since, and today was weigh-in. Zorak took James, so I don't know if Dexter made it for that, or if he'll be out for the season. It breaks my heart to think this little guy is going to live with the attitude that, somehow, it's his fault. With that woman, it always is the kids' fault or the husband's fault. I'll be sorry to see the little guy go, but not so much about not seeing his mother.

Second Case:
Ball-Carrying Positions. In this league, a player cannot weigh more than 85 pounds to play a ball-carrying position. The point being, if you're *that* much bigger than everybody else on the field and you have the ball most of the time, you'll be the cause of nightmares, broken bones, and possibly some post-season bed-wetting among the slight-of-build crowd. We have a couple who came in over 100#, so they obviously won't be in ball-carrying positions.

But I learned yesterday that one little boy lived at the coach's house this past week. The first week of school. He's 8. And he lived at the coach's house for "intensive dieting and physical therapy," so that he could "make weight". In seven days, this boy went from 91 pounds to 85 pounds. Now, lest you think I just "don't get it", I do. I remember the guys in high school walking around in sweat suits for a week before a weigh-in. I remember the guys taking protein shakes and power bars for wrestling weigh-ins. This isn't a completely foreign concept to me (although I do find it ironic that it's perfectly acceptable for a young man to do this to himself, when we acknowledge how damaging and dangerous this practice can be for young ladies -- but that's another topic for another day). I remember one guy getting sick and winding up in the hospital from taking diuretics, too.

But these kids, the ones I'm talking about today, are 7 and 8 years old! And it's not as if the coach and this kid's parents did this for his overall health and well-being, to help him develop a healthier lifestyle. No, he has two all-you-can-eat meals awaiting him "anywhere you want, after you make weight". Because who cares what he weighs once they've got him approved for a ball-carrying position?

There's more to life than football. And it's obvious that some people do not get it. I know some of you out there will disagree with me, and that's fine. I'm not going to back down from my position that children are not pawns. Children are not tools to be used. If this is all about the game, then why are we putting kids through this? Last I checked, a "game" doesn't involve this kind of manipulation in order to "win". And really, who's winning in these two cases? Nobody. Certainly not the children, that's for sure.

This time, I'll be the one to say it: we definitely aren't from around here.

Kiss those babies, and go easy on them. You only get one shot at this.
~Dy

Cool Celtic Resource

Well, it looks interesting. I, obviously, do not know enough to know what to do with this information. But maybe one of you will. :-) At any rate, you can hear words pronounced, and that should make our Celtic Legends read-alouds go Much. More. Smoothly.

TAIC

Blech

Five of six are stricken with some kind of Tremors-like intestinal parasite. It hit... while we were at the market. (Grocery day, what better day to catch the plague?)

We stopped at the sporting goods store and started to run in (and I do mean r-u-n) to grab a new chin strap, when I opened the back door to find one child curled in a ball, crying silently. "My neck hurts."

Ack! Meningitis! Possibly Malaria! Wait, does malaria cause a stiff neck? No. Yellow fever? Hmmm. Wait, is it on the inside or the outside? "The inside, where I swallow." Oh. *phew* That's alright, then, isn't it?

Sprite, crackers, rice, and hot tea for all of us. Throat lozenges for the achy one. Doctor can see us en masse tomorrow at eleven. God bless that man.

But I didn't get a chair. We couldn't all stand still for that long. Ah, well, perhaps tomorrow.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Home Economics, Part 1

Home Ec, as a high school course of study, takes a lot of knocks. Some, admittedly, are well-deserved. My brother took Home Ec in high school to get an "easy A", and to meet girls. (Both plans worked quite nicely.) Thirty years later, I took the same class (though not for the same reasons), with... the same teacher. I did learn a few things:

1) There is a school of thought that says you will go straight. to. hell. if you open your cookbook and leave it on the counter while you're cooking. The only people allowed in heaven are those who dutifully transfer all their recipes onto index cards (preferably then laminating the cards), and keep cookbooks stored out of the kitchen at all times.

Yeah, this did wonders for the instructor's legitimacy in the eyes of a bunch of junior high kids. I can tell you now that if it weren't for the grease stains and bits of stuff stuck to my recipe pages, I wouldn't ever be able to find the right pages. I hope they have double ovens in hell. :-S

2) All you need to know about nutrition you can learn from the Four Food Groups, no, I mean, the Food Pyramid, erm, wait, from the Five A Day poster... and all you plebes who are still following the Basic Four Square from the Stone Age know nothing. Not like the government NOW knows. NOW it's infallible. NOW we've learned all there is to know. (Until the next revision.)

Nothing like a little PBS cartoon-based educational film to prepare young people for going out to forage for themselves in a couple of years, eh?

3) You will have to model in front of a hundred other students (who also don't want to be there) whatever hideous project you end up sewing. Whether that impacts your project choice or not -- entirely up to you. But now you've been warned.

This is when I learned that knits are not for the intemperate, and that a sewing machine WILL sew straight through your pinky finger and spit it back out the other side before you can get out enough bad words to be sent to the Principal's office. (True story.)

And that's... it. That is all I learned after nine long months of taking Home Economics.

Imagine my surprise when I learned you can actually Major in that in college. (You can, wait, what? No. *snort* You can't be serious?) YES! And what's even better? It's a great degree. A degree in Home Economics is a very rich, well-developed Bachelor of Science degree that offers far more than the milktoast high school programs would lead most people to believe. Some of the studies included in college level Home Economics programs include:

Chemistry
food science
economics
math
chemistry (got a little carried away, there)
nutrition
dietary development needs
child development
home management (budgeting, etc.)
cultural studies/sociology
merchandising
textiles
agriculture
husbandry
soil conservation
water management
safety and sanitization (both private and commercial)
food management...

There is a host of other beneficial topics, depending on the focus of study for degree plans within BSHE programs. What a fantastic degree program! Many of the programs I've looked at include teaching certification, corelated to the specialization the student chooses. The only drawback I see in the Home Economics field is that so very much of it is relegated to government jobs. There's no reason for the private sector not to jump on these. There are so many innovative opportunities that are waiting to be made use of by an enterprising individual with a Home Ec. degree. But I guess if most of us just don't know about it outside the out-dated high school classroom set up, it would make sense that it often slips under the radar for those not previously inclined to look into the social services or service/food industry degree applications.

Anyway, all this to say that we've always planned to include "Home Ec", in some manifestation, in the children's studies, but in a vague, not-certain-how-to-pull-it-off, sort of way. Now we're getting closer to building a defined scope and sequence for a year-long high school level course that would work beautifully toward providing children with the knowledge and tools they'll need to manage the Economics of their Homes, as well as to develop an interdisciplinary approach (an almost holistic approach, really) to managing their own decision making processes. It's a lot bigger than making a t-shirt and brownies, and I'm really excited about it.

In the meantime, of course, we cannot just sit idly by and "waaaiiiittt, wait for it..." We include them in all ages and stages in discussions on money management, budgeting choices, allocating funds and projecting plans for future options, preparing meals, maintaining the home (the car, the lawnmower), caring for our bodies, meeting the needs that need to be met, in general, "how it all comes together". Perhaps that's what's helping the high school course idea to gel: seeing what needs to be addressed, and then, addressing it.

And that's how we spent our evening after the children were in bed: discussing ideas, options, tie-ins, and benefits of various courses of study. What a delightful evening!

If you could create, or re-write a high school level course, what would you choose? What would you do differently? What would you incorporate? And have you done it? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

School, Schedules, and Reading Aloud

According to the weather channel, it's 104 outside right now. (It's 108, according to the bank display.) But what's the humidity? Nobody is willing to say. Is it because they think we'll all become despondent and burrow into the earth until Halloween? (Because we have been thinking about it, already.)

We're back in full-on school mode now. It's good to be back. It's good to have routine. The children didn't forget *all* of their lessons. James needs a bit of review with math, and John needs a bit of review with phonics. Otherwise, though, they're pretty well on board.

I did panic on two books, because we aren't quite finished with them yet and I know we've been diligent about our studies up until the last month... and you know the monologue that follows:

what are we doing wrong? How did this happen? How can we be so far from done when it's time for the next year?!?! Am I just not teaching the material? Are they simply not mastering it and so we are not moving on?

Then I remembered: we didn't start those two books until November of last year. So, that would put us, oh, right about where we are. Ah. Yes. Time for more coffee.

This year looks a lot like last year, with the exception of the next level books.

Monday - Thursday, regular school.
Fridays - science and history project days.

Daily Work:
Latin
Math
Reading (Includes History, Science, Literature and Free Reading)
Writing (James is going to hate this part, but hopefully he'll survive.)
Narration

Mon, Wed:
History

Tues, Thurs:
Science

James and John will both have spelling 1x a week. They don't seem to need much more of that just now, although we plan to stay alert and flexible. We're still working our way through the Ayers Extended Word list from Writing Road to Reading. Memory work will come from a variety of sources. This year we would like to host an Open House, although I'm still not sure how to put that on. If you've done them, please share your ideas, tips, stunning successes, and would-rather-die-than-repeat-them failures. Pretty please?

The older two are thoroughly enjoying Stories of Beowulf. That little one, though, he's the reason mothers don't read aloud. Not if they can help it.

Whosis Bee-oh-wuff? Why? Whys him dooos dat? Whosis Rotgar? Whys hes not fighting? Whats a sea-people? Whosis they? Whatsis theys names?

This is particularly challenging, as this book was written in 1908. It has a cadence and flow that take me a while to slip into comfortably. I've broken it into a formula.

No flow = no comfort.
No comfort = verbal bloopers.
Verbal bloopers = utter, riotous chaos.

By the time I've got the big ones to quit sniggering at my bloopers (although some of them are funny), the Small One has thought of more questions.

And heaven help me if it's a book with illustrations. It seems this small one has visual sensors in his fingers. And they're slow to process information. Every illustration means an additional ten minutes of waiting, waiting, explaining, waiting. It took me an HOUR to read a chapter of The Railway Children last night. An HOUR. This is not Dante we're reading, here.

But *inhale, exhale, try not to hyperventilate* to him it is. His "whosis" and "whatsis" and "whyses" are just as important and necessary to him as the questions Zorak and I ask on the porch at night about raising young men and DangerGirl into adulthood. Just as important as finding the mouse in Goodnight Moon. Just as necessary as learning to talk, to read, to Be. And if I can suck it up now and not scar his memories of these stories, he will eventually learn that the story makes much more sense when told in some sort of connected fluid momentum.

And at least he doesn't hang from my forehead and scream anymore. So there is progress.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

OK, I admit it. I was never a little boy!

For the most part, boys are so easy, so intuitive. I love my boys. But there are a few things I just don't get, and I'm willing to attribute them to my being female.

1. Peeing on the toilet lid. Granted, this is in the middle of the night, and if you're awoken from a dead sleep to answer a call to nature, you're not expected to be at your Rocket Scientist Best. Still. Is there no warning system anywhere in the wiring that lets them know something is not right? If Clorox hadn't invented their wipes, I probably wouldn't have been able to bring myself to have touched a toilet in the last six years.

2. Testosterone Play. I don't get that. How, exactly, are you to know the difference between being spiked in the head from behind with a football in fun, or in fiery aggression? You know, if one of my friends walked up behind me and slammed her diaper bag into the back of my head, the response would not be one of frivolity and camaraderie. Ever. But the boys on the field seem to know which is which. I have no idea how to impart this information to my sons. Hopefully they can infer what they'll need in order to survive. Meanwhile, I'm on the sidelines, feeling like Jane Goodall in her early years.

3. Faces. Silly faces in the mirror, in the window, in store display glass, at one another. I don't mind this one, but I also don't get it. It's not a game, it's a pastime. A hobby. A Way of Life. Little boys feel about making silly faces the way little girls feel about... I don't know, something else. Something pretty darned important to little girls. But the faces -- they're never ending!

That's pretty much it. Not bad, really. I do consider myself blessed. It's a good life, this. It's funny, a little stinky (one of the hazards of bodily function jokes, which I will never admit to the boys, but Zorak knows, I do find mostly funny), and always interesting. And there is nothing quite like watching your son do something, knowing his yardstick is Dad, and beaming with love and pride and joy in his eyes when he feels like he's getting it right. That look, I hope to see over and over again in the years to come. That look, I think I understand.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Clickbook Update -- It works!

I was going to say I could die happy, now. But no. I have a lot of printing to do, first. ;-) You may remember I blogged some time ago about finding this print manager, ClickBook, and that I wanted to try it out. Being the genetic procrastinator that I am, it is now six months later, and I gave it a shot.

I just printed out the first three chapters of The Baldwin Project's Stories of Beowulf Told to the Children, using ClickBook -- and

I have a perfect little book in my hands!

The first three chapters, including front matter and all the images (a total of 26 pages, with my settings) printed out using 7 sheets of paper. Seven! The best I could do before that would have been 13 sheets! Do you *know* how delightful that is?

And I can have it bound at Staples for about $2.00!!

And it fits in the boys' backpacks! Or, in my backpack. Oh. Oh. This is delightful.

I can make workbooks based on our reading (because I have those offbeat children who clamor for workbooks, as fate would have it).

I can make the church booklets in the blink of an eye! No more brain-straining formatting for me! Hee hee!

Ooooooo, I can make my own day planners! (Alright, now I'm just feeding the monkey. But let me bask, okay?)

Now that I've listed a pro (or three), there are a few quirks:
1) The little second side printing instruction sheet that comes out with your print job? It LIES. Don't believe it, unless you want to print your pages upside down. So, do it the way it says not to do it (at least on my Brother HL-2070N, anyway.)

2) I downloaded the free trial copy, and it prints with an annoying banner in the header and footer of EVERY PAGE. "Blue Squirrel * www.bluesquirrel.com" at the top, and "ClickBook Trial Version * Sales: etc. etc. etc." It seems obvious that the "trial version" footer will not print if I buy the software. I need to confirm that the "blue squirrel" header won't print, either, because it's annoying.

3) Staples is not, for some silly reason, OPEN at one in the morning, and so I cannot toodle on down there right-stinkin'-now to have something bound.

But you know, truly, I can live with most of that. Staples has to open eventually. And if this continues to work this easily, I'm most definitely going to buy the full version. (I have seven days left to figure it out.) And, eh, ignore directions? Not. A. Problem.

Our school year just got a whole lot more affordable. Life is good.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

High School

I stole this from Staci. She didn't tag me, but that's okay. She likes me, anyway. :-)


1. Who was your best friend?
I don't remember having a best friend in high school. I did have several wonderful friends, though.

2. Did you play any sports?
Track my sophomore year, but that was b/c my ride also did track and I needed something to do. I wasn't a sportsy person. At least, not until I became an adult and "backpacking" was considered a sport. :-)

3. What kind of car did you drive?
1971 Chevy pickup. Still have it.

4. It’s Friday night. Where were you?
Hmmm, either at work or out with friends.

5. Were you a party animal?
The mere thought makes me laugh.

6. Were you considered a flirt?
I cringe to even think about it. I didn't think so, but looking back, ugh, probably.

7. Were you in the band, orchestra or choir?
No.

8. Were you a nerd?
Definitely.

9. Were you ever suspended or expelled?
Oh, no. Nono. That would have been terrifying.

10. Can you sing the fight song?
Too many high schools, and I never learned any of them.

11. Who was your favorite teacher?
Barbara Harber, the Academic Decathalon teacher.

12. What was your school mascot?
Freshman year - Badger Pups
Sophomore year - Bears
Junior year - Eagles
Senior year - Badgers, then Matadors

13. Did you go to the Prom?
Twice, but not my senior year.


14. If you could go back, would you?
No. I survived, and did it almost solely so that I could live this very life. While it's tempting to go back and undo the stoopid mistakes, that would also undo who I am now. Sort of that whole killing a butterfly thing. Makes me twitchy.

15. What do you remember most about graduation?
It was hot. My mother was mad that I wanted to go to dinner with friends and not out with my family (Mom, sister, and niece). I had agreed to go out with family, but Mom pitched such a fit during the actual ceremony that nobody wanted to go. So we skipped it. Niece went out and partied with the kids who graduated. *sigh*

16. Where were you on Senior Skip Day?
I have no idea, but I was on campus somewhere, in classess and all that good stuff.

17. Did you have a job your senior year?
Um, yes. I worked as a telemarketer. I did a buttload of volunteer work, also.

18. Where did you go most often for lunch?
Jr. year, we went to Dion's pizza. Sr. year, we all walked to somebody's house for lunch. There were four of us all within two blocks of the school that year.

19. Have you gained weight since then?
Not really. I wasn't what you'd call "wispy" to begin with.

20. What did you do after graduation?
Went to see my Dad in the hospital, then back to the hotel.

21. What year did you graduate?
1991

22. Who was your Senior Prom Date?
I didn't actually go to prom my Senior year. Junior year I went with Dale Hester. He put so much into making it such a sweet evening. Good guy. Sophomore year I went with Paul Lee, one of my dearest friends - we doubled with another friend and his girlfriend (that was awkward, actually). Both were great guys, and we had a lovely time.

23. Are you going/did you go to your 10 year reunion?
I'd wanted to go, but the date conflicted with Corona Days. I'm glad we went to Corona Days, with family, instead. Those are the people who mean so much to me now, and that was good. Maybe I'll catch the 20th?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Back to a small family

Oh, it was so good to see Kris and David today. They look good. Tired, obviously been on the road this week, but good. Contented. Happy. Enthusiastic. You know, *good*.

I think getting their wee ones back under their wings did wonders for the enthusiasm level.
It was helpful to be able to get all the paperwork, filing, searching, loading, shipping, etc. done without worrying about the boys, and that was good. But once a mama, always a mama, and it just feels better to have your chicks back in your own nest.
We had a fantastic visit, and then they headed out. We'd planned to get right back to work on the windows, but...

it was over 100' today...

and that ceiling fan on the porch sure is nice...

combined with iced tea...

and uber-friendly butterflies...


well, the windows can wait.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy