If you don't mind the construction dust, come on in. The coffee's hot, the food's good, and the door is open...
Wednesday, October 24
Still No Card
When she called back, she began the conversation with, "I have all the original paperwork here, and I've *just* re-faxed the copy of your birth certificate to Montgomery."
What?
"Well, sometimes faxes don't go through, and we have no way of knowing."
What?!? (I'm sorry, but the last time I worked in the corporate world, it was for Xerox, and I am very well aware that fax confirmation is a standard feature on business machines. And that was ten years ago. You know when it went through.) So what she meant to say was, "Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. I never checked."
I asked if she has, oh, a phone number in Montgomery, so that she could call down there to confirm whether they received it. She said it's their policy to wait. Then she started in on how difficult it is to get a number for a child if you don't do it immediately upon birth, and that's why hospitals handle it, and really, if we hadn't waited so long...
(Sooooo, if we hadn't waited so long, you'd have checked to see if the fax went through? Or if we hadn't had a homebirth, you wouldn't have your hackles up? What, exactly, is the problem, here? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like Federal Gov't inefficiency, to me.)
I cut her off and let her know that I expect to hear from her regularly on this, and I will be calling weekly until I have a number. (What other options do I have? If there's a way to be more proactive on this, or circumvent the woman, please fill me in.)
And yes, yes I do look at situations like this and absolutely wonder at how anybody thinks nationalizing any industry is a good idea. It's a terrifying concept.
argh.
Dy
Tuesday, October 23
Oh, yeah, let's make it BIGGER
Well, the doctor's office put together a "packet", which they hoped would suffice. It included a vaccination card (which is empty, but it's filled in w/ the required information, and a note on the bottom that we have opted to delay vaccines). The SS lady held it up, *scoffed at me* and said, "And just where, exactly, did you get THIS from?" I got it, exactly, from the child's pediatric office, and it was one item which *your* office expressly cited as "acceptable". She furrowed her brows at me, "It's empty."
Well, hey, she doesn't have to be vaccinated in order to get a ss#. (That'll come later, under Universal Health Care.) I'm providing this as one of YOUR acceptable forms of ID. *big smile*
She wouldn't accept it. I guess it looked fake.
Fortunately, the rest of the packet, although each individual piece of evidence was dismissed, did, when taken as a whole, provide enough information that they couldn't show us the door without more effort than it was worth.
Now she'll send the copy of the original birth certificate (the copy she made, herself, from the original, there in the office) to Montgomery, where they will verify that it is "an exact copy of the original", and then they will mail us the card.
Honestly, if the use and abuse of a social security number were better monitored (and abuses prosecuted) -- if there was any validation for all of this "security", I wouldn't mind so much. But as it stands, they are holding our money (tax refund) hostage until we jump through the mystery hoops. It's ridiculous.
So, we're well past the three week mark. Or the six week mark. We're sneaking up on the eight week mark, and we thought FOR CERTAIN there'd be a social security number waiting for us at the post office. Nope. Not even a hint of a number, or a note, or a Dear John letter. Nothing.
I'd called in the past to check on the status, and every time, I have to hang up after five or six minutes on hold because, well, children get hungry. Or poop. Or mutiny. Today, I hung in there. Thirty three minutes on hold, but I got a human.
A human who has no record of our application, my existence, or EmBaby's birth. Mmmmm, yeah. OK, so this is working well, no? Sure! What else can we put the Federal Gov't in charge of, while we're at it? Gah.
Kiss those babies ~ legal, or not. ;-)
Dy
Well, this is just weird
It took me a minute to clear the fog, but a foot to the kidney quickly brought it all into focus: Embaby was in our bed. Ahhh, okay. I think I remember something. It was dark, she was crying, I brought her to bed with us. After that, it all goes black. I went back to sleep. Zorak slept. However, from piecing together the evidence, it seems she didn't go back to sleep (like ALL the other children did in similar situations - I thought it was safe!) I've been up a little over an hour, now, and I'm finding evidence at every turn that she went foraging, exploring, one might say rampaging, finally collapsing back in our bed after a night of toddler partying that would have made John Belushi cringe.
Pistachio shells, sucked clean, lay along the couch. Garlic, lemon-lime, green chile, and red chile. It's all there.
An old-fashioned candy stick (the kind you get at Cracker Barrel) was stuck to the floor in the hallway, half-gnawed and still in the wrapper. We haven't been to Cracker Barrel in a while...
There were several naked dolls and various hard, poky things piled atop my pillow. Gifts, or threats? It's hard to tell, really.
There's a damp washrag on the floor behind my chair. I'm not even going to ask.
She keeps this up, though, and I'm getting ear plugs for me and a lid for her crib. I just hope this isn't indicative of how the rest of the day will go.
Kiss those strange little babies!
~Dy
Monday, October 22
Don't tell the kids, but we're such softies...
Sweet Relief
Compliments of The Weather Channel. See that patch of dark green? We're in that! WOOHOO! A reprieve from the drought!
Well, that's certainly a good reason to
We'll probably go play in it for a bit, too, if it's one of those warm, fall rains. (If it's not, then the kids will probably go play in it while I sit on the porch and wonder "what's wrong with kids these days". Heh. Yep.)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, October 21
What's Wrong With This Picture?
Um, we don't have chickens.
They can't hold our dog responsible if he snaps under this kind of temptation, can they?
Anyhow, we're home. Safe and sound. It's a beautiful Autumn Day here in the South, and we're enjoying it to the fullest!
Kiss those babies!
Dy
Wednesday, October 17
An Outing
The two older ones seemed to have been infected by some kind of brain-eating worm that heads straight for the I Know Better Cortex. The two small ones, I sincerely suspected, had been slipped a small dose of crack. As it turns out, however, the dust and pollen counts were horribly high, the winds were horrific, and I think they all had a terrific case of allergies. Benadryl to the rescue! (trumpet sounds the charge in the distance) Since then, everyone seems to be drug and brain-eating-worm free. Yay!
The milking demonstration was interesting, from beginning to end. Poor Bessie, however, is currently suffering from mastitis. She was very patient right up until the hands put the iodine on her teats. Then her head shot straight up, and her poor eyes bulged right to the verge of falling out of her head. I was right there with her, man. I don't care if you're human or bovine - mastitis is miserable, period. The boys were disappointed to learn they couldn't try, or purchase, the raw milk from the milking. One of them mused that mastitis milk probably isn't very good. (I kept my mouth shut today, but that's certainly some leverage, or therapy, in a few years, don't you think?)
We stopped by Sissa's place to see how her son's project is coming along (Homecoming float for his fraternity- she's the ultimate College Mom, and has allowed the kids to completely take over the back yard), let the kids play with her dogs (while she and I both giggled over the fact that she, who has always had Irish Wolf Hounds, is now running a home for wayward small dogs), and enjoyed some coffee and a chat. EmBaby got my coffee and wouldn't give it back until she'd drained most of it. The cup was bigger than her head, and she was so funny as she'd sidle away from me, saying, "mmmm! Coppee! Num! Coppee." You'd think by child number four, I wouldn't be incapacitated by the utter cuteness of such antics. But I am.
Wednesday and Thursday, we spent a lot of time with Gram. The kids watched more Cartoon Network than I should've allowed, but it was a nice treat for them. We'll be back to rabbit ears in a while, and they're in heaven right now. Gram's been feeling fairly well, and so she's been up for story telling, filling me in on the stories of her childhood and her time raising the children. She's such a gentle, funny lady. I want to age gracefully and mellow like that.
Yesterday was a raw day for a couple of us. I cried a lot. I'm very tired, and a little out of sorts. As nice as this visit has been, and as much as we've all learned, it'll be nice to be home again. Be nice to get back to our routine (and address that gnawing sensation in the back of my head that the children are going to forget everything they've ever learned about math before we can get to it again - y'all know that feeling).
Zorak's mother came down last night, and we had a good visit. She stayed here, so we'll get to see her this morning before we board the plane and head back to the South. Our Wonderful Neighbor Claudia said a few dirty words when she filled me in on the humidity we've got there right now, so I'm going to go wallow in the arid, crisp air this morning and gulp down a few deep, dry breaths to brace me against the change.
Learning From the Masters
They anticipate every need with mind boggling speed. Before you know you're thirsty, there's a glass of water set before you. And, oh, it's very good. Before you can get to the washing machine to help with the laundry, two loads are hung, one's drying, and another is going in. Where'd they find all this stuff to wash? Just when you're thinking perhaps you might be able to make a grocery run, one of them slides into the living room to see if anybody else needs anything because she's heading out to Sam's. Um...
Even guests receive the red carpet treatment without so much as a hiccough in the running and maintenance of the household. I can't do that under the best of circumstances, but these ladies are masters. True masters. They carry in them the wisdom and habituation of those who've never disdained the call to serve. They have internalized every nuance of every aspect of life, and now, they wear the mantles of comforter, helper, nurse, cheif cook and bottle washer (and many more, some of which I only see the results of, but have no idea what to call them) with such grace and efficiency that although you're right there, in the middle of it, you still don't see how it all comes together.
So. Yes, I'm pretty useless, in spite of my desire to help. But I'm learning, watching, (probably pestering, as well). I've got to figure this out, because these ladies are just the women you want to arrive on your doorstep when you most need help and cannot articulate exactly what you need. They'll know. They'll get on it. You'll take a deep breath and realize, hey, everything's going to be alright. I want to be these ladies. (If you have a crisis at my house right now, about all you're likely to get is hot coffee and place to collapse. I can't even promise you quiet or comfort.) Here, at Aunt B's, though, there is company and comfort abounding, and everything that can be taken care of, is. Pretty amazing stuff. Pretty amazing women.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Saturday, October 13
Hi from NM!
The boys are holding up well, considering we've now been on the road for nearly a week and a half with a quick do-the-wash-clean-the-fridge break in there midway through. EmBaby needs to do a little more traveling. Sheesh, all this Need For Routine is going to be the death of her! But, in all, she's handling things like a trooper, eating food from whomever will feed her, and sleeping wherever she passes out. I think in time she'll be quite the well-seasoned traveler.
The weather is fantastic. Mid-80's, which seems awful for October, but really, when the humidity is under 30%, it's absolutely gorgeous. We all sat on the driveway last night, snacking and chatting and thoroughly enjoying the company in the beautiful desert evening air. We couldn't ask for a more comforting environment, from the company to the weather.
Thank you, all, for your kind thoughts, and well wishes. I will pass them on to Aunt B. and the rest of the family. They are much appreciated.
And now, I'm off to round up the babies and head back to the coral (hotel).
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, October 11
Uncle Fred
If you've been reading here for long, you know all about Aunt B and Uncle Fred. They are who we want to be when we grow up. They are a huge part of keeping Family real, and making it meaningful. Uncle Fred's part in that process has meant so much to us through the years. He was a big influence on Charles' foray into engineering. He welcomed me into the family in his quiet, steadfast way. He's been a calming influence, a source of wit and dry humor; a delightful devil's advocate in late night discussions, and a person for whom the word "integrity" means the world.
This is one of my favorite photos of him, taken at the City of Rocks this past May. He'd been out and about all day, enjoying the company, the kids, the weather. I just love this picture.
I love that smile. That's the smile of someone who found something to enjoy in life, and enjoyed it.
This Saturday, we lost Uncle Fred. He and Aunt B were with the rest of us in North Carolina for the wedding. We all enjoyed a beautiful day at the lake house on Friday, and that evening, at the hotel, Uncle Fred and Cousin David watched a ball game together and argued about distances between bases. It was a full day, and a lovely day. It was the kind of day you'd want to have if you knew it would be your last. But we didn't know that, then. We just knew it was a wonderful day. Yet by Saturday afternoon, Uncle Fred was gone.
Charles says that without the Uncle Freds of the world, everything would come to a grinding halt, that he was one of the individuals that everyone else seeks out when the path forward is no longer evident. Uncle Fred loved knowledge -- for it's practical applications, for its own sake, for the potential it held. Not many people value knowledge on a level like that. He would teach you if you wanted to learn (and were willing to do your part), and would learn from anyone who had knowledge to share. If you had a plan, and you talked with Uncle Fred about it, if he said it would probably work, well, it would probably work. If he said it wouldn't work, you could pretty well bet it wouldn't work. He might tell you why it wouldn't work, but he probably wouldn't tell you what would work. He wanted you to know the enjoyment of figuring things out for yourself, of finding the answer and knowing it was right. For him, that was the good stuff. There was no obstacle that was impassible, to his mind; only more or less challenging to overcome. His enthusiasm was at once overwhelming and contagious.
Taryn and Patrick wanted to postpone the wedding, but Aunt B quoted Uncle Fred's philosophy as part of her argument that they should proceed as planned:
Can you do anything to fix the situation? Then what are you fussing about?That's such a familiar phrase, and so very like the way Uncle Fred approached any situation. If you can fix it, fix it and move on. If you can't fix it, don't waste your energy fretting, just move on with it. The invocation of those words last Saturday brought a smile and a nod of understanding to everyone who heard. It brought comfort, as well. Ward said the best way to honor a person you admire is to emulate the philosophy and traits you most admired in that person. And so, we did our best.
What can be said to make it seem less impossible? To make it feel less painful? Nothing, I suppose. We loved Uncle Fred. Aunt B loved Uncle Fred. His family, from his children and his grandchildren, down to his extended and adopted family, in-laws, and even ex-wives, loved Uncle Fred. That says a lot about a man, to have so many people who feel his passing. And although the events of the coming week hold much grief, and much pain for many people, not one of us would trade that sorrow for not having known Uncle Fred.
Instead, we'll gather to honor his place in this world, his place in our lives. We'll acknowledge that there is a vacancy now, supported by memories and love and admiration for the man who once stood there.
Kiss those babies.
~Dy
Monday, October 8
The Wedding Cake
And so, we have to begin the story with The Wedding Gremlin. This little critter is the reason they're so darned cute when they're little...
For two days, we commandeered Taryn's kitchen. We mixed and sloshed. We kneaded and plied. We made a fondant for the cake, and made dozens of rolled fondant flowers. We made gardenias, calla lilies, and stephanotis-ish-thingies. (The technical term, I believe, is "fantasy flowers".) We rolled, pressed, trimmed, shaped, and hogged the window unit to coax them to dry. By Friday night, the fridge was packed with flower bits and random stamen parts. It almost looked like we knew what we were doing. We went to bed that night, content in the knowledge that we had created lovely, edible flowers for the cake without wire, tape, or any pesky toxic inedible bits. Ahhh. Life was good, indeed.
Four o'clock Saturday morning, I awoke to the unsettling sensation that there was *plenty* of room in the bed. Ahhhh... where's EmBaby? I slipped from the bed to look for her. She hadn't fallen off (or at least she wasn't unconscious on the floor.) She wasn't in the bathroom. Oh, no! The bedroom door's open! I bolted into the kitchen and there, on the floor, beneath the table, sat the cutest little thing with her Little Cindy Lou Who Jammies and her big bright eyes, a rolling pin in one hand and the remnants of a lily in the other. She beamed up at me, her fuzzy hair radiating about her head in a very poor imitation of a halo, and said, "Mmm, YUM!"
Oh, it was a massacre. There were dead flowers all over the place. And worst of all, the groom's cake, a crawdad, had been maimed. She ate one of his eyes, twisted his little feelers, and poked holes in his head! Poor, gimpy crawdad.
I cleaned up the mess, salvaged the flowers that hadn't made it onto the floor yet, and brought the little Wedding Gremlin back to bed. I wish I'd taken a picture. If I hadn't been fighting a massive eye twitch, I might have thought to do that. Zorak did get a picture of the little Wedding Gremlin's next escapade, though. So, here you go. If you're having a wedding, and you see one of these things, BEWARE! They will eat everything decorative and/or sugary that they can get their hands on!
Of course, the week of the wedding was warm and humid. While that made for lovely swimming weather, it wasn't so great for the icing plans. The fondant gave me fits. Due to extenuating circumstances, we'd lost about four hours of work time Saturday, which left us having to send John (the ring bearer) ahead with the family, while we stayed behind to finish the cake. Final decision -- buttercream the 12" layer, because this fondant is NOT going to happen on that layer. Oh, folks, I wanted to cry. Wait. I did cry. Not for long, though, since we didn't have time to waste.
We finished the cake. We got it to the reception hall at the Very Last Minute. It wasn't exactly what we were shooting for, but all things considered, everyone was pleased. Er, at least kind. Heh. (Have I mentioned how Very Much I love our family?) And here you have it:
The happy couple did the requisite duties and cut the cake. (He spared her lovely gown, though, which, I think, made every woman in the room breathe a sigh of relief.)
We may never be asked to make another cake for a family event. But we're still up for childwatching duties, so that's good.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, October 7
Home Again, Home Again
After talking, singing, screaming, and talking for ten hours straight, all four children were sound asleep just before we pulled into town. (I'll admit I thought about faking it, just to see if perhaps Zorak would carry me in, too. But he busted me before I could play oppossum.) They'll be so glad to find themselves home in the morning.
SO much happened. I'll upload pictures and fill you all in over the weekend. Just wanted to pop in, though, and say howdy. Boy, does it feel good to be home. (And I've got to say, it's always a relief to come home and find the house hasn't been vandalized. I never realize just how puckered up I am about that until the headlights hit the house and there's no broken glass. *whew*)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, October 3
Going Underground
Have an absolutely fantastic week, everybody. Love on those little guys, and enjoy all the lovin's they have to give back!
Kiss those babies,
Dy
Tuesday, October 2
Come. Find. Me.
We can't predict the future, it's true. But we can do our utmost to bolster against the unexpected. So, I wanted to put it in writing right now. Right here. I want to go on record:
If I cannot be contacted, nor my whereabouts verified, even as little as a mere two hours after I am expected to arrive somewhere, something has happened. Come. Find. Me.
I am not running off to live in Upstate New York with some moron off the internet. I am not hightailing it to Fiji with Zorak's VA monies. I have not left my beautiful children, or my fantastic husband. Not of my own volition. Not under my own motive power. This. Will. Not. Happen.
And listen, be quick about it, because I've gotta tell ya, folks, I'm a bleeder. Not to mention, my cell phone isn't going to last longer than eight hours on a good day with no calls. I doubt it would handle a full-out auto wreck very well at all. While I'm thinking of it, I hereby authorize Verizon Wireless to release my phone records on Zorak's request. Give up the goods, guys. I swear I will not hold you liable for that.
Eight days? I get woozy going twelve hours without coffee. Can you imagine the rampaging psychosis that would ensue after a full week with no caffeine? (Let alone water, food, somewhere to relieve myself other than the seat of my pants.) No. No, there is no "right to privacy" that would justify that, for me. I have no shame. Spill the beans - my phone records, tax records, really bad driving record, bra size. Whatever it will take, but Come And Get Me.
Worse (in my mind, but I may be weird like that), what if I'm abducted? Oh, hell, folks, I haven't the fortitude to make a haul like that. Don't bother looking at Zorak. Or, if your cynicism has influenced policy to the point that you must, get it overwith within 24 hours and then Come. Find. Me. Seriously, there is *nowhere* I'd rather be than home, tending to my family, in the arms of my husband. Ever. Believe me. Don't waste time on supposition that I may not want to be found. I'm telling you right here, right now, I do not ever want to be lost.
So, I know it's not notarized. But it's published and available to the public for date verification and all manner of good things. And, on the off chance that something should happen, please remind Zorak he can find this post under "Come Find Me", print it out, and take it to the authorities.
Now, off to brace myself against accidental death and dismemberment... Hmmm...
Kiss those babies!
Dy
"Ours Baby"
I found this at Momanna98's site, and thought it was absolutely amazing. So. This is what "ours baby" (as Smidge refers to him/her) is looking like right now.
Wow.
Just. Wow.
I'll move this to my sidebar when I don't have eighty thousand other things to figure out. But in the meantime, I thought y'all might get a kick out of it, too.
Kiss those babies!
Dy
Monday, October 1
Control What You Can, Ignore The Rest
The kids filled in the trench by the front yard portion of the drive this morning. With their feet. I just came inside so I wouldn't have to watch. And cringe. But that worked out well, as it gave me a chance to get the house cleaned and ready for the wedding. The boys did a great job on the trench, and then they came in for lunch. I'm not sweeping up the dirt from that trek until after everyone's in bed.
One of the things I have *got* to find a groove on is the paperwork. Right now, it's all in the school room. Right now, the school room doesn't have a cabinet, free shelf space, or a table. (Can you see where this is heading?) I'd become quite competent at ignoring it, pretending there are doors on the doorways, and that nobody could see the condition of the "school room". However, I realized the gig was up when Zorak commented the other night that we'd best get our filing system under control before James starts to adopt it.
"Uh, yeah, the bills to be paid go there on the floor in front of the computer. The ones that have been paid go under the computer. Just put magazine subscriptions over there by the door, and completed homework, eh, you can set on the chair."
Mmm, good point. So today, after cleaning and decluttering the kitchen, living room, dining room, our room (not as impressive as it sounds - there's not too much left to declutter), and starting the laundry, I tackled the school room. It looks fantastic. Granted, we can't eat at the dining room table right now (picky, picky!) but, at least the stacks are manageable. And the kids agreed to eat at the breakfast bar between now and Wednesday. That buys me some time. I love that they're flexible. :-)
The printer shelf has been holding paper and computer supplies, as well, but I think it's going to be reassigned to "domestic craft duty", or some such moniker. That means I'm moving the computer paper somewhere else (don't ask me where just yet, we're still in the Idea Phase of this plan), and I'm going to hoist the sewing materials up off the floor onto the shelving. One would think this solution obvious, but really, the sewing boxes were holding up paperwork, so I didn't exactly see the problem until today. *shrug*
One of the nice things about ignoring the things we cannot control is that we realize how very much is within our realm of influence. But we let it get lost in the white noise, and after a while we can't tell the difference between the things we can impact, and the things we cannot. No wonder it's so easy to get sidetracked!
So here's to another round of cookies for everyone! Taking charge, and letting go! (Gah, that looks far more chipper than it sounded in my head, but hopefully y'all know what I mean.)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
This Isn't Working
So.
We rented a trencher. We didn't have the cash to rent a trencher, not with the wedding next weekend, but perhaps the children can forage for acorns and I can make pancakes from those. Think the neighbors would lend me a cup of water? Gah.
BUT. That was okay, because we had a trencher, and that would do the trick. Except, we got the weenie trencher. (The Big, Tough Trencher was out of commission - probably ought to have been a sign, huh?) We killed the weenie trencher. And we didn't get to the lateral line before it died. I suggested we plant explosives along the fenceline, thinking we'd be sure of hitting it that way. (Small ones, don't worry.) Zorak is ignoring me, now.
The brakes on the Suburban, after three years of being "bad", finally went to well, I guess "dangerous" would be a good description. So, Zorak fixed those. We were like a couple of cave men, looking at the rotors...
They don't look warped.
No. Hey, is that a warp, there?
No, I don't think so. This is steel. It's not going to look like a wet book.
Well, if feels like it when we stop.
*both pause*
Yeah, I don't see any warping.
*shrug*
Well, take it all in, and see what we need.
He came back with new rotors. And an explanation as to how you can tell brake rotors are warped. (You know, just in case you ever decide to do major vehicle repairs you aren't familiar with, right? That can't be just us...) It's the streaks. Oh. *pause* OH! (The things were covered in black streaks. Hah. I get it...) And brake pads. My goodness, but they're thick when they're new! Then he and the boys changed the oil in the Suburban. That was really neat. Until John leapt from the grill onto Smidge's head. Backward.
"I didn't see him!"
Well, no, that's true. Although, I'm not certain it's an acceptable explanation, considering.
I sent Smidge inside to lay down. But first, he had to puke in the hallway. Because he's a puker. *sigh* I hope he doesn't do that at job interviews. Or when he's dating. Could make his life rough.
This morning, Zorak loaded up the trencher to return to the rental yard. I crept quietly into the bathroom to take a long-awaited pampering bath with salt scrub and yummy-smelling things from The Foil Hat (I love Amy's things!) I've just begun to scrape and slather, when I hear "clunk, clunk, clunk" coming down the hall.
While I wondered if the intruder had killed Balto, and whether I could at least reach my sweats first (because nobody wants to be found naked, dead in the tub), I heard Zorak:
"Bad news, Sports Fans. The clutch went out on the truck. I'm going to have to take the Suburban."
I...
Uh...
Well, sometimes you just can't really do anything about... anything. And that's okay. But this wasn't what I'd planned to write when Friday rolled around, lemme tell ya!
Ah, Kiss those babies! (It keeps me sane at times like this.)
~Dy
Thursday, September 27
It's a good sign you're pregnant when...
Not when he gets sick.
Not when you think he's dead.
Not even at the very end, when E.T. says, "come" and Elliot says, "stay".
No, you know you're pregnant when you cry as the bicycles lift off from the ground.
Seriously, what's that about?
I'll be glad to have my brain back soon.
Kiss those babies,
Dy
Tuesday, September 25
School Days
To the uninitiated, I'm sure it's a terrifying scene. To the homeschooling eye, however, this schism of uniformity is simply a snapshot of the essence of the homeschooling lifestyle: individual adaptation to the child's needs and environment. It wouldn't work in an institutionalized setting (could you imagine kids straggling in mid-way through a pop quiz, two weeks into the term?) It's uniquely homeschooled. And, I will venture to say, it is part of the health and vigor of homeschooling.
Recently, a question has come up that generally makes the rounds in September, again late November, February, and again in late April: what do you do when you feel the need to do something "different"? I love reading the responses, and they are as varied as the community from which they come:
We hit the museums.
We take our books to the woods.
We sit at the fountain in the park.
We jump on the bed while we shout out our grammar lessons.
We read something new.
We eat decadent foods and wallow in a really great play or musical performance.
We go hiking.
We take on a volunteer project.
We start a new curriculum.
Do you see it? Every answer says the exact same thing: we do what we need to do to keep moving forward and keep enjoying this adventure we're in.
It's easy to take for granted the incredible opportunities we have as homeschoolers. It's easy to get bogged down in retrieving yet another unit block from the baby's nose; in reminding the children that they are not to suggest to anyone in uniform that the Hagia Sophia should, in fact, be decorated with opium *ahem*; in thinking about the tasks to be done that aren't getting done while we're knee-deep in grammar forms.
But don't let it get you down. You're the only one who is capable of looking at those eyes and seeing if they're shining. You're the one who can change the course of a conversation from "ho-hum" to "let's find out more". If you feel ho-hum, well, that'll rub off. If you want to find out more, and do find out more, well, that, too, will become "the norm".
Our "normal" will not look like your "normal". Yet, the beauty of the homeschooling lifestyle is that if you see another "normal" out there, you have every opportunity and advantage of making it yours. Want to read more? See more? Explore more? Do more? Why not? Many of the delightful aspects of our Adventure aren't things dredged from the recesses of my own creativity. They are ideas, books, philosophies I've seen from a distance and thought, "We need to aspire to that." Aspiration. Goals. Do it. It's your school. It's your adventure. Go for it. Make it uniquely yours.
I do love this time of year.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, September 24
And it just gets better!
We're reading about the Orthodox church. We get to mosaics. It's been a relatively normal bout of lessons, really. The boys are into it, they're excited about our plans to get some tiles and make a mosaic for the foyer. Things are good.
We veer into talking about different types of gems you often see in Byzantine art. Rubies, sapphires,
"Ohhh, opiums!"
Uh... (OK, perhaps we do need to sit down and have a little family talk...)
"Honey, did you mean 'opals'?"
*sheepish grin from the offending child* Oh. Yeah. *chuckle* Those.
I'm so glad we're home when these things happen!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Come again?
"Oh, I do love marijuana! I love it even when we are all in the car!"
In my most eloquent form of paralysis, I responded, "I... uh... what???"
He repeated himself, "I love marijuana! I do love it SOOO much!"*gag* *choke* *cough* "Um... James? What on earth is he talking about? Why would he say he loves marijuana?" (Not that I should have any reason for suspecting James to be the resident pot pusher, but he's usually pretty good about cluing me in to what I missed in the conversation.)
James burst out laughing, and said,
"No, Mom! Not 'marijuana'. He said, 'Medal of Honor'."
Oh. Well, okay, then.
Ah, kiss those babies!
~Dy
Saturday, September 22
A little orange, in honor of autumn
She was so proud of herself! I guess she didn't want to wait for her turn to go, so she made the best of it while the gear was unguarded. With the watermelon accents, she could hide out in a garden patch quite nicely, don't you think?
You know, they just make me smile. That's all there is to it. Sometimes they break your heart, sometimes they make any and everything seem possible. But always, always, there's love, love and more love when you've got these little ones in your life. It's good, good stuff.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, September 21
The Last Birthday of the Year!
From there, we headed into town to meet Me-Wa and Me-Tae at the bowling alley. A couple games of bowling, a few quarters at the arcade, pizza and time with his favorite people. (We have no pictures, because the camera decided to stay in the truck. I think it was hoping for more hunting shots. *ahem*) All three boys *bolted* across the bowling alley as soon as they spotted Me-Tae. That was so cute!
James did give us all a chuckle, when Me-Wa and Me-Tae wished him a happy birthday. He didn't respond with the customary, "Thank you". He bobbed up and down a little, his eyes wide in his head and hummed, "Mm-hmm!" I guess he thought it was more of an inquiry than anything else?
James asked to have "the perfect meal" for supper, and so we did: thick steak, cooked rare; asparagus spears with a light garlic butter sauce; baked potatoes with butter; for dessert, banana ice cream. It was all absolutely perfect. Except, well, turns out there are some pinholes in the ice cream maker. So the ice cream was actually salt and banana flavored. *shudder* We'll try again another time. Zorak, thinking quick on his feet, mixed a little banana flavoring into vanilla ice cream and dished it up with a couple maraschino cherries. Not a bad second-place, eh?
Again with the Last Minute Cakes: this was supposed to be a bust of Superman, but we didn't get home until six and that just wasn't going to happen. James, however, was perfectly thrilled with this:
~Dy
Tuesday, September 18
A Day in the Life???
And look, they were even all there, working together!
Right now, it looks like the grass suffered a stampede of sorts. Well, it did. But there's hope it'll perk right up soon. We might post pictures, if the plants survive!
OK, break time is over! Back to work. Hyeah!
(Kiss those babies!)
~Dy
Monday, September 17
The Dove Hunt
There's a lot of waiting.... and more waiting...
But when the company is good, it's not such a bad thing.
John wasn't sure how best to carry the birds, at first...
But he found his stride the second time around. He took his job very seriously, and I think he has a grasp of things that's good. As he laid the doves on the table to prepare them for the freezer, he commented on realizing now why it's so important to give thanks before you eat.
He's still glowing, and looking forward to spending more one-on-one time with the kids. It was a great day, all-around.
Saturday, September 15
Saturday Coffee
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 :-) *
Friday, September 14
Vaccines, delays, and disease, Oh, my!
Kiss those babies!
Dy
Thursday, September 13
Well, that didn't work so well.
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
Wednesday, September 12
It's 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
Tuesday, September 11
It's 5:00 -- Do You Know Where Your Wife Is?
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
Monday, September 10
And Then He Was Four
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
Friday, September 7
Book Stuff
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
Thursday, September 6
Whew
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
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
Tuesday, September 4
A Birthday Brainstorming
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
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
Saturday, September 1
Piling Up
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
Friday, August 31
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
Wednesday, August 29
Common Threads
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
"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!"
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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.)
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John, while reading about Augustine's arrival in Britain:
"What was that king's name again, Ethelburp?"
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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.
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They make me smile. They make me think. They make me laugh. I couldn't ask for more.
kiss those babies!
~Dy