Both ha-ha funny and weird funny. But, oh so good.
We waited on the maintenance man to come this morning, but finally gave up and left at eleven thirty. The morning was truly lovely. Intentional, as I originally meant it. When there was discord, it felt good to stop, listen, and then pick an intentional response. At one point, all that was called for was some snuggle time and some "kind words" for John to help him get his footing after a particularly sad outburst. I will not dwell on how many of those I have missed, but rather focus on how many of those are to come.
We finally made it to Mecca, er, um, the Library. It was heavenly. We hauled our milk crate into the entry way in three-foot spurts. I had Smidge asleep in the sling and the crate was too heavy for the boys to carry, or for me to nudge along with my foot. We had just stopped for the fiftieth time when the mailman came up, and evidently taking pity on us he, without a word, hoisted the crate from between the boys. The looks on their faces said that was better than spotting Santa Claus mid-way down the chimney. He laughed aloud when both of the boys burst forward to open the doors for him, shouting out in rounds of, "Oh! Thank you! Thank you SO much!" He deposited the crate on the counter and disappeared into the sunset while the theme song from The Magnificent Seven played softly in the background...
We had a fantastic three hours scampering like puppies in a field, rolling our heads in all the flowers, chasing metaphorical butterflies.
By the time we headed to the Mommy Section of the library, the crate was already too heavy to carry, what with the belly and the sling and the sheer weight of that many books. I inquired at the desk as to whether there was any twine to be found (thinking I could rig up a sled-dog style apparatus to which I could harness my two eldest...) No twine, but they let us use one of the Official-Looking Carts. Oooo. That was niiice!
Smidge awoke while I was digging up Cervantes (yes, don't laugh, I'm trying again) and he was so thrilled to see the boys had picked up a few Thomas books for him that he completely forgot his Library Voice. *cringe* They all quickly settled in on a low, tiled wall to read and giggle, though, and left me to wander the stacks and pick up some good 'uns. This trip was all fiction for me, simply because the non-fiction is on the second floor and no matter how well the day was going, I was not going to attempt that maneuver. I cut my losses, counted my blessings and herded the kittens over to the checkout.
We took our obligatory detour around the Local Artists' Display, where we were treated to a beautiful and interesting display of oil on canvas. The space is small, but we were able to lose another half hour just talking about the paintings. (Must remember to let the library staff know how very much we enjoy those displays!)
We stopped at Publix for some non-moldy bread and more fruit. The boys were mortified when Jacob began to eat his apple before we beeped it, but calmed a bit when I explained that yes, I know, but no, he's fine and they survived the same thing when they were two. They were tickled to pieces to see a "real soldier", in full BDUs, and even more happy when he smiled at their enthusiasm and said hello to them. (Thank you, sir. You have no idea what that meant to two little boys.) We spent a good fifteen minutes at the seafood display, discussing crabs and crawdads (crayfish, some would say - but I'm telling you, those were crawdads!) John said, "Now, those (pointing at the snow crab legs) look kind of normal, but those (pointing to the King Crab legs, with all their black-tipped pointy bits) are a little creepy!"
In line at the checkout, James asked if the lady behind us could go first since she only had a few things. (She had more than we did, but we try to make it a point of letting people go ahead of us just because we know we're slow and it's a good all-purpose exercise in chilvary.) I said sure, but she refused. Kindly, and with a huge smile, but she wouldn't budge. I think she was having fun watching the boys interact with each other, to be truthful.
We came home, ate, watched the maintenance guy (who was almost done by the time we arrived), then snuggled in with books all over the place and read together. John could not get enough (growth spurt? or have I been starving his poor little brain? Whatever it was, he was in heaven today!) Smidge stretched out next to James the way a kitten sprawls in a sunlit window and enjoyed poking James lovingly in the head while James read aloud to him. It was idyllic, but after a while I had to get up and MOVE or I was going to fall asleep and we'd miss Pioneer Club.
So. We had supper when Zorak got home, catapulted everyone into the car and made it to Pioneer Club on time. The boys had a great evening. I stayed with Smidge in the nursery (I need to blog about that - but that's an entry all its own...) We came home and now that I've stopped moving, everything hurts. It hurts bad!
But it was just a great day, and a lot of that was exactly what I was talking about the other day: it's going to happen, whether I'm ready for it or not. It's just so much nicer to be prepared. We laughed more. We talked more. We hugged more. We read more. How can that be less-than-ideal, no matter the peripherals of the day, right?
And on the peripherals, no word on the mold results. Either they came back and were bad and Jo hasn't mustered the strength to call yet, or he hasn't gotten her the results. Perhaps tomorrow? Hopefully it will be good news, and that would be a true blessing on top of many others.
Tomorrow is Organization Day at the Arsenal and Zorak wants us to go meet everyone, so I am going to collapse right now and see if I can recover before sunrise. (And yes, I am putting wheels on my little milk crate *this weekend*!)
Kiss those babies, and enjoy them. Remember, they will never again be as little as they are today.
~Dy
Wednesday, October 5
Tuesday, October 4
Define "Intentional"
Well, today happened. It came. Everything that ought to have support today, had it. That counts, right?
Actually, it was a good, productive, intentional day. We had a truly horrible concoction for breakfast, but I had all this fruit we needed to use up... The boys ate two bowls of it, though, so it couldn't have been that bad. Right? Then we read, did some wash, and everyone took twenty minutes to play. Yippee!
Zorak returned to the abode for lunch, arriving to find three boys with their upside down bicycles strewn about on the grass (they have been forbidden to so much as eyeball the dirt beyond the grass for as long as we continue to live here). They were "fixing things". (No, nothing's broken on the bikes, but it's such fun to tinker!)
I was able to provide Zorak with a lovely lunch, except for the mold I didn't see on one edge of the crust. Ugh. I'm not trying to kill him, honest. I looked, even. Ah, well, he still seems to love me. I also had a list of things we had accomplished this morning: we found a dentist and have appointments next week; I spent some time getting the boys psyched about having "our very own dentist," and other propagandizing necessary to ensure that they do not have the same idiosyncrasies I had as a child, if you know what I mean; I spoke with the Bush Hog Guy and was to meet him this afternoon at the house; the boys and I began studying James 1:19-wherever-we-end-up-stopping; we'd rounded up library books (again) and would swing by there on our way back from the house; found an HVAC guy to check out; called on insurance; and played. It felt so good. So useful.
Then Zorak asks, "So, what's our 'intentional plan' for this evening?"
I froze. "I don't know!" I squeaked, "I'm new at this!"
The afternoon deteriorated a bit, I admit. My stamina has waned since I've given up living this life properly, so I imagine it'll take some time to get back into the swing of things. The two-hour delay getting the Suburban back sort of started the mental stuttering. Then, Smidge didn't nap quite well in the car, so I had to haul a cranky (HEAVY) child up and down the hills on the property with the Bush Hog Guy (ow, that hurt muscles that shouldn't hurt from just walking!) The Bush Hog Guy thought we were to meet at 2:45, not 1:45, so after walking around the property for an hour, I'd just left him a message that we'd try again some other time and was pulling out of the drive when he arrived. Through all that, I was maintaining pretty well, though. A good, deep breath can make a two-hour delay feel not-so-bad and remind you that it's not a plot to make you insane. Candy corn in the pocket can alleviate the Grumps in a two year old. Extra water bottles can rejuvenate two hot and tired boys. A smile and an understanding tone can make an awkward first encounter downright pleasant in the end.
Then we got to the library. And the book. The one book. I needed to return. Wasn't in the bag. I'd asked James to put it in the bag this morning. He hadn't said he didn't do it, but his actions had indicated he did. When I asked him where in the bag he'd put it, he said sheepishly, "I never found it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that." Oh. That's where I fumbled. I didn't yell (thankfully), but I wasn't pleased. As Jill would say, I slipped into Lecture Land. I buckled back up and we left the library without so much as setting foot inside. *sigh* Not one of my more esteemed moments, I assure you. Here's where I could use some input - How do you dig down and find that extra back support for your camel when that last straw gets dropped on it? It's not like the Wee Straw Bearer came and thumped it onto my poor camel just to watch it suffer. It's more like the debris that flies off the back of a contractor's truck. He's got a lot of little straws, and since I'm in the back, herding the cats, the occasional straw is bound to fly off and hit my camel. I know that, and yet at three in the afternoon I could not have formulated that thought to save my life.
We were back on track by the time we arrived home. The boys helped fix a significantly less questionable supper than that breakfast I'd served, and we had a lovely evening talking, laughing, sharing, playing.
Smidge is speaking more and more each day, which is a huge source of hilarity to the boys. They encourage him and rejoice with him, high-fives all around. It's beautiful. Zorak and I bragged to the boys about themselves and enjoyed watching them beam. We snuggled, and then they enjoyed ice cream and play time after supper.
The boys helped polish the metal on the muzzleloader they're refurbishing. It's a huge Daddy 'n Boys Project. My home smells like gun oil. Personally, I was thinking something along the lines of cinnamon-apple, or perhaps a nice light vanilla. But this is a happy smell, and it's accompanied by the thrill of learning, the joy of success, and the pride of craftsmanship. I can handle that. We're blessed.
And now, the Wee Ones are tucked in and quiet. The maintenance men will be here in the morning to fix our faucet and ice maker. The house is in a condition that won't cause me to panic. I am going to curl up with the scarf and the hubby and give both some attention.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Actually, it was a good, productive, intentional day. We had a truly horrible concoction for breakfast, but I had all this fruit we needed to use up... The boys ate two bowls of it, though, so it couldn't have been that bad. Right? Then we read, did some wash, and everyone took twenty minutes to play. Yippee!
Zorak returned to the abode for lunch, arriving to find three boys with their upside down bicycles strewn about on the grass (they have been forbidden to so much as eyeball the dirt beyond the grass for as long as we continue to live here). They were "fixing things". (No, nothing's broken on the bikes, but it's such fun to tinker!)
I was able to provide Zorak with a lovely lunch, except for the mold I didn't see on one edge of the crust. Ugh. I'm not trying to kill him, honest. I looked, even. Ah, well, he still seems to love me. I also had a list of things we had accomplished this morning: we found a dentist and have appointments next week; I spent some time getting the boys psyched about having "our very own dentist," and other propagandizing necessary to ensure that they do not have the same idiosyncrasies I had as a child, if you know what I mean; I spoke with the Bush Hog Guy and was to meet him this afternoon at the house; the boys and I began studying James 1:19-wherever-we-end-up-stopping; we'd rounded up library books (again) and would swing by there on our way back from the house; found an HVAC guy to check out; called on insurance; and played. It felt so good. So useful.
Then Zorak asks, "So, what's our 'intentional plan' for this evening?"
I froze. "I don't know!" I squeaked, "I'm new at this!"
The afternoon deteriorated a bit, I admit. My stamina has waned since I've given up living this life properly, so I imagine it'll take some time to get back into the swing of things. The two-hour delay getting the Suburban back sort of started the mental stuttering. Then, Smidge didn't nap quite well in the car, so I had to haul a cranky (HEAVY) child up and down the hills on the property with the Bush Hog Guy (ow, that hurt muscles that shouldn't hurt from just walking!) The Bush Hog Guy thought we were to meet at 2:45, not 1:45, so after walking around the property for an hour, I'd just left him a message that we'd try again some other time and was pulling out of the drive when he arrived. Through all that, I was maintaining pretty well, though. A good, deep breath can make a two-hour delay feel not-so-bad and remind you that it's not a plot to make you insane. Candy corn in the pocket can alleviate the Grumps in a two year old. Extra water bottles can rejuvenate two hot and tired boys. A smile and an understanding tone can make an awkward first encounter downright pleasant in the end.
Then we got to the library. And the book. The one book. I needed to return. Wasn't in the bag. I'd asked James to put it in the bag this morning. He hadn't said he didn't do it, but his actions had indicated he did. When I asked him where in the bag he'd put it, he said sheepishly, "I never found it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that." Oh. That's where I fumbled. I didn't yell (thankfully), but I wasn't pleased. As Jill would say, I slipped into Lecture Land. I buckled back up and we left the library without so much as setting foot inside. *sigh* Not one of my more esteemed moments, I assure you. Here's where I could use some input - How do you dig down and find that extra back support for your camel when that last straw gets dropped on it? It's not like the Wee Straw Bearer came and thumped it onto my poor camel just to watch it suffer. It's more like the debris that flies off the back of a contractor's truck. He's got a lot of little straws, and since I'm in the back, herding the cats, the occasional straw is bound to fly off and hit my camel. I know that, and yet at three in the afternoon I could not have formulated that thought to save my life.
We were back on track by the time we arrived home. The boys helped fix a significantly less questionable supper than that breakfast I'd served, and we had a lovely evening talking, laughing, sharing, playing.
Smidge is speaking more and more each day, which is a huge source of hilarity to the boys. They encourage him and rejoice with him, high-fives all around. It's beautiful. Zorak and I bragged to the boys about themselves and enjoyed watching them beam. We snuggled, and then they enjoyed ice cream and play time after supper.
The boys helped polish the metal on the muzzleloader they're refurbishing. It's a huge Daddy 'n Boys Project. My home smells like gun oil. Personally, I was thinking something along the lines of cinnamon-apple, or perhaps a nice light vanilla. But this is a happy smell, and it's accompanied by the thrill of learning, the joy of success, and the pride of craftsmanship. I can handle that. We're blessed.
And now, the Wee Ones are tucked in and quiet. The maintenance men will be here in the morning to fix our faucet and ice maker. The house is in a condition that won't cause me to panic. I am going to curl up with the scarf and the hubby and give both some attention.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, October 3
Living Intentionally
(Have I used that title before? I think I've officially run out of things to say!)
Right, like that's going to stop me.
Anyhow, tonight, after an excruciating arsenic hour involving a red clay mudfight, greasy grout, and poop, I collapsed on the porch, my quivering hands around a scalding hot cup of coffee, and sighed. Quite loudly, might I add. (It could have been a stifled scream from the heat, but I'm pretty sure it was just a rigorous sigh.)
This is one of those nights I am absolutely exhausted, pummeled by the day and all that it presented. Yet the day is now done. The boys are in bed (well, most of them are in bed, Smidge seems to have gone Nomadic tonight). It's over. There are no more do-overs for today - for them, or for me. Whether I was prepared for today or not, it happened. It is now part of their lives, their memories, and their heritages. Did I blow it? Possibly. Could I have handled today differently? Certainly. Does any of that change the fact that these days come, and we know they'll come? No. So what do we do about it?
I think we need to live intentionally. That's the best thing we can do about it. We know (*know*) that each day will begin, whether we're prepared for it or not. We know that there will be meals to cook, disagreements to mediate, spills to mop, tasks to accomplish, and brows to kiss. The question is whether we are going to let the day propel us from one incident to another with nary a breath in between, or if we are going to accept that the day will come, embrace it, prepare for it, and do it on purpose, making sure that the direction of the day is guided by some force other than Chaos. (OK, that goal may be a bit lofty - let's shoot for "more days than not", shall we?)
Have you ever been to a beach that had waves? I'm talking surfing-style waves, here. If you don't know the waters, and haven't any idea which end is up on a surfboard, you don't want to just flail into the surf and hope for the best. There's stuff under that water that will rip. you. apart. And the waves don't stop coming, either. Whether you're on your feet or upside down with a chunk of coral jammed up your nose, here comes another wave. Once you're caught in the cycle unaware, it goes from awkward to painful to downright terrifying in just a few good washes over your tumbled head. Yet if you stand on the beach and watch the surfers get out there (or happen to be a surfer yourself), it's a whole different ballgame. They head out, intentionally, aware of what they're up against and familiar with the terrain. They know they could get knocked on their hind ends. They expect to, once in a while. But that's not the point: they've chosen to wade in and make the most of it. And they have a blast! I don't know about y'all, but I could learn a thing or two about that application.
I've fallen prey to one of the things I detest the most: the victim mentality. Ugh. It's disgusting. It's counterproductive. It does nothing to improve the situation, and still the days come, one after another. I know this. Yet I caved, anyway, and now we're all paying the price.
So here's my proposal: live intentionally. I will wake up accepting that whatever comes, I will need to don some form of support garment at some point in the day, so I'll just do it straight away and get that bit of tedium over with. I will go to bed the night before prepared to do that in the most pleasant way possible, rather than slumping into bed praying the alarm doesn't wake the boys in the morning. As a matter of fact, I think I'll lay out a clean cup by the coffee pot just as a little "good morning" treat.
I will set aside stories tonight that I would like to share with the boys tomorrow. I will think ahead of at least one thing they would enjoy doing that doesn't fall into the "taskmaster" category. I will talk with them over breakfast about our day, its plans and aims, and see if they have anything they'd like to add. Children can be wonderfully insightful, when we give them the chance.
I will provide the time to do the things that need to be done, but not in the sense that we often think of things that "need to be done". Not the wash. Not the scrubbing of the grout. Not that thing growing in the back of the fridge. The things that need, truly need, to be done: sharing the kitchen with the boys, making our reading together time a serious priority (possibly over meals, if necessary - we can always eat after the next chapter, or snack during an extra chapter), leaving early enough to stop at the park after our trip to the library.
If it's important, you make time for it. Time will continue its plodding pace with no regard for what we think we need to do, so we need to be intentional and precise about what we are going to do - and then do it.
These are things I know. I've known them for years. I've believed in them for years. I've lived them for years. What happened? I guess I didn't see one of those waves. And I forgot to pay attention, so it got more difficult to get my footing in the shifting sands. I probably stubbed my shin on some coral, too. None of this is irreparable, and none of it is drastic or traumatic. But you wouldn't guess that to look at me lately. And that, my friends, was not intentional. ;-)
So here is to tomorrow morning and a day that I cannot control, but one I can prepare for and welcome as it arrives. I might still end up screaming on my keister by suppertime tomorrow, but it won't have been a day-long fall to get there if I do. And the next day, it will be easier as we all remember what it's like to live intentionally.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Right, like that's going to stop me.
Anyhow, tonight, after an excruciating arsenic hour involving a red clay mudfight, greasy grout, and poop, I collapsed on the porch, my quivering hands around a scalding hot cup of coffee, and sighed. Quite loudly, might I add. (It could have been a stifled scream from the heat, but I'm pretty sure it was just a rigorous sigh.)
This is one of those nights I am absolutely exhausted, pummeled by the day and all that it presented. Yet the day is now done. The boys are in bed (well, most of them are in bed, Smidge seems to have gone Nomadic tonight). It's over. There are no more do-overs for today - for them, or for me. Whether I was prepared for today or not, it happened. It is now part of their lives, their memories, and their heritages. Did I blow it? Possibly. Could I have handled today differently? Certainly. Does any of that change the fact that these days come, and we know they'll come? No. So what do we do about it?
I think we need to live intentionally. That's the best thing we can do about it. We know (*know*) that each day will begin, whether we're prepared for it or not. We know that there will be meals to cook, disagreements to mediate, spills to mop, tasks to accomplish, and brows to kiss. The question is whether we are going to let the day propel us from one incident to another with nary a breath in between, or if we are going to accept that the day will come, embrace it, prepare for it, and do it on purpose, making sure that the direction of the day is guided by some force other than Chaos. (OK, that goal may be a bit lofty - let's shoot for "more days than not", shall we?)
Have you ever been to a beach that had waves? I'm talking surfing-style waves, here. If you don't know the waters, and haven't any idea which end is up on a surfboard, you don't want to just flail into the surf and hope for the best. There's stuff under that water that will rip. you. apart. And the waves don't stop coming, either. Whether you're on your feet or upside down with a chunk of coral jammed up your nose, here comes another wave. Once you're caught in the cycle unaware, it goes from awkward to painful to downright terrifying in just a few good washes over your tumbled head. Yet if you stand on the beach and watch the surfers get out there (or happen to be a surfer yourself), it's a whole different ballgame. They head out, intentionally, aware of what they're up against and familiar with the terrain. They know they could get knocked on their hind ends. They expect to, once in a while. But that's not the point: they've chosen to wade in and make the most of it. And they have a blast! I don't know about y'all, but I could learn a thing or two about that application.
I've fallen prey to one of the things I detest the most: the victim mentality. Ugh. It's disgusting. It's counterproductive. It does nothing to improve the situation, and still the days come, one after another. I know this. Yet I caved, anyway, and now we're all paying the price.
So here's my proposal: live intentionally. I will wake up accepting that whatever comes, I will need to don some form of support garment at some point in the day, so I'll just do it straight away and get that bit of tedium over with. I will go to bed the night before prepared to do that in the most pleasant way possible, rather than slumping into bed praying the alarm doesn't wake the boys in the morning. As a matter of fact, I think I'll lay out a clean cup by the coffee pot just as a little "good morning" treat.
I will set aside stories tonight that I would like to share with the boys tomorrow. I will think ahead of at least one thing they would enjoy doing that doesn't fall into the "taskmaster" category. I will talk with them over breakfast about our day, its plans and aims, and see if they have anything they'd like to add. Children can be wonderfully insightful, when we give them the chance.
I will provide the time to do the things that need to be done, but not in the sense that we often think of things that "need to be done". Not the wash. Not the scrubbing of the grout. Not that thing growing in the back of the fridge. The things that need, truly need, to be done: sharing the kitchen with the boys, making our reading together time a serious priority (possibly over meals, if necessary - we can always eat after the next chapter, or snack during an extra chapter), leaving early enough to stop at the park after our trip to the library.
If it's important, you make time for it. Time will continue its plodding pace with no regard for what we think we need to do, so we need to be intentional and precise about what we are going to do - and then do it.
These are things I know. I've known them for years. I've believed in them for years. I've lived them for years. What happened? I guess I didn't see one of those waves. And I forgot to pay attention, so it got more difficult to get my footing in the shifting sands. I probably stubbed my shin on some coral, too. None of this is irreparable, and none of it is drastic or traumatic. But you wouldn't guess that to look at me lately. And that, my friends, was not intentional. ;-)
So here is to tomorrow morning and a day that I cannot control, but one I can prepare for and welcome as it arrives. I might still end up screaming on my keister by suppertime tomorrow, but it won't have been a day-long fall to get there if I do. And the next day, it will be easier as we all remember what it's like to live intentionally.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
BIG knot - right in the middle of my stomach
Today the Mold Inspector goes out to test the air quality of the Forever Home. Please say a prayer that it passes. Since the results take 48 hours, we won't know until Wednesday, and if it doesn't pass, there won't be time to re-test in time for a closing on Friday.
Did I mention that knot is HUGE?
Thanks,
Dy
Did I mention that knot is HUGE?
Thanks,
Dy
Friday, September 30
Not Every Day is Exciting, but There Are Always Books
The problem with great stories - the stories that get listeners or readers howling with laughter, swearing with empathy, or nodding (in agreement or dissent) - is that they are parenthetical to the day-to-day living that makes up "life". As we know it. Live it. And, hopefully, love it. They punctuate the landscape, but do not generally make up the bulk of it. They don't offer the structures that shelter us from the elements so much as the view out the window, or the decoration at the ends of the bookshelves rather than the books themselves. I think that's is why stand-up comedy routines are seldom longer than four or five minutes. It's takes a lot of "life" to build up a one-hour act.
This reality makes it difficult to keep up the pace when one comes in contact with others through writing or story-telling. Particularly on a daily basis. You look back at the day and think,
Some days are just quiet. Most days, I hope, will be quiet days. They don't make for riotous laughter from the peanut gallery, but I'm okay with that. In spite of the large, gaping blank spot they provide for me at day's end. (Must the cursor blink? As if I don't know it's still sitting in the upper left-hand corner of my screen!) This is when it's nice to turn to the other things that make up who we are and what gets us from one great story to another: the meat of daily living.
I had hoped to write some of the wonderful quotes from Freedom & Necessity as I came across them. I do not, howver, have a reading journal on hand (and have no desire to begin one in the middle of this-particular-spot-in-life), so they never made it here. I'm sorry. You must get the book, though, and read it yourself if you get the chance. I abhor (and I use that word in its weightiest sense) Victorian-era stories, as a general rule, but the characters in this story were so well-written, so well-developed, so deliciously human that I found myself in love with them.
The scarf is coming along nicely. The directions insist that when it is washed (and blocked - they make assumptions, here...) that it will "look like crushed velvet". I will be happy if it shrinks enough to hide the few holes that seem to crop up as I progress. One particular quote in this little booklet, though, brought me a smile. These folks seem to "get it":
The boys shared three wishes tonight at supper. (I took this idea from Melissa, whose family plays "High and Low" at dinner - each person shares his or her high point and low point of the day. We modified it to just playing any type of round robin game: Thanks, where you thank each person at the table for something he did today; Three Wishes, where each person gets to think up three, well, wishes; Joys, listing the things that make you feel joyful that day; Dreams, each sharing something they would like to do in the next month... the ideas are endless, and the boys enjoy it.)
Smidge pretty much wished we'd just leave him alone and let him sleep, so we let him pass on coming up with two more.
John wished:
1) To be a grown man, like Daddy
2) To be married to a woman
3) The woman he marries must "have a golden star on her forehead"
(This contingency seems to have come from Lang's "The Twelve Brothers" story from The Red Fairy Book, in which a very loyal pricess is described thus: She was kind-hearted and of a fair countenance, and she had a gold star right in the middle of her forehead. It's an amazing story, and my heart just burst at the idea that he claimed this girl as a model of womanhood. I'm quite stunned, as we haven't read that story in months.)
James' wishes were:
1) To be able to be a grown up or a child as he chose.
2) To live forever and travel between Heaven and earth at will.
3) Unlimited wishes for the future.
Wow. Good call, although I don't know that he'd want to come back once he got there. The idea of time travel hit him about 45 seconds after the discussion ended, and when we told him "nope, just three wishes", he replied giddily, "but my last wish was for unlimited wishes, so I can add time travel."
We might have a home next week, but we have each other tonight. What more could I honestly wish for? (OK, and to be completely upfront, Zorak and I have both read The Monkey's Paw, so we refrained from joining in the game tonight. Some suspicions are just too hard to break. *grin*) And people think what we read doesn't affect us? P'shaw!
Read something uplifting, encouraging, bolstering, thought-provoking, and great!
And kiss those babies!
~Dy
This reality makes it difficult to keep up the pace when one comes in contact with others through writing or story-telling. Particularly on a daily basis. You look back at the day and think,
"Well, breakfast was nice. Nobody puked, nobody stuck their fingers in hot bacon grease, and I used the leftover baked potatoes from last night's supper to make hash browns."Technically, breakfast was a success. Practically speaking, it would make much better blogfodder if someone had thrown up in the grits, or if some other bodily malfunction had come into play. Thankfully, those stories don't come along every day.
Some days are just quiet. Most days, I hope, will be quiet days. They don't make for riotous laughter from the peanut gallery, but I'm okay with that. In spite of the large, gaping blank spot they provide for me at day's end. (Must the cursor blink? As if I don't know it's still sitting in the upper left-hand corner of my screen!) This is when it's nice to turn to the other things that make up who we are and what gets us from one great story to another: the meat of daily living.
I had hoped to write some of the wonderful quotes from Freedom & Necessity as I came across them. I do not, howver, have a reading journal on hand (and have no desire to begin one in the middle of this-particular-spot-in-life), so they never made it here. I'm sorry. You must get the book, though, and read it yourself if you get the chance. I abhor (and I use that word in its weightiest sense) Victorian-era stories, as a general rule, but the characters in this story were so well-written, so well-developed, so deliciously human that I found myself in love with them.
The scarf is coming along nicely. The directions insist that when it is washed (and blocked - they make assumptions, here...) that it will "look like crushed velvet". I will be happy if it shrinks enough to hide the few holes that seem to crop up as I progress. One particular quote in this little booklet, though, brought me a smile. These folks seem to "get it":
A yarn over is the basis for most lace patterns and is very simple to make. In fact, many new knitters make yarn overs by accident (but in those cases it's called a hole, not lace).
The boys shared three wishes tonight at supper. (I took this idea from Melissa, whose family plays "High and Low" at dinner - each person shares his or her high point and low point of the day. We modified it to just playing any type of round robin game: Thanks, where you thank each person at the table for something he did today; Three Wishes, where each person gets to think up three, well, wishes; Joys, listing the things that make you feel joyful that day; Dreams, each sharing something they would like to do in the next month... the ideas are endless, and the boys enjoy it.)
Smidge pretty much wished we'd just leave him alone and let him sleep, so we let him pass on coming up with two more.
John wished:
1) To be a grown man, like Daddy
2) To be married to a woman
3) The woman he marries must "have a golden star on her forehead"
(This contingency seems to have come from Lang's "The Twelve Brothers" story from The Red Fairy Book, in which a very loyal pricess is described thus: She was kind-hearted and of a fair countenance, and she had a gold star right in the middle of her forehead. It's an amazing story, and my heart just burst at the idea that he claimed this girl as a model of womanhood. I'm quite stunned, as we haven't read that story in months.)
James' wishes were:
1) To be able to be a grown up or a child as he chose.
2) To live forever and travel between Heaven and earth at will.
3) Unlimited wishes for the future.
Wow. Good call, although I don't know that he'd want to come back once he got there. The idea of time travel hit him about 45 seconds after the discussion ended, and when we told him "nope, just three wishes", he replied giddily, "but my last wish was for unlimited wishes, so I can add time travel."
We might have a home next week, but we have each other tonight. What more could I honestly wish for? (OK, and to be completely upfront, Zorak and I have both read The Monkey's Paw, so we refrained from joining in the game tonight. Some suspicions are just too hard to break. *grin*) And people think what we read doesn't affect us? P'shaw!
Read something uplifting, encouraging, bolstering, thought-provoking, and great!
And kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, September 29
*smile*
This day was truly delicious. I have laughed at the boys. Laughed with the boys. The boys have laughed at me, with me, and at one another. We've adjusted bikes and prepped a pumpkin for baking tomorrow. We've read and read and read. I've laughed myself silly over this incredibly addicting book I'm reading (and it's *gasp* fiction!) We came inside only to eat, and it was heavenly.
Zorak came home this afternoon as we were on our way to the park to meet friends. (The wind pushed them -?- and they made much better time than they'd anticipated. OK, this is like telling me you just did 110 on the Interstate and "made good time"... don't tell me these things! Don't tell me you flew the plane. Don't tell me it took half the time to get home as it did to get there. Don't tell me you did not stop for gas!! Do. Not. Share. This. With. Me. Thankyou.) So, anyway, being home and in one piece, he joined us. That was quite nice. (May I just point out here that a daddy playing patiently on the playground with a child, particularly the daddy of your child, is SUCH a sight for sore eyes! Ok, so back to the blogging...)
The park play area is huge and wonderful for children, but it's a visual-contact nightmare for parents. If your child is more than five feet from you, he is hidden. It was a community project park, and while it's definitely gorgeous, egads, people! Even the folks at Circle K (convenience stores) know not to put visual blocks in front of the people who need to see what's going on. SO. Between the three of us (Zorak, myself, and our friend), we were able to keep an eye on the three smallest ones and make occasional radio contact with the four oldest ones. They ran about like recently freed cave children. All the children there today were flying around at MACH3, having a blast, and managing not to incinerate themselves upon impact with upright piers. It was great!
Ahhh, and now, Zorak is home. Supper has been inhaled. Stories have been read. And I have a ton of laundry to get done. So I'm cutting it short.
As always, kiss those babies, but give those Daddies a little peck and a "thank you", too.
~Dy
Zorak came home this afternoon as we were on our way to the park to meet friends. (The wind pushed them -?- and they made much better time than they'd anticipated. OK, this is like telling me you just did 110 on the Interstate and "made good time"... don't tell me these things! Don't tell me you flew the plane. Don't tell me it took half the time to get home as it did to get there. Don't tell me you did not stop for gas!! Do. Not. Share. This. With. Me. Thankyou.) So, anyway, being home and in one piece, he joined us. That was quite nice. (May I just point out here that a daddy playing patiently on the playground with a child, particularly the daddy of your child, is SUCH a sight for sore eyes! Ok, so back to the blogging...)
The park play area is huge and wonderful for children, but it's a visual-contact nightmare for parents. If your child is more than five feet from you, he is hidden. It was a community project park, and while it's definitely gorgeous, egads, people! Even the folks at Circle K (convenience stores) know not to put visual blocks in front of the people who need to see what's going on. SO. Between the three of us (Zorak, myself, and our friend), we were able to keep an eye on the three smallest ones and make occasional radio contact with the four oldest ones. They ran about like recently freed cave children. All the children there today were flying around at MACH3, having a blast, and managing not to incinerate themselves upon impact with upright piers. It was great!
Ahhh, and now, Zorak is home. Supper has been inhaled. Stories have been read. And I have a ton of laundry to get done. So I'm cutting it short.
As always, kiss those babies, but give those Daddies a little peck and a "thank you", too.
~Dy
Morning Stories
The reading groove is back. The boys and I have enjoyed a week of reading for longer periods, reading more diverse books, and they've been requesting more stories! The boys are thoroughly enjoying The Story of Numbers, as well as the other general reading we're doing. Last night James let me know he'd read all the current library books at least twice and asked if we can go back. Ahhh, yes. That's what I was looking for. This morning, he read to me for over an hour. We had a wonderful time together.
I am thoroughly enjoying the boys. They've been out-of-doors voluntarily, and that's been oh-so-nice! Our time indoors together has been more enjoyable - whether we're wrestling (which, might I point out, is a very handy "Daddy Thing", not so easy on the "Preggo Mommy"), or baking or reading or just being silly. They are getting a much better balance of life these days, and the improvements are wonderful.
I don't know how they can just home in on this stuff, but they found some yarn at the store the other day. They loved on it. They oohhh'd and ahhh'd over it. They cradled it like a baby doll. It was just too stinkin' cute to say no. That's what precipitated the knitting agrression session. I have to get started when they're asleep because things get stabbed. Mistakes are made. Things are said. It's actually good practice for me to gain control over my tongue. But by yesterday afternoon, I'd ripped out a scarf only nine times and things were relatively benign. The boys played with yarn on the bed while I sat among them and knitted (my ball of yarn safely ensconsed under my shirt). It was like curling up with happy, declawed kittens.
Zorak should return to us this evening. It will be wonderful to have him back. The high today is supposed to be in the low 70's - what a wonderful reprieve! The boys are already outside, roming in the air. They didn't even take toys or balls out - just bolted and spun in circles, exclaiming how pretty it is outside! I think I'm going to go join them. If anyone knows of a place where it never gets above 65', please let me know. :-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I am thoroughly enjoying the boys. They've been out-of-doors voluntarily, and that's been oh-so-nice! Our time indoors together has been more enjoyable - whether we're wrestling (which, might I point out, is a very handy "Daddy Thing", not so easy on the "Preggo Mommy"), or baking or reading or just being silly. They are getting a much better balance of life these days, and the improvements are wonderful.
I don't know how they can just home in on this stuff, but they found some yarn at the store the other day. They loved on it. They oohhh'd and ahhh'd over it. They cradled it like a baby doll. It was just too stinkin' cute to say no. That's what precipitated the knitting agrression session. I have to get started when they're asleep because things get stabbed. Mistakes are made. Things are said. It's actually good practice for me to gain control over my tongue. But by yesterday afternoon, I'd ripped out a scarf only nine times and things were relatively benign. The boys played with yarn on the bed while I sat among them and knitted (my ball of yarn safely ensconsed under my shirt). It was like curling up with happy, declawed kittens.
Zorak should return to us this evening. It will be wonderful to have him back. The high today is supposed to be in the low 70's - what a wonderful reprieve! The boys are already outside, roming in the air. They didn't even take toys or balls out - just bolted and spun in circles, exclaiming how pretty it is outside! I think I'm going to go join them. If anyone knows of a place where it never gets above 65', please let me know. :-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, September 27
Why I Love My Husband, #1,877,935,101
Tonight, as I relayed to Zorak my appreciation for him and his presence in my life, I shared the thought that without his positive influence I would probably be a bitter, alcoholic barmaid in a border town right now. His reply?
The latest on the Forever Home is that the sellers (remember, this is a foreclosure co. that owns the property and is selling it - they just listed it through a real estate office rather than doing the auction/bid thing) Anyway, they have now asked us to sign an adendum to extend the closing date to October 7th... you know, because they just didn't get on it quickly enough to close this Thursday. It seems they're the only ones who are surprised by this news, though, which is funny. They have, however, actually requested (and received) the Mold Photos, and have begun to grind those little hamster wheels to get the place treated. So, we'll sign. I didn't load up the boys and high-tail it to Decatur to sign the new form, though. They can wait til Zorak gets back and we'll sign it then. But who knows? Maybe next week will be our lucky week!
This evening, Aunt B talked me down, let me know I'm not technically insane (not in this aspect, anyway), and encouraged me greatly. I really appreciate all the humor and good faith she extends to us, but 'specially to me. It's helped a lot, and she's put up with us while we outgrew our 20's and while we have worked to find our footing in our 30's. (Yes, we're slow learners.) By the time we hung up, I could laugh at the situation and be glad that we've come this far. That's quite a perspective check, huh?
The boys and I have been on the go, go, go (dog, go!) all day long. It was good. It was fun. It was really quite exhausting. They are such helpful little guys, though, and the day went smoothly. Tomorrow we have Poineer Club, so we'll see if we can swing the TeamWorkThang heartily enough to make it on time (or at least not be terribly late...)
And tonight, I am going to curl up with a good book and a skein of yarn and get all my aggressions out by trying to knit something. (The book is in case I start yelling too loudly and need to calm down a bit.) I don't know what it'll be yet, but it's possible we'll have some idea what it is in a year or two! In the meantime, the boys are asleep, so the therapy will be helpful.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
That's ok. If it wasn't for you, I'd probably be looking for a bitter, alcoholic barmaid in a border town, today, too.I love that man! He knows when to tell me it'll be okay, and he knows when to ask if I need to hear it'll be okay, or if I need to just be Chicken Little for a while. And through it all, he really always *knows* (in his heart) that it will be okay. How could I not cherish him?
The latest on the Forever Home is that the sellers (remember, this is a foreclosure co. that owns the property and is selling it - they just listed it through a real estate office rather than doing the auction/bid thing) Anyway, they have now asked us to sign an adendum to extend the closing date to October 7th... you know, because they just didn't get on it quickly enough to close this Thursday. It seems they're the only ones who are surprised by this news, though, which is funny. They have, however, actually requested (and received) the Mold Photos, and have begun to grind those little hamster wheels to get the place treated. So, we'll sign. I didn't load up the boys and high-tail it to Decatur to sign the new form, though. They can wait til Zorak gets back and we'll sign it then. But who knows? Maybe next week will be our lucky week!
This evening, Aunt B talked me down, let me know I'm not technically insane (not in this aspect, anyway), and encouraged me greatly. I really appreciate all the humor and good faith she extends to us, but 'specially to me. It's helped a lot, and she's put up with us while we outgrew our 20's and while we have worked to find our footing in our 30's. (Yes, we're slow learners.) By the time we hung up, I could laugh at the situation and be glad that we've come this far. That's quite a perspective check, huh?
The boys and I have been on the go, go, go (dog, go!) all day long. It was good. It was fun. It was really quite exhausting. They are such helpful little guys, though, and the day went smoothly. Tomorrow we have Poineer Club, so we'll see if we can swing the TeamWorkThang heartily enough to make it on time (or at least not be terribly late...)
And tonight, I am going to curl up with a good book and a skein of yarn and get all my aggressions out by trying to knit something. (The book is in case I start yelling too loudly and need to calm down a bit.) I don't know what it'll be yet, but it's possible we'll have some idea what it is in a year or two! In the meantime, the boys are asleep, so the therapy will be helpful.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Drat! Foiled again!
I spoke with Wonderful Realtor this morning. She is so angry she is nearly incapable of speaking clearly. The sellers are refusing to speak to her because they can "only speak to the listing broker". WELL, the listing broker handed the phone to the Wonderful Realtor, because (a) they work together and (b) W-R is the one who has done all the work, has all the details, and is the most useful in this situation. But no.
And now the broker is out. of. town. for the next few days (this is the second vacation she's taken while we've been trying to get this deal through, *sigh*, must be nice).
Sellers still have not given authorization for anyone to go treat the property. They left their office Friday and have not answered the phone, replied to email, or bothered to make contact since then. We don't know how they think this will close on Thursday (which was their pick - they said the 29th!!)
To quote Sarah,
I meant to share that with Wonderful Realtor this morning, but she sounded so worn down herself, I wasn't sure it would've been appropriate. I want to make her smile, not cry.
So, another week, month, or whatever without our forever home. It'll be ok. The weather is cooler today. There is a *ooooooo* slight breeze. We have groceries to buy and the money with which to buy them. The boys are covered in mud... I'm not sure where that came from, but just peeked out the window and noticed... hmmm.
Yep, it'll be alright. Really, it will.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
And now the broker is out. of. town. for the next few days (this is the second vacation she's taken while we've been trying to get this deal through, *sigh*, must be nice).
Sellers still have not given authorization for anyone to go treat the property. They left their office Friday and have not answered the phone, replied to email, or bothered to make contact since then. We don't know how they think this will close on Thursday (which was their pick - they said the 29th!!)
To quote Sarah,
"I am a glacier. I am cool. I am calm. I am chilled. I am freakin' enormous and I will wear down anything in my path. I am cool. I am calm."
I meant to share that with Wonderful Realtor this morning, but she sounded so worn down herself, I wasn't sure it would've been appropriate. I want to make her smile, not cry.
So, another week, month, or whatever without our forever home. It'll be ok. The weather is cooler today. There is a *ooooooo* slight breeze. We have groceries to buy and the money with which to buy them. The boys are covered in mud... I'm not sure where that came from, but just peeked out the window and noticed... hmmm.
Yep, it'll be alright. Really, it will.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, September 26
Come Monday, It'll Be Alright
No, we're not going to a Jimmy Buffett concert. (Wouldn't that be fun, though?) The title of this post is actually for Zorak, who is on travel this week. He headed out this morning, all decked out in his "traveling engineer" garb. The boys and I are doing our Mommy-Doesn't-Have-The-Stamina-For-Boundary-Defining-This-Week Routine. It works quite well, and the older two know (almost instinctively...) that if they walk in the general direction that I point, we're good. If they turn into rabid rock squirrels, however, I will break out the slingshot and clip their little tails with a deeply irreverent glee. (OK, it's not *quite* that bad, but the imagery is pretty good.)
We did have a truly splendid time on Saturday evening. The boys napped in the late afternoon and were truly, absolutely wonderful the entire evening. They had a spectacular time, danced themselves dizzy, ate tons of fair-type food, and when we left the concert around eleven-thirty, they were just winding down. (And yet, they were still up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Sunday morning! HOOOOWWWWW do they do that?) John sure wanted to shake Don Williams' hand, but by the time we could get anywhere near the backstage area, he was long gone. John asked if he could write him a letter to thank him for coming to H'ville. (Happy mommy moment! He wants to write!) It was a good weekend before Daddy headed out.
Zorak's Team Lead is a pilot. He has his own little plane.
Y'all cracked me up on the henchmen post. I hadn't even thought of hiring henchmen for the house. Although, now that you mention it... As of today, I haven't heard anything more. I don't see how it can close on Thursday. In order to have everything cleared for Thursday's closing, the sellers had to have hired a Mold Man to do the work over the weekend so that the test could be run by tomorrow, at the latest. (The test takes 48 hours to culture, and then probably another day to write up the letter and tie it to the turtle that walks it to the mortgage co.) . As of Friday afternoon, the sellers didn't quite "get" that this process needed to go quickly - not quickly according to their planet's time frame - but quickly. Period. They still hadn't even picked a Mold Man yet. Wonderful Realtor worked her day off to help the process along. She said she would contact us this week with an update. If they can't get it done, then at least it's on their heads since they picked this last closing date. In the meantime, it's rained here the past couple of days. I don't envy the Mold Man who gets picked, that's for sure!
I sent Zorak into a tailspin of discomfort this week with my reading selection: Hutterite Society by John A. Hostetler. Last night he broke down and asked, "You're not going to decide this is the way to go and drag us to a colony for a *uses quotes in the air* visit, are you?" Once I mopped up the coffee I'd spewed over the couch and quit chuckling, I was tempted to play devil's advocate on the issue... but refrained and let him off the hook.
The boys asked about the book today, though, and we had such a neat discussion about communal societies and their histories - who the Hutterites are and their history, as well as their faith. James had a really good point when he said, "Wow, since they're doing what they believe in their hearts is right, I'll bet God is very happy with them." Yeah, buddy, you're getting it, aren't you? It's not what we believe, or what we do, but he gets that it's what's in your heart. He also gets that we strive to serve the way we believe best, and that's good, too. I thought that was pretty good for a little guy to comprehend.
We're reading Howliday Inn by James Howe (the sequel to Bunnicula) and the boys are loving it. We're also revisiting our favorite fairy tales (Red Fairy Book), and reading through the Bible together in the mornings.
The boys new fishing rods from Zebco came in last week (excellent customer service, and they sent replacements that were identical to the originals! Thank you, Zebco!!), so they spent time today practicing their casting techniques out in the grass.
We made muffins with a new recipe, but now we need to buy pumpkins for the next batch. We decided they'd be much better with pumpkin. Mmmmm.
And, I spent time today working on my Big Project - ten minutes a day with the Magic Eraser undoing Smidge's EKG mural on the hallway wall and bedroom door. (Can't complain. He's two. He had the marker. I wasn't paying attention. It was bound to happen eventually.) It's good exercise and I should have it all off by the end of the week. (And you should see my triceps!)
Oh. Wow. It just dawned on me that the CD player has made the rounds and I'm now sitting here, at ten o'clock, listening to Prima Latina... I've got to remedy that. So I'm off. Have a wonderful day with your families tomorrow. Enjoy your gifts and your little ones.
Kiss those babies!
Dy
We did have a truly splendid time on Saturday evening. The boys napped in the late afternoon and were truly, absolutely wonderful the entire evening. They had a spectacular time, danced themselves dizzy, ate tons of fair-type food, and when we left the concert around eleven-thirty, they were just winding down. (And yet, they were still up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Sunday morning! HOOOOWWWWW do they do that?) John sure wanted to shake Don Williams' hand, but by the time we could get anywhere near the backstage area, he was long gone. John asked if he could write him a letter to thank him for coming to H'ville. (Happy mommy moment! He wants to write!) It was a good weekend before Daddy headed out.
Zorak's Team Lead is a pilot. He has his own little plane.
"Hey! Let's take my plane to Iowa!"*groan* Guess who needed a few tranquilizers for this trip? Yep, me. It's not that I don't trust the guy, or his plane, but if Zorak dies, I am on my own. I don't want to be on my own!! Fortunately, while not terribly intuitive, Zorak is understanding, so when I said, "PleasefortheloveofGod, be careful. Andcallme." He got it. He called. From Illinois for a gas stop, from the hangar in Iowa. And he let me know ahead of time that he won't be calling again until morning, but that he is on solid ground and is fine. He didn't have to let me know Team Lead let him fly the plane for a while, though. I could've slept very soundly without that information.
Y'all cracked me up on the henchmen post. I hadn't even thought of hiring henchmen for the house. Although, now that you mention it... As of today, I haven't heard anything more. I don't see how it can close on Thursday. In order to have everything cleared for Thursday's closing, the sellers had to have hired a Mold Man to do the work over the weekend so that the test could be run by tomorrow, at the latest. (The test takes 48 hours to culture, and then probably another day to write up the letter and tie it to the turtle that walks it to the mortgage co.) . As of Friday afternoon, the sellers didn't quite "get" that this process needed to go quickly - not quickly according to their planet's time frame - but quickly. Period. They still hadn't even picked a Mold Man yet. Wonderful Realtor worked her day off to help the process along. She said she would contact us this week with an update. If they can't get it done, then at least it's on their heads since they picked this last closing date. In the meantime, it's rained here the past couple of days. I don't envy the Mold Man who gets picked, that's for sure!
I sent Zorak into a tailspin of discomfort this week with my reading selection: Hutterite Society by John A. Hostetler. Last night he broke down and asked, "You're not going to decide this is the way to go and drag us to a colony for a *uses quotes in the air* visit, are you?" Once I mopped up the coffee I'd spewed over the couch and quit chuckling, I was tempted to play devil's advocate on the issue... but refrained and let him off the hook.
The boys asked about the book today, though, and we had such a neat discussion about communal societies and their histories - who the Hutterites are and their history, as well as their faith. James had a really good point when he said, "Wow, since they're doing what they believe in their hearts is right, I'll bet God is very happy with them." Yeah, buddy, you're getting it, aren't you? It's not what we believe, or what we do, but he gets that it's what's in your heart. He also gets that we strive to serve the way we believe best, and that's good, too. I thought that was pretty good for a little guy to comprehend.
We're reading Howliday Inn by James Howe (the sequel to Bunnicula) and the boys are loving it. We're also revisiting our favorite fairy tales (Red Fairy Book), and reading through the Bible together in the mornings.
The boys new fishing rods from Zebco came in last week (excellent customer service, and they sent replacements that were identical to the originals! Thank you, Zebco!!), so they spent time today practicing their casting techniques out in the grass.
We made muffins with a new recipe, but now we need to buy pumpkins for the next batch. We decided they'd be much better with pumpkin. Mmmmm.
And, I spent time today working on my Big Project - ten minutes a day with the Magic Eraser undoing Smidge's EKG mural on the hallway wall and bedroom door. (Can't complain. He's two. He had the marker. I wasn't paying attention. It was bound to happen eventually.) It's good exercise and I should have it all off by the end of the week. (And you should see my triceps!)
Oh. Wow. It just dawned on me that the CD player has made the rounds and I'm now sitting here, at ten o'clock, listening to Prima Latina... I've got to remedy that. So I'm off. Have a wonderful day with your families tomorrow. Enjoy your gifts and your little ones.
Kiss those babies!
Dy
Sunday, September 25
On Hiring Henchmen
A good henchman is hard to come by. And so, in the hope of helping malevolent landowners and corrupt sheriffs across the Wild Wild West find competent, caring henchmen, we have outlined the basics to cover in the application/interview process. Enjoy.
Name? (If it's an alias, don't tell me that, just say as little as possible)_____
Former Occupation______________________________________
Reason for becoming a Henchman _____________________________
How's that workin' for ya? ____________________________
Years Henching? ________________
Are you aware that, even if we offer you a "retirement plan", we do not expect you to live long enough to collect on it, and if you do, we'll just kill you if you try? yes___ no ___ (If you checked no, stop now, shred this paper and leave.)
Please explain briefly a situation in which you were involved in a successful Henching Operation that required teamwork and cooperation:
___________________________________________
Where do you see yourself in five years? (Or if you don't plan to live that long, let's say, two years? By Christmas?) _________________________________________
Do you have any identifying marks readily visible to onlookers? (please explain)
____________________________________
Do you have an eye patch? (if yes, please mark the top of your application for preference points) _____
Have you, or anyone working with you, ever actually heard the foreboding music that accompanies your entrance to a drinking or entertainment establishment? __________
Just between you and me, how creepy was that?_____________________________________
Do you have any brothers who will follow you blindly into this employment? _______
How familiar are you with the (rather unspoken) Henchman Code of Ethics? (mark yes or no)
*Can you shoot an elderly, unarmed, blind man in the back? yes__ no__
*Can you leave an unescorted pregnant woman without a horse in the wilderness? yes__ no__
*Can you ever, under any circumstances, attack a perfectly healthy, sound, armed opponent at the same time as a fellow Henchman attacks him? yes__ no__
Literacy, cultural awareness:
You are expected to stampede the ____________ and pillage the _________. (Don't laugh. You'd be surprised how many get this wrong. Answer carefully.)
Yup. Mocking bad westerns is what we do on Sunday evenings... it's good.
Have a good evening!
Dy
Name? (If it's an alias, don't tell me that, just say as little as possible)_____
Former Occupation______________________________________
Reason for becoming a Henchman _____________________________
How's that workin' for ya? ____________________________
Years Henching? ________________
Are you aware that, even if we offer you a "retirement plan", we do not expect you to live long enough to collect on it, and if you do, we'll just kill you if you try? yes___ no ___ (If you checked no, stop now, shred this paper and leave.)
Please explain briefly a situation in which you were involved in a successful Henching Operation that required teamwork and cooperation:
___________________________________________
Where do you see yourself in five years? (Or if you don't plan to live that long, let's say, two years? By Christmas?) _________________________________________
Do you have any identifying marks readily visible to onlookers? (please explain)
____________________________________
Do you have an eye patch? (if yes, please mark the top of your application for preference points) _____
Have you, or anyone working with you, ever actually heard the foreboding music that accompanies your entrance to a drinking or entertainment establishment? __________
Just between you and me, how creepy was that?_____________________________________
Do you have any brothers who will follow you blindly into this employment? _______
How familiar are you with the (rather unspoken) Henchman Code of Ethics? (mark yes or no)
*Can you shoot an elderly, unarmed, blind man in the back? yes__ no__
*Can you leave an unescorted pregnant woman without a horse in the wilderness? yes__ no__
*Can you ever, under any circumstances, attack a perfectly healthy, sound, armed opponent at the same time as a fellow Henchman attacks him? yes__ no__
Literacy, cultural awareness:
You are expected to stampede the ____________ and pillage the _________. (Don't laugh. You'd be surprised how many get this wrong. Answer carefully.)
Yup. Mocking bad westerns is what we do on Sunday evenings... it's good.
Have a good evening!
Dy
Saturday, September 24
Wow, that was weird.
I fell asleep at a really early hour last night. Unfortunately, I fell asleep sitting upright, reading a book. Ow. It must have been good rest, though, because I was up bright 'n early this morning, before the sky grew light. How wonderful to sit on the porch, sipping coffee, reading a book (different book), and listening to the birds.
Oh, a PSA for this morning: JANET!! Calling JANET!! Can you email me? I saw your note to me on Donna's blog, but I can't find your email.
Let's see. Well, tonight we're going to see *squeal* *giggle* *jump up and down* Don Williams perform at the Big Spring Jam downtown. I'm not big on "seeing celebrities", and generally concerts aren't something I enjoy, but oh! This is Don Williams! This man sang in the background (8-track and cassette tape!) for almost every family gathering I can remember. In the Lefty Frizell/Kenny Rogers/Hank Williams Sr./Dolly Parton mix, Don Williams made appearances at a ratio of 3:1 for each other performer. I don't know who was the fan in the family was, but he was heavily represented in the soundtrack of my childhood. And he's playing here!!! *swoon*
If Zorak were the squealing, giggling, swooning type (which, of course, he's not, and I'm sure he'd like me to make that implicitly clear), he'd be right here with me, because after Don Williams plays, Dwight Yokam takes the stage. I'm pretty sure that although Zorak isn't visibly reacting, he's doing it on the inside...
So, yes, we are keeping our children out until the wee hours of the night to see these men play. To dance on the grass. To sing out of key along with the masters. To laugh as James shrieks, "I LOVE THIS SONG!" for the hundredth time in one evening. To watch Smidge smile and spin in circles with his arms outstretched. To sit with John on my lap, swaying to the ballads and hear his happy humming along with the tune. (The only thing that would make this event perfect would be a set by Freddy Fender as a nightcap. Like Zorak said, "Our children have impeccable taste in music.") To smile at each other and maybe slip in a waltz or two on the lawn.
I finished the biography of Ayn Rand, and the last chapter touched on her critics and followers. That was, perhaps, the best chapter of the entire book. It included quotes and reasoning both for and against. It highlighted the actual issues her critics took, both against her as a person and against her philosophy and fiction. I'm glad I finished the book.
And now, I'm going to go kiss my babies and enjoy a lovely Saturday morning. Hopefully our last one for a while without any work to be done!
~Dy
Oh, a PSA for this morning: JANET!! Calling JANET!! Can you email me? I saw your note to me on Donna's blog, but I can't find your email.
Let's see. Well, tonight we're going to see *squeal* *giggle* *jump up and down* Don Williams perform at the Big Spring Jam downtown. I'm not big on "seeing celebrities", and generally concerts aren't something I enjoy, but oh! This is Don Williams! This man sang in the background (8-track and cassette tape!) for almost every family gathering I can remember. In the Lefty Frizell/Kenny Rogers/Hank Williams Sr./Dolly Parton mix, Don Williams made appearances at a ratio of 3:1 for each other performer. I don't know who was the fan in the family was, but he was heavily represented in the soundtrack of my childhood. And he's playing here!!! *swoon*
If Zorak were the squealing, giggling, swooning type (which, of course, he's not, and I'm sure he'd like me to make that implicitly clear), he'd be right here with me, because after Don Williams plays, Dwight Yokam takes the stage. I'm pretty sure that although Zorak isn't visibly reacting, he's doing it on the inside...
So, yes, we are keeping our children out until the wee hours of the night to see these men play. To dance on the grass. To sing out of key along with the masters. To laugh as James shrieks, "I LOVE THIS SONG!" for the hundredth time in one evening. To watch Smidge smile and spin in circles with his arms outstretched. To sit with John on my lap, swaying to the ballads and hear his happy humming along with the tune. (The only thing that would make this event perfect would be a set by Freddy Fender as a nightcap. Like Zorak said, "Our children have impeccable taste in music.") To smile at each other and maybe slip in a waltz or two on the lawn.
I finished the biography of Ayn Rand, and the last chapter touched on her critics and followers. That was, perhaps, the best chapter of the entire book. It included quotes and reasoning both for and against. It highlighted the actual issues her critics took, both against her as a person and against her philosophy and fiction. I'm glad I finished the book.
And now, I'm going to go kiss my babies and enjoy a lovely Saturday morning. Hopefully our last one for a while without any work to be done!
~Dy
Thursday, September 22
Rather Anti-Climactic Week, Here
Hey.
Quiet tonight.
Boys are in bed. House is looking gorgeous. Caught up on laundry and seriously considering some kind of clothing moratorium for fall. You can change (must change, actually) skivvies daily, but everything else gets three days' wear or you go nekkid until the three days is up. We produce too much laundry. It's amazing. Then I think of Mel Gibson's poor mother and feel pretty footloose about our piles. Still, there's probably room for improvement in here somewhere.
I'm reading a biography of Ayn Rand (and why didn't anyone tell me it rhymes with mine not payne?!? Thanks, y'all! Sheesh. At least I can pronounce Goethe, even if I can't do the little doppleganger doohickies on top of my vowels when I type. What are those, again?) Anyway. Wow. It must be time for an early night. The words are flowing, but not in any one direction.
SO. *ahem* *sips coffee* Yes. I'm reading this biography, in which the author claims to be "neither a disciple nor a critic" of Rand's. He comes across as just a wee bit schizophrenic, to be honest. I'm toolin' along, reading pretty basic discourse and then out of nowhere he throws out, at the end of a paragraph, "Obviously, she missed the point of the complexity of the issue." Then he moves on, and the reader is left thinking, "What the hell is he talking about?" (Pardon the swearing, but that is EXACTLY the word that comes to mind 98 pages into this book, after he pulls that weird segue for the umpteenth time.) He makes a number of random judgement calls out of nowhere, but does nothing to back them up or expound on them, leaving the reader going back time and again in a futile attempt to figure out what she missed. (Futile because you did not miss anything. His comments are just There. Alone. With nothing to hold them up or tell you where they came from. They're like mental orphans.) At this point, I'm finishing the book because I'd like to see if this continues, and if I ever grow accustomed to it. Still better than Huxley, but man I miss O'Brian, and as far as non-fiction goes, this guy has nothing on Forrester. *smile*
Let's see... what else? It's only mid-August. Or that's what you'd think if you woke from a coma and wandered outside today. Hot. Too hot for late September. It's hot. Yuck.
Oh! And did I TELL YOU that our library is going to be adding the ability to put books on hold?!?!? This is better than Christmas for me. Well, it might be Christmas before it kicks in, so that's probably not a good description. Anyway, I made a pathetic attempt to hit the library sans children one night after supper, before they closed. (Have you seen those shopping game shows, where contestants fly down the aisles, indiscriminately throwing items into their carts, careening around corners to beat the clock to the checkout stand? There's your image. I still have no idea what I checked out.) I asked at the counter if they had *pant, pant* considered adding that *wheeze, pant* feature. You know, since iBistro was *gassssspp* developed here... it would make sense to *pant* use the features incorporated into it... and... I had to stop talking or risk passing out from hyperventilation. It's hard to run down stairs carrying a basket of books when you're out-to-here pregnant! The nice man waited for my gasping to subside so I could hear him over the sound of my own inhalations and said yes, they've actually been trying to get it up and running for a while and it's just taken a lot longer than anyone anticipated. He does expect it to kick in soon, though. WOOHOO!!! I'm so psyched!! HOLD! HOLD! A beautiful word. It is the blessing of mothers in libraries everywhere to be able to pick up preselected titles and then spend the library time snuggling, teaching and guiding their children through the Library Experience. Yay for the Madison County Library System!!
Ah, and on that note, I'd better get some rest. I promise not to be so random with tomorrow's blog.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Quiet tonight.
Boys are in bed. House is looking gorgeous. Caught up on laundry and seriously considering some kind of clothing moratorium for fall. You can change (must change, actually) skivvies daily, but everything else gets three days' wear or you go nekkid until the three days is up. We produce too much laundry. It's amazing. Then I think of Mel Gibson's poor mother and feel pretty footloose about our piles. Still, there's probably room for improvement in here somewhere.
I'm reading a biography of Ayn Rand (and why didn't anyone tell me it rhymes with mine not payne?!? Thanks, y'all! Sheesh. At least I can pronounce Goethe, even if I can't do the little doppleganger doohickies on top of my vowels when I type. What are those, again?) Anyway. Wow. It must be time for an early night. The words are flowing, but not in any one direction.
SO. *ahem* *sips coffee* Yes. I'm reading this biography, in which the author claims to be "neither a disciple nor a critic" of Rand's. He comes across as just a wee bit schizophrenic, to be honest. I'm toolin' along, reading pretty basic discourse and then out of nowhere he throws out, at the end of a paragraph, "Obviously, she missed the point of the complexity of the issue." Then he moves on, and the reader is left thinking, "What the hell is he talking about?" (Pardon the swearing, but that is EXACTLY the word that comes to mind 98 pages into this book, after he pulls that weird segue for the umpteenth time.) He makes a number of random judgement calls out of nowhere, but does nothing to back them up or expound on them, leaving the reader going back time and again in a futile attempt to figure out what she missed. (Futile because you did not miss anything. His comments are just There. Alone. With nothing to hold them up or tell you where they came from. They're like mental orphans.) At this point, I'm finishing the book because I'd like to see if this continues, and if I ever grow accustomed to it. Still better than Huxley, but man I miss O'Brian, and as far as non-fiction goes, this guy has nothing on Forrester. *smile*
Let's see... what else? It's only mid-August. Or that's what you'd think if you woke from a coma and wandered outside today. Hot. Too hot for late September. It's hot. Yuck.
Oh! And did I TELL YOU that our library is going to be adding the ability to put books on hold?!?!? This is better than Christmas for me. Well, it might be Christmas before it kicks in, so that's probably not a good description. Anyway, I made a pathetic attempt to hit the library sans children one night after supper, before they closed. (Have you seen those shopping game shows, where contestants fly down the aisles, indiscriminately throwing items into their carts, careening around corners to beat the clock to the checkout stand? There's your image. I still have no idea what I checked out.) I asked at the counter if they had *pant, pant* considered adding that *wheeze, pant* feature. You know, since iBistro was *gassssspp* developed here... it would make sense to *pant* use the features incorporated into it... and... I had to stop talking or risk passing out from hyperventilation. It's hard to run down stairs carrying a basket of books when you're out-to-here pregnant! The nice man waited for my gasping to subside so I could hear him over the sound of my own inhalations and said yes, they've actually been trying to get it up and running for a while and it's just taken a lot longer than anyone anticipated. He does expect it to kick in soon, though. WOOHOO!!! I'm so psyched!! HOLD! HOLD! A beautiful word. It is the blessing of mothers in libraries everywhere to be able to pick up preselected titles and then spend the library time snuggling, teaching and guiding their children through the Library Experience. Yay for the Madison County Library System!!
Ah, and on that note, I'd better get some rest. I promise not to be so random with tomorrow's blog.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tags and Parodies
We heard a song on the radio this weekend that was just priceless. It's a parody by Cletus T. Judd of the romantic song "You Have the Right to Remain Silent", by Perfect Stranger. The parody is funny on its own, but if you haven't heard the original, go listen to it first. Cletus T. Judd's voice is intentionally nasal and difficult to understand, and this isn't exactly date-night music (well, for us it would be, but I know that's not everybody's cuppa tea.)
You Have No Right To Remain Violent
New lyrics by Cledus T. Judd and Chris Clark, La-Po Music (BMI)/Chris Clark Publishing Designee
Well, I asked you to dance
Now my nose is broken
Must've said somethin' wrong
Gosh, I was just jokin'
But it's hard not to cry
With a gussied up eye
My face sprayed with mace
If ya didn't wanna dance
You could've just said so
And if I'd only ducked fast
Then I wouldn't have bled so
Do you think there's a chance
You could call an ambulance?
Oh God, I'm in pain
*chorus*
You have no right to remain violent
That kick to my crotch
Uh, that was very uncalled for
You continued to beat and beat me
'Till I was black and blue
I've been wantin' you
But not any longer
'Cause it's brutally clear
That you're so much stronger
I'm madder than fire
My jaws are both wired
One hell of a date
I didn't know my bladder had failed me
Until I looked down at my pants
I think I'm in desperate need of hospitalization
But I ain't got no danged insurance
***chorus***
I bought a camcorder
Got a restrainin' order
Now lay you're hands on me
I guess that's what you get when you ask a perfect stranger to dance.
KathyJo tagged me with this meme. I haven't blogged anything "just for fun" lately, so here it is. For the last part, I don't know who has done it or who would be interested in doing it. So if you'd like to, take it and run, run with the meme!
5 things I plan (Lord willing) to do before I die:
1. Hunt moose in Alaska.
2. Travel into Mexico with the boys.
3. Hike the AT from Maine to Georgia.
4. See my boys grown into fine men.
5. Buy a stinkin' house.
5 things I can do:
1. Make a beeeyuuutiful recurve bow.
2. Basic mechanic work and rebuilding.
3. Knit (not well, but that wasn't the question).
4. Swim.
5. Make boo-boos all better.
5 things I cannot do (yet):
1. Drive an 18-wheeler.
2. Ballroom dance.
3. String spaghetti up my nose and out my throat in one piece.
4. Zorak says, "ride a motorcycle", but I think of that as something I can do, just haven't tried yet. I', sticking with that.
5. Sit through "Beth Moore" bible studies.
5 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. Intelligence (and a willingness to abandon it for #2 on occasion).
2. Humor.
3. Integrity.
4. Roots - knows who he is.
5. Boots. Not girly boots, and not decorative boots. I mean BOOTS.
5 things I say most often:
1. Jackass.
2. Who loves that boy? (or "those boys")
3. WHAT are those idiots thinking?!?!
4. We should close next week.
5. Goat.
5 celebrity crushes:
1. Patrick Stewart
2. Tom Selleck
3. Sam Elliott
4. Bruce Willis
5. Kurt Russell
:-) Kiss those babies!
~Dy
You Have No Right To Remain Violent
New lyrics by Cledus T. Judd and Chris Clark, La-Po Music (BMI)/Chris Clark Publishing Designee
Well, I asked you to dance
Now my nose is broken
Must've said somethin' wrong
Gosh, I was just jokin'
But it's hard not to cry
With a gussied up eye
My face sprayed with mace
If ya didn't wanna dance
You could've just said so
And if I'd only ducked fast
Then I wouldn't have bled so
Do you think there's a chance
You could call an ambulance?
Oh God, I'm in pain
*chorus*
You have no right to remain violent
That kick to my crotch
Uh, that was very uncalled for
You continued to beat and beat me
'Till I was black and blue
I've been wantin' you
But not any longer
'Cause it's brutally clear
That you're so much stronger
I'm madder than fire
My jaws are both wired
One hell of a date
I didn't know my bladder had failed me
Until I looked down at my pants
I think I'm in desperate need of hospitalization
But I ain't got no danged insurance
***chorus***
I bought a camcorder
Got a restrainin' order
Now lay you're hands on me
I guess that's what you get when you ask a perfect stranger to dance.
KathyJo tagged me with this meme. I haven't blogged anything "just for fun" lately, so here it is. For the last part, I don't know who has done it or who would be interested in doing it. So if you'd like to, take it and run, run with the meme!
5 things I plan (Lord willing) to do before I die:
1. Hunt moose in Alaska.
2. Travel into Mexico with the boys.
3. Hike the AT from Maine to Georgia.
4. See my boys grown into fine men.
5. Buy a stinkin' house.
5 things I can do:
1. Make a beeeyuuutiful recurve bow.
2. Basic mechanic work and rebuilding.
3. Knit (not well, but that wasn't the question).
4. Swim.
5. Make boo-boos all better.
5 things I cannot do (yet):
1. Drive an 18-wheeler.
2. Ballroom dance.
3. String spaghetti up my nose and out my throat in one piece.
4. Zorak says, "ride a motorcycle", but I think of that as something I can do, just haven't tried yet. I', sticking with that.
5. Sit through "Beth Moore" bible studies.
5 things that attract me to the opposite sex:
1. Intelligence (and a willingness to abandon it for #2 on occasion).
2. Humor.
3. Integrity.
4. Roots - knows who he is.
5. Boots. Not girly boots, and not decorative boots. I mean BOOTS.
5 things I say most often:
1. Jackass.
2. Who loves that boy? (or "those boys")
3. WHAT are those idiots thinking?!?!
4. We should close next week.
5. Goat.
5 celebrity crushes:
1. Patrick Stewart
2. Tom Selleck
3. Sam Elliott
4. Bruce Willis
5. Kurt Russell
:-) Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, September 21
Forever House Update!
Wow, I'll bet y'all didn't think we meant it's going to take forever when we named this place, did ya? Well, here is the most recent news.
Mr. Mold Inspector went Tuesday with Wonderful Realtor to see if the house could pass muster. He commended Zorak's work, was thoroughly impressed, and would like to find out where he got "the stuff" (oh, and for those of you who asked, I have to go find the jug, but I will do that today).
However, that said, he said he'd estimate a test performed yesterday would have produced results "8-10 times higher than allowable levels" inside the house. We had only treated where the appraiser had mentioned, and what we could see ourselves outside that. Those places were clear of mold, but there's more (which we guessed, not a big surprise) - enough more that it would fail testing.
*blech!*
First, the ironic. The guy at the Seller Company is named Dante. Two images immediately popped into my head, and the combination made me laugh so hard I choked on my coffee. Bonus points for anyone who can guess both images, and I'll love ya forever if you get why I thought it was funny!
Now for the good. Seller Co. is good w/ extending the closing date to the 29th (next Thursday). They also do not want us to do the mold abatement AT ALL. It's not a caring thing, it's a liability thing, but it's making them offer to take care of it in a timely enough manner that the testing can be done and we can close on the 29th... (that part is so key right now. So yeah, I don't have to wear a HEPA filter mask, gloves and a friggin UFO containment suit? And I can still get my house? I am ALL OVER THAT!!
And to top it off, Wonderful Realtor is doing ALL THE LEGWORK to get bids, find a mold treatment guy, line up testing, and all we have to do is show up at the closing table with one or two kids for collateral and a fresh ink pen.
So I'm doin' the Happy Dance here today. Kind of. It's a little hot for an all-out dance. This is more of a wiggle. A very, very happy wiggle.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Mr. Mold Inspector went Tuesday with Wonderful Realtor to see if the house could pass muster. He commended Zorak's work, was thoroughly impressed, and would like to find out where he got "the stuff" (oh, and for those of you who asked, I have to go find the jug, but I will do that today).
However, that said, he said he'd estimate a test performed yesterday would have produced results "8-10 times higher than allowable levels" inside the house. We had only treated where the appraiser had mentioned, and what we could see ourselves outside that. Those places were clear of mold, but there's more (which we guessed, not a big surprise) - enough more that it would fail testing.
*blech!*
First, the ironic. The guy at the Seller Company is named Dante. Two images immediately popped into my head, and the combination made me laugh so hard I choked on my coffee. Bonus points for anyone who can guess both images, and I'll love ya forever if you get why I thought it was funny!
Now for the good. Seller Co. is good w/ extending the closing date to the 29th (next Thursday). They also do not want us to do the mold abatement AT ALL. It's not a caring thing, it's a liability thing, but it's making them offer to take care of it in a timely enough manner that the testing can be done and we can close on the 29th... (that part is so key right now. So yeah, I don't have to wear a HEPA filter mask, gloves and a friggin UFO containment suit? And I can still get my house? I am ALL OVER THAT!!
And to top it off, Wonderful Realtor is doing ALL THE LEGWORK to get bids, find a mold treatment guy, line up testing, and all we have to do is show up at the closing table with one or two kids for collateral and a fresh ink pen.
So I'm doin' the Happy Dance here today. Kind of. It's a little hot for an all-out dance. This is more of a wiggle. A very, very happy wiggle.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Happy 7th Birthday, Sweet Baby James!
Well, not a baby anymore. He curled up in my lap this evening, and had to sort of fold, accordian-style, to fit. There's a lot of limb to that boy!He Who Normally Sleeps Late awoke this morning before six-thirty and came bounding into our room, whispering, "I'm seven! I've been seven for almost seven hours! Want to sing to me?" We sang. We talked. We told stories. We stole the covers from Zorak. We giggled and made plans for the day.
He loves life. He loves learning and growing and loving and sharing. What more could we ask for?He loves his brothers and adores his parents.
He thinks "family" is the ultimate God-ordained gift given to man to enjoy on this earth.
He's funny. I mean honest-to-goodness funny. His jokes make sense now, and his wit is pretty sharp. The twinkle in his eye is a dead giveaway that he's just laid out a good one, too, and knows it.
He still laughs with the abandon of childhood, ending with the gasping breath of exhaustion and a giggly comment about laughing so hard he's weak.
He appreciates beauty. Strength. Friends. Sunshine. Chemistry.
He believes in ends of rainbows and making wishes on any occasion.
He thinks relighting the candle will give it an extra wish for his brother to share.He takes disappointments with the kind of grace I can only
dream of having. But he still hurts with his whole Big-As-Texas heart. He forgives quickly, and seeks forgiveness when he's wronged someone. Little joys make him smile. Little losses make him cry.He's there. He's in the game, and there's no stopping it.
He's still a little guy in so many ways. He still can't keep his hands to himself in the car, and he still would rather wear his pajamas and cowboy boots to church than have to wear clothes. He still tackles Zorak in the doorway at the end of each day and hangs on him as if he hasn't seen him in years. He questions everything, accepts very little for face value, and yet will gladly obey his parents simply because they've asked him to (but he would still kinda like to know what's up *grin*.)
I know it won't be long before he stops bringing his blanket to the couch to snuggle and watch a movie by my side. There may not be many more nights where he asks me to scale to the top bunk to read stories by the glow of his reading lamp. Someday he won't need my help opening a fresh jar of olives, or getting the laundry done so he has fresh clothes.
All the ways I have to show him how much I love him will someday be the ways he knows he was loved and can take care of himself. And I will have to find new ways to show him how much I love him. Well, no. I will get to find new ways to show him I love him. They will come as I get to know him in each new season of his life, as long as I take the time to get to know him in each new season.In the meantime, words of encouragement, spontaneous laughter, time together, and shared joys will help bridge that gap. They might even fill the gap so there simply isn't one and we'll journey together even as he explores at his own pace. That's exciting. He's exciting.
And to think it all started just seven short years ago, with the birth of one tiny baby boy, and the birth of two new parents. He made us parents, and we will cherish that gift, always.
HAPPY SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, JAMES!
Love, Mom
Tuesday, September 20
Drawing With Children - some thoughts
I am not an artist.
I cannot draw realistically.
(Admittedly, there are times I cannot even draw recognizable stick figures.)
My family has "an artist".
I am not it.
So why bother?
These are the thoughts that implanted themselves in the dark recesses of my brain by the time I was an adult. Some of them had pretty much proven themselves as fact, if you go by observation and tangible evidence. I loved to draw as a child, and tried my best to continue to draw well into adolescence. But there was already an artist in the family who had "natural ability". We also had a Beauty Queen and The Smart One. I was The Smart One. That was my path, and those were the avenues made available to me (whether I took them or not is a different entry altogether.)
Now, did this scar me for life? Do I no longer consider drawing an enjoyable way to spend time? Am I incapable of enjoying art because of it? Will I end up flaying small animals and using their hides for decorative furnishings? Not really. No, I don't. No. Possibly, if it's a nice fur-bearer. In that order.
But... the point is that my attitude toward drawing, art, sketching, is affected by the influences of my life. The mere thought of "exploring art mediums" made me cringe. I just didn't really care until now. For people who love art and incorporate it into their daily existence, this may sound like sacrilege. If I were to switch out "art" for "reading", then yes, I'd be equally aghast. I cannot imagine a life without books! Egads! But art? Eh. No big loss.
So when I read the (painfully misleading) description for Drawing With Children in Veritas Press' catalog, I thought, "Oh, now this would be perfect for the boys!" (Translation: This is a no-brainer, step-by-step guide I can just throw together a couple days a week and satisfy that pesky niggling sensation that we must "do art". YAY!)
They lie.
Drawing With Children puts forth an entire philosophy toward art, drawing, creating, and ability. It will not permit you to proceed until you've convinced yourself that most of what the average person believes about art is, in fact, a myth. Then, and only then, can you proceed.
You work with your child.
You learn the tools to creating art.
You learn the process of creating art.
You learn that it's okay to say you really aren't satisfied with something you've done. It's no different than writing an essay and critiquing it when you've finished.
You learn that art is fluid, and creating art is an ongoing process.
You learn how to adapt.
Adjust.
Keep going.
One of the things I truly like about Ms. Brookes' philosophy is that is closely matches my philosophy about teaching reading, writing or math. (I'm going to paraphrase, here.) There is no magic lamp to rub in order to learn to create, whether it be art, writing, or mathematical models. There are tools and guidelines you must learn in order to be successful. We need structure and creativity in order to be successful. You can be as creative as ever, but without the proper structure and tools, you won't know where you want to take your creativity. Yet don't get so hung up on the technical aspects that you forget about the fluid, revealing and exciting nature of things. Remember, you need both.
Oh, how I love that. But I have never, ever, ever seen it applied to art. For some reason, everyone I've encountered treated art as though it was the one immaculate exception to this rule.
She does get a little Doe-Eyed Utopian-Liberal If-only-every-child-had-this-program-there-would-be-no-more-suffering-or-crime-or-shattered-children-bad-bad-feds-for-cutting-art-funding. I pretty much just take a sip of coffee, grab more bean dip, and move on. It's her book. If she wants to propagandize, well, that's between her and her publishers. I bought it for the art instruction, and it's in there.
I'm going to wait to begin using Drawing With Children. I want to be able to do it right, rather than just sling paper at the boys and call it good. They deserve better, and I can give it to them. It's going to take a lot more time, material and effort than I anticipated when I purchased it, but I'm very glad I did. And I look forward to exploring realistic drawing with the boys. Even Zorak said he might like to work through the book with us.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I cannot draw realistically.
(Admittedly, there are times I cannot even draw recognizable stick figures.)
My family has "an artist".
I am not it.
So why bother?
These are the thoughts that implanted themselves in the dark recesses of my brain by the time I was an adult. Some of them had pretty much proven themselves as fact, if you go by observation and tangible evidence. I loved to draw as a child, and tried my best to continue to draw well into adolescence. But there was already an artist in the family who had "natural ability". We also had a Beauty Queen and The Smart One. I was The Smart One. That was my path, and those were the avenues made available to me (whether I took them or not is a different entry altogether.)
Now, did this scar me for life? Do I no longer consider drawing an enjoyable way to spend time? Am I incapable of enjoying art because of it? Will I end up flaying small animals and using their hides for decorative furnishings? Not really. No, I don't. No. Possibly, if it's a nice fur-bearer. In that order.
But... the point is that my attitude toward drawing, art, sketching, is affected by the influences of my life. The mere thought of "exploring art mediums" made me cringe. I just didn't really care until now. For people who love art and incorporate it into their daily existence, this may sound like sacrilege. If I were to switch out "art" for "reading", then yes, I'd be equally aghast. I cannot imagine a life without books! Egads! But art? Eh. No big loss.
So when I read the (painfully misleading) description for Drawing With Children in Veritas Press' catalog, I thought, "Oh, now this would be perfect for the boys!" (Translation: This is a no-brainer, step-by-step guide I can just throw together a couple days a week and satisfy that pesky niggling sensation that we must "do art". YAY!)
They lie.
Drawing With Children puts forth an entire philosophy toward art, drawing, creating, and ability. It will not permit you to proceed until you've convinced yourself that most of what the average person believes about art is, in fact, a myth. Then, and only then, can you proceed.
You work with your child.
You learn the tools to creating art.
You learn the process of creating art.
You learn that it's okay to say you really aren't satisfied with something you've done. It's no different than writing an essay and critiquing it when you've finished.
You learn that art is fluid, and creating art is an ongoing process.
You learn how to adapt.
Adjust.
Keep going.
One of the things I truly like about Ms. Brookes' philosophy is that is closely matches my philosophy about teaching reading, writing or math. (I'm going to paraphrase, here.) There is no magic lamp to rub in order to learn to create, whether it be art, writing, or mathematical models. There are tools and guidelines you must learn in order to be successful. We need structure and creativity in order to be successful. You can be as creative as ever, but without the proper structure and tools, you won't know where you want to take your creativity. Yet don't get so hung up on the technical aspects that you forget about the fluid, revealing and exciting nature of things. Remember, you need both.
Oh, how I love that. But I have never, ever, ever seen it applied to art. For some reason, everyone I've encountered treated art as though it was the one immaculate exception to this rule.
She does get a little Doe-Eyed Utopian-Liberal If-only-every-child-had-this-program-there-would-be-no-more-suffering-or-crime-or-shattered-children-bad-bad-feds-for-cutting-art-funding. I pretty much just take a sip of coffee, grab more bean dip, and move on. It's her book. If she wants to propagandize, well, that's between her and her publishers. I bought it for the art instruction, and it's in there.
I'm going to wait to begin using Drawing With Children. I want to be able to do it right, rather than just sling paper at the boys and call it good. They deserve better, and I can give it to them. It's going to take a lot more time, material and effort than I anticipated when I purchased it, but I'm very glad I did. And I look forward to exploring realistic drawing with the boys. Even Zorak said he might like to work through the book with us.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, September 18
Sometimes You Just Don't Want To Know
We loaded up this morning: bikes, boys, backpacks, and heebie-jeebie masks (or, as some would say, HEPA filters). We opened up the Forever Home and set fans a-goin' in all the rooms. Zorak could not believe the difference. Neither could I, but for completely different reasons. He was astounded at what an improvement the Mold-Be-Gone made on "all the vertical surfaces". I was astounded at all the dead mold on all the... Well, EVERYWHERE. What did it look like yesterday? I don't want to know.
We searched for water problems (identified a few), rounded up the boys and headed out for lunch. Decatur has a little buffet place called Barnhill's that pretty much fries everything it serves. We had the fried ice to drink. I'm serious. It's good, although I'm pretty sure some Association of Cardiac Specialists Somewhere has a hit out on the owner's head. It also has a good variety of non wheat-slathered foods (penance? peace offering? I'm not sure...) Zorak and I always eat enough at a buffet to send ourselves into involuntary hibernation. I finally had to push myself from the trough with the pronouncement that "I have puppy belly" (Our term for being full - ever notice that small children get that same puffed out belly that puppies do when they've eaten their fill? After six years of having it in the house, it's become part of our regular vocabulary.) I leaned back and sighed the sigh of the truly stuffed, when James snickered and said, "Ya know, Mom, you have puppy belly all the time, whether you've eaten or not." Ahhh. The humor in that boy is sharp (and rightfully inherited). Good thing he was smilin'.
When we couldn't talk the boys into going home for a (nap) movie and (nap) popcorn, we headed out to Point Mallard State Park to check out their bike trail. That was fun. It's not nearly as nice as Monte Sano, as far as remote location, varying terrain, and scenery. But it's not chopped liver, either. The path is wide and level, which makes it perfect for beginners (or those *ahem* carrying the beginners). The boys rode for two and a half hours. They had a fantastic time. Zorak thinks *I* need a bike for Christmas. And a trailer.
John's abilities on his bike have far surpassed anything we could have hoped for, and the enjoyment he gets from riding now has more than made up for the frustrations and fears of pushing the issue. That boy is an excellent rider! He's a happy rider.
James stopped his bike once and called back to Zorak for the camera. He'd found a particularly lovely display of mushrooms growing on a fallen log and wanted a photo of it. My heart nearly burst inside my (heaving, oxygen deprived) chest! Just when you think it's *whisper* not working, they go and do something like that and you realize the gentle walks, the whimsical stories, the field guides scattered strategically about... It works, it really, really works!
Smidge and Zorak did a little impromptu study of "vines". Which ones are pokey, which are soft. Which are vines and which are actually long tree limbs. Smidge touched every. single. vine. on. the. path. (Might this have contributed to Zorak's Great Christmas Gift For Mommy Idea mentioned above?)
When we became concerned that we might die on the trail, leaving the boys to figure for themselves how to get our bodies back to the road (or not), we decided to turn back. The official reasoning: we had to close up the house before nightfall. (They bought it. We're still officially immortal to them. *happy sigh*)
The house has been wiped down and closed back up for inspection tomorrow. It's no longer under Eminent Threat of Mold. It will also photograph a wee bit better without the hairy surfaces, and if the Good Lord's willin' we'll have keys on Friday. Weee!
And on a completely different note:
Famous Men of Rome: WOW! Loving this book, and I haven't even shown it to the boys yet!
Drawing With Children: will have to do a full blog entry on this one. It has much, much more than I anticipated. I'm stunned.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We searched for water problems (identified a few), rounded up the boys and headed out for lunch. Decatur has a little buffet place called Barnhill's that pretty much fries everything it serves. We had the fried ice to drink. I'm serious. It's good, although I'm pretty sure some Association of Cardiac Specialists Somewhere has a hit out on the owner's head. It also has a good variety of non wheat-slathered foods (penance? peace offering? I'm not sure...) Zorak and I always eat enough at a buffet to send ourselves into involuntary hibernation. I finally had to push myself from the trough with the pronouncement that "I have puppy belly" (Our term for being full - ever notice that small children get that same puffed out belly that puppies do when they've eaten their fill? After six years of having it in the house, it's become part of our regular vocabulary.) I leaned back and sighed the sigh of the truly stuffed, when James snickered and said, "Ya know, Mom, you have puppy belly all the time, whether you've eaten or not." Ahhh. The humor in that boy is sharp (and rightfully inherited). Good thing he was smilin'.
When we couldn't talk the boys into going home for a (nap) movie and (nap) popcorn, we headed out to Point Mallard State Park to check out their bike trail. That was fun. It's not nearly as nice as Monte Sano, as far as remote location, varying terrain, and scenery. But it's not chopped liver, either. The path is wide and level, which makes it perfect for beginners (or those *ahem* carrying the beginners). The boys rode for two and a half hours. They had a fantastic time. Zorak thinks *I* need a bike for Christmas. And a trailer.
John's abilities on his bike have far surpassed anything we could have hoped for, and the enjoyment he gets from riding now has more than made up for the frustrations and fears of pushing the issue. That boy is an excellent rider! He's a happy rider.
James stopped his bike once and called back to Zorak for the camera. He'd found a particularly lovely display of mushrooms growing on a fallen log and wanted a photo of it. My heart nearly burst inside my (heaving, oxygen deprived) chest! Just when you think it's *whisper* not working, they go and do something like that and you realize the gentle walks, the whimsical stories, the field guides scattered strategically about... It works, it really, really works!
Smidge and Zorak did a little impromptu study of "vines". Which ones are pokey, which are soft. Which are vines and which are actually long tree limbs. Smidge touched every. single. vine. on. the. path. (Might this have contributed to Zorak's Great Christmas Gift For Mommy Idea mentioned above?)
When we became concerned that we might die on the trail, leaving the boys to figure for themselves how to get our bodies back to the road (or not), we decided to turn back. The official reasoning: we had to close up the house before nightfall. (They bought it. We're still officially immortal to them. *happy sigh*)
The house has been wiped down and closed back up for inspection tomorrow. It's no longer under Eminent Threat of Mold. It will also photograph a wee bit better without the hairy surfaces, and if the Good Lord's willin' we'll have keys on Friday. Weee!
And on a completely different note:
Famous Men of Rome: WOW! Loving this book, and I haven't even shown it to the boys yet!
Drawing With Children: will have to do a full blog entry on this one. It has much, much more than I anticipated. I'm stunned.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Saturday, September 17
This just might work!
Mr. Newest Appraisal Guy gave the Forever Home an all-clear, except for... Mold. Well, yes. It has mold. It probably had mold when the previous owners lived in it, and we knew it had Mold, but planned to remove anything Moldy and improve (or create, as the case may be) proper drainage once we were in. However, Fannie Mae says we can't have it if it has Mold now. OK, this is a hurdle we can leap. We don't mind that. We imagined the mold had become worse since Katrina swept through, anyway (and as we cannot convince the listing agent to turn off the water to the leaking water heater!!!) We were told Friday that if we could treat for that problem, the appraiser would give a clean bill of health and we could maybe kinda sorta possibly make it for our scheduled closing on Friday. This coming Friday. (I probably don't need to tell you how exciting the mere prospect of closing on this place is to us!)
Zorak did the legwork, discovered that bleach is a serious no-no in treating mold, ran through a number of searches and phone calls that make folks nervous about The Patriot Act, and found The Chemical Guru who helped hammer out the details. Yay! He left on his hunt this morning and returned bearing large quantities of stuff I didn't know you could buy without some kind of Federal licensing. Very cool.
We were all going to trek out together, but Smidge has An Alien hatching from his nostrils and John's digestive system rebelled violently to some unknown aggressor. By the time I contained the various HazMat issues, we decided the boys and I would stay home and Zorak would venture forth to conquer and destroy The Mold.
While the boys and I stayed home battling various unseen contaminants, Zorak stealthily began his recon mission. The Mold is, well, yeah. We can't blame Mr. Appraiser for marking it down. Zorak called me four hours after he left and whispered into the phone, "It's gotten worse. Way worse. Every internal door is hairy, and they're nothing compared to the baseboards. This is gross!" Um. Ew. (It was at this point that I quit feeling a wee bit put out that domestic duties prevented me from going on the excursion.) Zorak was glad the boys and I weren't there. I can only imagine how bad it must be by now.
Anyhow, several hours and a gallon of Mold-Be-Gone later, the house is decontaminating overnight. Zorak disturbed some kind of legless reptile (aka - unidentified, but angry snake) that was nestled happily between the window panes in the kitchen (and he killed it quite valiently, with a cafe curtain rod!) He came down with two or three cases of The Willies from all the Mold (and the realization that the Jacob's Ladder bathroom in the master suite is actually in better condition than the main bathroom, which is funny because I will. not. set foot in that back bathroom, and I now doubt my ability to accurately assess a situation for potential dangers. Do you take the back alley at midnight or cut through the biker bar? Normally, I'd take my chances in the biker bar... now, I don't know...) The high point of his trip came after he had the fans going. He stepped outside and said, "Oh, good. It smells like Mold outside the house now. I hope that means it's working." Poor guy. It was a noble mission, but probably rather nasty, as well.
Sorry, I ramble.
We'll go out tomorrow to open windows, put fans in all the rooms, and let it air out all day. (Please, please don't let it rain tomorrow.) We'll go back and vacuum/sweep out the ickies in the evening, and then meet the appraiser Monday morning for a final perspective check. WOOHOO! Now why couldn't it have been this easy from the beginning, eh? *snicker*
Lots of other stuff to write about, but I need to go do laundry, so it'll have to wait.
Kiss those babies,
~Dy
Zorak did the legwork, discovered that bleach is a serious no-no in treating mold, ran through a number of searches and phone calls that make folks nervous about The Patriot Act, and found The Chemical Guru who helped hammer out the details. Yay! He left on his hunt this morning and returned bearing large quantities of stuff I didn't know you could buy without some kind of Federal licensing. Very cool.
We were all going to trek out together, but Smidge has An Alien hatching from his nostrils and John's digestive system rebelled violently to some unknown aggressor. By the time I contained the various HazMat issues, we decided the boys and I would stay home and Zorak would venture forth to conquer and destroy The Mold.
While the boys and I stayed home battling various unseen contaminants, Zorak stealthily began his recon mission. The Mold is, well, yeah. We can't blame Mr. Appraiser for marking it down. Zorak called me four hours after he left and whispered into the phone, "It's gotten worse. Way worse. Every internal door is hairy, and they're nothing compared to the baseboards. This is gross!" Um. Ew. (It was at this point that I quit feeling a wee bit put out that domestic duties prevented me from going on the excursion.) Zorak was glad the boys and I weren't there. I can only imagine how bad it must be by now.
Anyhow, several hours and a gallon of Mold-Be-Gone later, the house is decontaminating overnight. Zorak disturbed some kind of legless reptile (aka - unidentified, but angry snake) that was nestled happily between the window panes in the kitchen (and he killed it quite valiently, with a cafe curtain rod!) He came down with two or three cases of The Willies from all the Mold (and the realization that the Jacob's Ladder bathroom in the master suite is actually in better condition than the main bathroom, which is funny because I will. not. set foot in that back bathroom, and I now doubt my ability to accurately assess a situation for potential dangers. Do you take the back alley at midnight or cut through the biker bar? Normally, I'd take my chances in the biker bar... now, I don't know...) The high point of his trip came after he had the fans going. He stepped outside and said, "Oh, good. It smells like Mold outside the house now. I hope that means it's working." Poor guy. It was a noble mission, but probably rather nasty, as well.
Sorry, I ramble.
We'll go out tomorrow to open windows, put fans in all the rooms, and let it air out all day. (Please, please don't let it rain tomorrow.) We'll go back and vacuum/sweep out the ickies in the evening, and then meet the appraiser Monday morning for a final perspective check. WOOHOO! Now why couldn't it have been this easy from the beginning, eh? *snicker*
Lots of other stuff to write about, but I need to go do laundry, so it'll have to wait.
Kiss those babies,
~Dy
Thursday, September 15
And It's Outta Here!!!
What a milestone! And here he is, on the phone with Dad, absolutely bubbling over with the good news - and showing me the gap at the same time. Too funny.
Where did my baby go? *sniff, sniff*
Congratulations, Big Boy! I love you.
Kiss those babies - they aren't babies for long!
~Dy
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