Tour of Homes!

Laura's home was featured in her local Historical Society's Tour of Homes this year. What FUN! I showed Zorak the pictures, and told him that I'd have loved to go see it.

He asks, "Have you heard of this before?"

Tour of Homes? Sure, it happens every year around Christmas. Everyone knows about it.

"What is this phenomenon," he asks. "This... Tour of Homes? What's the goal?" (Spoken like a true engineer.)

Well, it's... it's to highlight the historic homes in the area. Sometimes the Chamber of Commerce will sponsor one, and focus on new development. Or people will go all-out decorating and apply to be included on the Tour. Then they sell tickets, and the hosts put out snacks, and why are you staring at me?

But what's the purpose?

It's, well, it's to highlight the historic... um, What?

So, it's just a chance to see inside other people's homes? (And he laughs at me, because I'm a Peeker, and he knows it. If the shades are even slightly open as I walk or drive past a home, I must peek in. I want to see what furniture people have. What colors are on their walls. What type of dining things they have. And if they've draped it all in sparkly Christmas lights, so much the better! Obviously, I have no desire to catch anybody in a less-than-flattering situation, so I don't peek in bedroom windows. But living room? Kitchen? Foyer? Oh, yes, I'm a bonafide Peeker. I admit it.)

*sheepishly* Yeah. :-) It is.

Soooo, can you charge an extra $2.50 to let them see inside the medicine cabinets?

Non-Peekers just don't get it. (And this is probably not the time to mention that one of my "goals" is to get the Forever Home on a tour someday.)

Then, as if it was just. for. me. (Me!) Donna linked to a Virtual Tour of Homes coming up this Friday!

Get your cameras, have the kids help you shift the clutter just out of the frame (or, at least that's how I'm doing it - some of you may not need to, but I definitely do), and snap pictures of your Holiday decorations. Share your favorite things, and be sure to bring snacks (snacks are an integral part of the Tour of Homes) by posting your favorite holiday recipe to share! You can get all the details (and the cool button) over at BooMama's. Hope to see you on the tour!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga..

*whew* *whew*

OK, not quite the rally cry of the steam engine. We're pretty bushed, but it feels good, anyway. Zorak got most of the hard parts done on the cabinets yesterday: new outlet wired in, levelling and leaning and shimming and shoring. Yay. Tonight, he worked mainly on the detail work and got the cabinets installed. It took us very little time at all to load them back up, as long as you don't count all the time we spent setting something on a shelf, closing the door - or pushing in the shelf, whispering, "Oh, wow, it'll hold that?" Then calling the other one over to repeat the process. We did a lot of that. If you add that in, it makes sense why I'm blogging at midnight tonight.

The vast majority of the Christmas shopping is done, and now that the kitchen is back to its happy, functional state, we can break out the sugar cookie dough that's been hardening since... well, I don't remember when we made it. Saturday, maybe? Will cookie dough last that long in the fridge? Guess we'll find out tomorrow! I bought new cookie cutters yesterday, so the old ones should turn up shortly. :-)

The brain? It's already gone to bed. I think I shall follow. Can't wait to see the boys' faces tomorrow when the see the kitchen! I've got to finish clearing off the breakfast bar so I can take pictures, but will post them soon. I wish I could bottle up how good this feels and send it to those of you who are mid-remodel and need a dose of the good old, "THIS is why we're doing this" endorphins! Keep at it, guys! You can do it, and it is worth it!

G'night. Kiss those babies!
~Dy

I'm not coming out!

And nobody can make me! Not unless they have my creamer.

For the third time this month, I have returned from the market, only to find at least one item from my cart made it over the scanner, and onto the receipt, yet is not among my belongings. The other two times, it was frivolous things. This time, though, it's serious: my creamer. And I carelessly used the very last drop of what I had left, thinking I could just open the new container. *phew* Tomorrow's going to be harsh.

Zorak picked up the cabinets on his way home from work. They're in. Kinda sorta. Technically, they aren't going to fall on anybody, but we can't load them up yet. There's a lot of shimming, and banging, and probably some calling on unseen forces to be done first. Stoopid studs. Everything we put in is straight. Unfortunately, our Forever Home wasn't framed out by us, or by anyone with access to a plumb line or a level, and we had to work with the pigeon-toed studs as we went. That means our walls have a delightfully contemporary (if it's the 1960's) wave theme to them. None of those rigid right-angles and flat planes for this house. I suppose if we ever have to market it, we can simply refer to the "soothing undulations of nature which resonate throughout the home". Right? The difference, though, is already stunning. It'll be even more impressive when we can once again see the countertops!

For anyone who was wondering, a grahpite high seems to last a mere 48 hours. Not bad for .10 a pack, eh? We're all doing much better today.

The boys helped me empty the bookshelf, and then I moved it to the school room. We loaded the school books onto it (thus freeing the living room for a more aesthetically pleasing collection than overstuffed binders and random scraps of paper), and unloaded six boxes of books (small boxes, but exciting anyway). We love new books, even when they're actually just old favorites unearthed (or maybe it's because they're old favorites?) The boys spent the evening wallowing in books. I just wandered back and forth in the living room, looking into the kitchen, into the school room, back to the kitchen, back to the school room. Ahhhh. It's getting better. Definitely better.

We actually did a bit of school today. The boys wanted to do history - they are excited about Rome. Then they asked for a little science over lunch. What am I going to say? "No, you've learned enough this year." Pfft. So, science it was. When they moved their school books, you'd have thought their math books were the Holy Grail, and they were the knights who say, "ni!" Two hours later, it just felt like time to read a bit. I truly have no desire to unschool, but I can see how it could work beautifully for some families. I share this, not to bring on a case of the comparisons, but because it encouraged me today, more than anything, to realize that we have done it. We've created a rich, interactive, healthy learning environment. *ding* *ding* *ding* We have a winner, folks! (Yes, it's like winning the goldfish at the fair. One of those, "Wow, how'd this happen" moments that, in all its rarity, isn't of the paralyzing fear kind. This one is good!) This whole thing has been SO worth it, and this is just the week that I needed a reminder of that.

And now, it's after two. Between Smidge and Miss Emily, this is the first time the house has all four children asleep so far tonight. Oy. I'm gonna follow them before one of them decides it's time to be up again! :-D

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Not Quite As I Planned It: Weekend Edition

I was going to count it up and give it a number, but I don't know how to write the code for scientific notation, so let's just say, "again". For one with minor control issues, this life is lending hard credence to the Hindu concept of reincarnation for learning from the last life's lessons. (Joking. Mostly joking. Don't worry. I know this is just God, toying with me, er, teaching me important, life-long lessons. I do. And He does. And we're good like that. But I can't help being thankful I'm not a quadruplegic lizard this go-round. That would be a rough one.)

Zorak and I are dragging lately. Probably due to lack of sleep and improper nutrition. Whatever. Like that's gonna change. And so, we drag, and we abide by our tacit agreement not to actually mention the problem, but to stare at one another with our best "I just don't know why we're so tired lately" expressions, and go about our business at the crack of noon. It works. Not well, but that wasn't on the table when the rules were written up.

Evidently, neither was the process for Christmas shopping. We're both bad at it, and this year, we're just not quite on the same page, I don't think. It's not anybody's fault, and there isn't a "bad guy" in this scenario. This is simply one of the pitfalls of being human and marrying a human. (?) He doesn't have the time to listen to me take eight full hours to explain my "process" (and I wonder where James gets it), and I don't have the mental clarity to keep his rampant pronoun use straight. So, we haven't yet actually purchased any Christmas gifts. (Experience says we'll keep this up right until the cut-off for overnight shipping. Like I said, we're bad about this.)

So, back to the whole Not Quite As I Planned It thing. This life is fleeting, and amidst all that fleet there are things that must be done. Some of them I can do on my own, but it's not always about me. Or what I can do on my own. Or what I want done. The trade-off is worth it, having a wonderful home and family, a team, someone to watch your back, but the adjustment isn't always such a smooth process. Someday I will learn. This weekend, I made plans to take care of several things that needed takin' care of. Seemed simple enough to me. You know, other than the fact that there are s-i-x of us in this house, and I have nominal control over the direction things go (at best - we're talkin' absolute best, here). Most of the time, it's far, far less. And, ta-da! Here we are, midnight, 2/3 of the way through the weekend and about .000312 of my list has been accomplished. (I'm estimating, could be plus or minus one hundred-thousandths.)

Totally Cool HVAC Guy had two industrial accounts go down Thursday night, so he had to cancel Friday's appt. I was too cold to blog last night. Yuck.

Did call Sears, though, and explain that the washer/dryer buzzer just happens to be of a frequency and volume that will wake. the. dead. They'll have someone out there on Thursday to see about disconnecting that. And this way our warranty won't be affected. I like the people at the Sears telephone place. They aren't as chipper as the lady at the vacuum department, but they're much more on-the-ball. I thought of Erma Bombeck's book, "The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank", and smiled, as I jotted down "sometime between 8 and 4:30, Thursday" on the calendar.

Somebody showed the two older boys how to smoke pencil shavings. Or sniff old socks. I don't know what was up with them today, but *wow*. I hope they're done now. How long does a graphite high last, anyway? Anyone know?

Sadly, this is more typical than I care to admit. I often make all these plans, and they seldom pan out the way I made them. And then I'm standing here holding the bag yet again, feelin' a little grumpy about it, and Those I Love Most are skirting their way around the room, trying not to make eye contact. I'm torn as to whether I'm micromanaging and making things more difficult than they need to be, or if they really won't get done if I let everybody else just do it the way they want to. There are examples enough of both in my life to leave the answer firmly ensconsed in fog. Thick, confusing fog.

I'm betting I had a lot to do with it this weekend. And that's not so good. But then, there's tomorrow. Er, today. 23 hours and 53 minutes of it left. I hope I can do better. Get more done. Be more gracious. Take a breather, or a muscle relaxant. Help a paraplegic lizard make it safely across the road. Today's gonna be good. Or what little of it I can control will be: my own heart, mind, and actions. And that's about all I can do. But sometimes, sometimes that's enough.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Mama 'Fore She Was Mama

I heard a song on the radio today that had me laughing from my toes. I think it's by Clay Walker. Two young boys, playing hide 'n seek, find a box of photographs and other momentos from their mother's days, BC. It's quite a shock for two curious little boys, but one of the sweetest lines in the song says,

We laugh and hang it over her head,
Right above her halo

I love that. How sweet that it doesn't matter what we were, 'fore we were mamas. We're mamas now, and we're loved. No?

Oh, and if anybody wants to "Holiday Up" your muffin recipes - try substituting the milk with egg nog, and add 1/4tsp pumpkin pie spice. Oh. Yeah. Good stuff.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Blogger's Cramp

Not quite writer's cramp, as I could sit and write for days. But between the interruptions for food and clean clothing and all those other pesky details that keep things running smooth...

Wait.

A.

Darned.

Minute.

When did *I* become the one that keeps things running smoothly?

Whoa. That's a whole 'nuther issue there, isn't it? Anybody else torn between fits of riotous giggles at the mere thought of slipping into the Grown-Ups Club without ID, and the paralyzing fear that you're going to cut the red wire. Or the green wire. Whichever one ought not be cut. Yeah. Me, too. Gets me so worked up I can't keep my metaphors straight. ;-)

So yesterday I spent another three hours at the dentist. I actually kinda like our dentist now. I'm not afraid of dentists anymore. Not sure if that's because things can't get any worse, or because he's just very good, or because I've finally ditched one of those irrational fear things and decided to be a grown up about it. Whatever it is, this is nice. Not something I'd like to do on a regular basis. Um, anymore.

Tomorrow Santa pays us an early visit. Well, not Santa, actually. It's Very Cool HVAC Guy. You know, the one with the mojo. I love him. He brought us cool, refreshing air in the summer, and now he comes bearing the warm, soothing balm of fire. Mmmm. We'll have to cough up the rest of the money for the unit upon completion, but that's okay. Maybe we can pay him in dog.

The tree is up - it's a "'Picy Christmas Tree", according to Smidge. The boys found the red chili pepper lights and those just had to go on the tree. It's actually very pretty. Then James discovered his true calling, if the whole chemical engineering thing doesn't pan out - he spent all Tuesday evening and all Wednesday morning testing every. single. light. on two big strands of lights to find the bad ones. And he fixed them. So now, our tree is about 50# heavier than when we brought it home, and it's a good thing we went with new wiring in the house. You know, just in case. Merry Christmas, indeed.

We've Officially ditched lessons for the week. There's no sense in pretending and making everyone miserable. No kid learns when he's miserable. Well, not the things you're hoping he'll learn, anyway. So it's a week of preparation - focus on Advent, nature studies, reading old favorites and finding new ones. Baking. Lots and lots of baking. We'll continue with Latin studies, because those just slip right off stage left if you don't keep an eye on them. But the rest of it can sit on the back burner for a bit.

And, well, there ya go. Laundry's going. Kids are playing. Salsa music is blaring into the living room. Life is good, and it's time to put Baby Girl down for her nap. But I just wanted to touch base (I hate showing up at my favorite blogs *ahem* to find that there's no new conversation going on... *ahem*).

Kiss those babies! (And for those of you who needed the *ahem*, BLOG, would you? Thanks.) :-)

~Dy

The Capacity of Children to be Happy

A couple of years ago, we went to NM for Christmas. Granny and the guys bought a tree Christmas Eve, everyone wearing shorts and t-shirts. Beautiful day. The boys were happy: happy to be with Granny, happy to have Christmas coming, happy to be together. Nobody bemoaned the lack of snow, or said it didn't "feel" like Christmas. It felt very much like Christmas. We should all be that happy with what we have.

We awoke Christmas morning to three feet of snow. Obviously, we had no snow boots, now snow bibs. The kids went out to play in their hoodies and jeans. All was well and good until Smidge sat on the concrete patio (he'd taken the caramel stirring spoon from Granny and bolted out the door) - he sat there, happily licking the spoon, long enough for his pants to melt the snow and refreeze to the patio. We had a heckuva time getting him up. I want to be that happy with a caramel spoon again. So happy that I don't even notice my butt has frozen to the ground.

Obviously, some instinct (call it "a desire to live through winter") protects us from actually not caring if we freeze to the ground once we're on our own. But the idea of that kind of all-encompassing happiness. Good stuff. We need more of it.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

So I can close that window

I didn't know where to store this link, so I've had that window up for a week now. So, here it is. The Gov't of Japan, as part of its effort to cut down on refuse and waste, has set recommendations for using fabric to wrap gifts, rather than wrapping paper. The directions for various wraps are contained in this link.

Enjoy!

Dy

The blessings we didn't anticipate...

And to think I would have been happy to stop at two children. I'd have missed this! What was I thinking?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Wacky Santa

So, back to the Santa Train Adventure...

The alcove of the car was filled with a rather uncomfortable silence after Santa bolted. The boys were a little hurt, totally confused, and not sure at all why anybody thought that would be fun. Well, the children cheering and talking with Santa through the doorway certainly did.

Zorak and I stood there, giving each other twitchy eye signals, trying to get a grip on our natural instincts to go find out what the hell kind of Santa would do that to little kids, and trying to think of a way not to make the trip any more unpleasant than it already had been up to that point.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, Santa sauntered back into our alcove, sat down, grabbed James by the arm and said, "Here." There wasn't a "Ho-ho-ho", or a "Merry Christmas" in sight. I was leaning forward to start my protective-mommy tirade, but the smile on James' face stopped me (he later confided in me that he felt so special that Santa chose to sit by him when he came back). OK, that smile is the reason we did this. Zorak focused the camera to get a shot, when suddenly, without even looking at James to see what he was doing (mugging gleefully for the camera), Santa reached up...






...and ran his hand all over James' face, saying, "Let's rub some of this ugly off, here."

OK, even without the residual sting of thinking Santa doesn't like you, what kind of Santa would say that to a child? But on top of the recent awkwardness, that was just weird, and, truthfully, it came across as kind of mean. This isn't your drinking buddy, here, or your little sister's new fiance. It's a little kid who has never seen the BillyBob Thornton version of Santa before. James stumbled his way through explaining to Santa what he wanted for Christmas. He was hopeful, but the Santa kept interrupting him to say, "So it's a puzzle?" No, not a puzzle, it's a game... Yeah, Santa didn't care. As far as he's concerned, it's a puzzle, and James is pretty certain he won't be getting it for Christmas.

Zorak managed to snap one more shot, but James wasn't ready. I don't think any of us was ready for anything at that point.



Santa swung James back around to his seat, and Smidge leapt over to see Santa. That went well for Smidge - no facial attacks, at least.



But when Santa looked at Zorak and said, "GO." (meaning, snap this picture and get this over with) Well, it didn't do much to endear Zorak to this particular brand of Santa. Smidge wants (20 guesses and the first 19 don't count)... a train.

John's turn. John wanted to go, but if he'd known about David Lynch films, he would have been certain he was in one. Or worse yet, terrified he was stuck in a Quentin Tarantino film. (I guess it's good the boys lack a basic knowledge of some pop culture.) He slipped over, spit out his need for "accessories" for his pirate costume, and bolted back to the relative safety of Dad.



The boys wanted Miss Emily to see Santa. Miss Emily was quite happy on my lap. However, Santa didn't seem to be inebriated, and we had both exits covered. Evidently, Baby Girl had heard rumors of Santa's affinity for Elf Bowling, and she was a little nervous...



She handled it a bit better when he sat down and she no longer felt an impending strike coming on...



And in the end, Zorak and I were more than thrilled to get off that train. The boys' spirits were byuoyed by the candy canes and gift bags the volunteers handed out upon disembarkation. As we drove away, and the smell of feet dissipated from our nostrils, the boys' memory functions kicked in to reconstruct the afternoon into a delightful, fantasy-filled adventure with Santa. That phenomena, in itself is a little disturbing, but when it works in our favor, it can be good. And I'm sure in thirty years, we'll be taking our grandchildren aboard the Santa Train, expecting a fun-filled delight for the children. Hopefully, we'll remember the lessons we learned this time around. ;-)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Blogger Photo and Help Are Down

Well, I spent three hours at the dentist this morning. And now an hour trying to get the Santa pictures uploaded. So far, this has not been a stellar day. My eye is still numb, and it won't blink properly, so I'm going to just go lay down with the kids and stare at the ceiling fan while they watch a movie. I'll try to post again later this afternoon.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Festivities Have Begun

Have you ever noticed that many of the things designated as "for kids" are done so only because adults would take one look at them and say, "You charged me for this?" Adults with children (universally known for a lack of discretion - the children, that is... *ahem*), however, are capable of keeping focused on the happy, undiscerning children for prolonged periods of time. That's pretty much what we did today.

We took the boys on the "Santa Train" at the North Alabama Railroad Museum. Friends had taken a similar excursion in Arizona. Another friend has taken one in Georgia. All reports were glowing. This is a pretty pricy adventure, but we figured it's something special, not something you do everyday... why not? The boys were absolutely thrilled. Something about little boys and trains that spans the ages...

The setting is beautiful, and the old trains are fascinating. The wait was a little chilly, but there's plenty to see while you wait.



By the time we could line up to board the train, anticipation was at a painful high.



The first car on the Santa Train: a 1939 coach, styled in a mid-50's Amtrak decor. Pretty neat. Has a slightly funky, "I'm an old train" smell to it. Bright. Airy. This is neat.



Second car on the Santa Train: a baggage car, converted to an "observation car" (aka - the gift shop, but they have a bench in there, too). This car has mojo. It's fascinating and is the nicest car in the line-up. (Which you cannot tell from this picture... sorry.)



And then, the car we rode in:

It smells like feet. The windows are so scratched up you cannot see clearly out of them. And, although it's the "dining car" (was a hospital car, but they've worked hard to give it a good "Old Hospital Cafeteria" feel), we were bunched into an alcove just outside the rest of the car. And the seats with tables. We spent half an hour feeling like we'd been made to go sit in the hall for disrupting the class.

The conductors do this for the love of it. And it shows. I wish they'd give them a more active role - tell us about the cars. Tell us about the Santa Train, how long it's been active, what kinds of restorations are going on. Maybe tell a narrative, or lead the group in singing or playing some fun games. Something. Something other than sitting in a car we can't see out of, trying not to breathe through our noses, and wondering if these chairs are going to kill us in a wreck. We did get one guy with a trick Santa hat who came through and played with the kids for a couple of minutes, but that was it.

What we could see of the "landscape" as we bumped along the track was mostly what you would see walking down any alley in town. And at that, we couldn't see details; we weren't sure if those were bodies of hobos keeping warm in Christmas wrapping,



or the "concrete menagerie" the conductor mentioned five minutes later.

So, we set about to amuse ourselves, and gave the camera to the boys...

One, two, three, lunge!

"Baby Girl, look this way! No, over here! Baby GIRL...?"

"OK, John, take a picture of me making this face!" (And only a brother would understand why this was cool.)



"No, us not ready..."


THREE, man! Car three has all the cool people! (And bad lighting...)



That's a guaranteed fun time, there, no matter where you're stuck.

Santa did arrive in the last ten minutes of the trip. He walked into our alcove, shook hands with the boys, did not say a word, and walked right past us into the rest of the car, to greet the other children, get pictures, and hear what they wanted for Christmas. If you could bottle the dissapointment on the boys' faces at that moment, it would be the most heartbreaking thing you've held. Zorak and I understand that he didn't want to keep the other children on pins and needles where they could see him and had to wait for him, but I cannot abide by making three little children think Santa doesn't want to hear what they'd like for Christmas because he just walked out on them, no explanation, no nothing. We weren't even sure if he was coming back, as the engine was now on that end of the train.

As it turns out, he did come back... but that'll have to be another post in the morning.

What. A. Trip.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Things that make me smile...

For all my excitement over the material things (like the house), it's the intangibles that really make me smile...

Hot chocolate and cookies...


The joy of "getting it"...


The fascination with the world around us...



The things that make you slow down and really think...


The knowledge that we don't have to be picture perfect to be loved...


Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Something to read! (Christmas gifts)

Andrew Lang's Fairy Tales - in their favorite colors!

The Yellow Fairy Book. The Blue Fairy Book. The Violet Fairy Book. (They don't have The Basketball Smack Talkin' Purple Fairy Book, so Violet will have to do.)

Miss Emily is getting a picture book. Because little ones need great picture books.

Sometimes I feel so... capable.

And we will have many delightful evenings filled with adventure, mystery, joy, folly, and imagination.

OK, something they'll like (GameCube - don't know if we can say they "want" it, as they don't even know it exists, but they will love it), and something to read. Two down. Now for something they need and something to wear (or play with - depends on which one we come up with an idea for first!)

What are you looking forward to seeing your loved ones open this Christmas?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Crisis Clean

I took one look around the house this morning and realized there is no way I could do a thorough Crisis Clean (a la Flylady) without pawning the boys out to a gypsy farm. And Zorak was already at work. (Drat him and his work ethic!) So, what's a Mom to do?

Why, convince the kids it's a good idea to do it as a group, of course.

Now, this isn't your normal, Mom-runs-herd-on-the-distracted-children-and-everybody-wants-rum-by-noon cleaning. This is a Crisis Clean. There was prep. There was pomp. There may even have been a hint of circumstance.

First, we did our lessons. Then, I got them psyched for a Christmas tree.

I printed out the directions for a Crisis Clean and they read the page.

They disappeared.

I found them in the bathroom, moisturizing their faces and combing their hair.

Um... well, okay. They didn't break into my makeup. What's a little St. Yves in the hair for all the enthusiasm, right?

Back to the kitchen. John wanted to light the candle. OK, but why is the kitchen hot? I turned around to find a pot with weeds floating in water sitting atop a lit burner. OK, I thought, I really need to pick up the pace on the coffee infusion, because I have no recollection of doing this. Where'd the weeds come from? James informs me he's put on "a little something to simmer". Rosemary and cloves. A lot of cloves. *shrug* OK. I'm good with that.

Duke Ellington kicks up on the stereo - they picked Big Band for our cleaning music. Sweet! These are SO my kids.

So we split the sink into turns - John gets the right side, James gets the left. Smidge has a plate and the soap-filled scrubber thing. He has no access to water, so it should be relatively easy to clean up.

John's scrubbing. James and I are clearing. Smidge is adding soap, one drop at a time. I hope he doesn't get any in his eyes.

The weeds are starting to heat up. Did I mention there are a lot of cloves in there?

Time to switch. John takes the pantry corner. James starts scrubbing. Smidge has a thick, slimy layer of blue on everything, up to his elbows. I'm getting nauseaus from the combination of rosemary, cloves, and that pumpkin pie candle.

Eventually, the timer beeps. Ta-da! Dear God, has it only been fifteen minutes? I think I'm going to puke. Re-set and move on to the living room.

The idea of not putting things where they belong as we go is tough to get across to the boys. They want to put them away *now*. But, as much as I appreciate the heart behind it, I know better. It's like sending the Pokey Little Puppy on an errand. He's got a heart as big as they sky, but - hey, didja see those strawberries? And that butterfly? And, and, is that rice pudding?! No. Flylady is right in this aspect - just put the things that don't belong into a basket and we'll deal with them later. Not later, like next month later, but later, as in before supper. We finished the living room with six minutes to spare. The boys voted for a quick break. Since there are no official rules to this game, I pretend that's just what we're supposed to do.

Back to the kitchen.

Now the dining room.

The bath and hallway. What's that smell? I don't care, anymore. (I also blew out the candle and turned off the stove halfway through the living room. I couldn't hang with the odors anymore.)

We broke for hot chocolate, cookies, and a story. Ahhh, this is nice. Even the boys were shocked to look up and see how drastic the change was. And with so little effort. So little confusion! Whew.

Back to the kitchen - um, not much left to do. Unload the dishwasher, load it with the snack dishes. What am I forgetting? Oh. Crap, we didn't eat lunch. Oh well. They'll eat a good supper, right?

Finally, they opted to tackle both kids' rooms in 15 minutes in order to play outside for the rest of the day. I think I'll join them. It's just too nice not to enjoy. Might take a picnic out, too.

I wonder if I can get Zorak to do something like this with me on our room over the weekend? ;-)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Ancient Vacuums and Other Ramblings

Well, one more strike against carpet - our vacuum filters seem to be nonexistent - so I can't vacuum. Yuck. It started out simply enough. After lessons, and some kick-butt crepes the boys and I made, I called Sears, gave them the model number, and asked about filters. The lady said, "Oh, the round ones for the bagless? Yeah, we've got them." I just had to push it and ask if they also have the flat disk-like filter that goes with it. Dead silence.

"There's more than one filter on that machine?"

Yes...

"Oh, honey, you're gonna have to order that somewhere."

Um, somewhere like... oh, I don't know, Sears, perhaps? Since it is a Sears brand vacuum? Evidently, not.

Zorak called the Sears in Huntsville, thinking that it's a bigger store, maybe a better chance. They have them. Woohoo. We met up with him there en route to Pioneer Club, with plenty of time to pick up the filters, get Smidge some boots, grab a bite at the Food Court and head out. Or so one would think.

The young gal in the vacuum department is very kind, and very enthusiastic. Beyond that, though, I really hope she's putting herself through college. We gave her the model number, she fiddled on the computer for a bit, and brought us a flat filter, similar to the kind you'd put in your HVAC. Um, no, ours is a round filter.

"Oh, your machine is bagless?"

Uh, yeah.

"*giggle* I guess this is the model number, then?" (waving the piece of paper upon which she'd written the model number).

Um, yeah.

"Oh. OK, hang on."

Zorak and I exchanged bewildered glances. Should we run now? Should we wait and see if it gets any weirder? Eh, the kids are having fun with the booty-shaking snowman in the next aisle. We'll wait it out.

We can hear her on the phone. "Well, they SAY it's a bagless... they CLAIM it's not the flat square one... yeah, I know... what do I do with them?" Um, ok, first of all, we're, like, *squeak, squeal* five feet away - we can hear you! Second, you got us. Instead of date nights at romantic restaurants, we like to drag our herd of small, hungry children to department stores and lure employees on snipe hunts for imaginary products. No. Really. It's a bagless Kenmore vacuum. And would you like to go cow tipping when your shift ends?

The enthusiastic young girl goes to "the back". The boys have discovered the mixer displays.

Since we don't leave, she eventually returns with a teeny, tiny filter for what can only be described as a Lilliputian cleaning system. Possibly for personal grooming, or touch-up jobs on doll house mats. Not sure where that came from. She says the computer system says it's for our model. No, trust me, it's not. So she asks me if I want her to call Susan. Well, I don't know. Is Susan the resident vacuum expert?

"Oh, well, she's worked here a lot longer than I have. How old is your vacuum?"

Five, maybe six years old.

"*pause* Ohhhh, yeah, she may not know, then."

I looked at Zorak. Did I mistakenly say it was my Grandmother's vacuum, given as a gift when Arizona attained statehood? Is six years old the vacuum equivalent? I mean, I know Balto will be nearing middle age when he's six. Perhaps I'm missing something.

The boys have moved on to the talking sales pitch cards on the artificial trees. We're running out of time. The next row over is the knives.

So she writes down all the information on the printout and tells me we can order the filters online. But, wait. The two filters you have in hand are from that printout, and I can guarantee you that outside of just scotch taping them to the side of the vacuum, there's nowhere for them to go. These filters don't go with our vacuum. And she says, very enthusiastically, in response to this observation, "But they'll deliver them right to your house."

Oh, dear. I think we've overshot our goal, here. Not sure what to make of that. We look at the clock - it's 6:30. We're ten minutes late already, and still a 20 minute drive from church. We decide to grab a bite to eat. I can hand pick the visible bits off the carpet for a little while longer.

Now, it's been a while since we've eaten at a mall food court. I don't think we've ever eaten at this one. It was hot. Stiflingly hot. And there were sample people out in force. By the time we got to the end of the court and were trying to decide what to eat, I wasn't really hungry anymore. Zorak said I couldn't make two more laps and call it good, though. So we sat and ate. Food Court food gets a bad rap. It's really not bad, since you're not paying for ambiance.

The kids played in the kiddie corral. The adult:child ration was suspiciously skewed, and there were a number of children who we suspect were dropped off there during the Easter festivities. But the kids had fun, and it gave Zorak and I a chance to visit with a charming little girl who filled us in on why "Auburn is yucky". She was very sweet, and very devoted to 'Bama. We didn't have the heart to tell her we still have no idea which is which.

And that was pretty much it. That was the day. We came home and everybody except Miss Emily crashed hard. She's sitting at my feet now, trying valiantly to get to the power strip. I'm not sure which of the noises she evokes by pressing the button gets her so excited: the *muooohmp* of the system shutting down, the *poink* of the monitor testing its reaction time to boot back up, or me trying to stifle a scream because I can't remember if I backed up November's photos yet and I don't know if the thing will come back on. Whichever it is, she really digs it. And she's so cute when she succeeds! (Four children of this. Perhaps I've stumbled on a clue to all of our computers' demises? Ya think? *grin*)

Looks like tomorrow's the last day of our heat wave, so we're going to go do the Happy Homeowner and Unpaid Child Labor routine tomorrow. Maybe bake bread in the afternoon and get the house ready to accept a tree this weekend. (A tree! Before winter officially begins! This is momentous for us. We've been known to keep them in the yard until July 4th, but never have we brought one onto the property so soon before Christmas Day. Wow.)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Black Wednesday & Other Adventures

While we have yet to set foot in a retail shop for the purpose of procuring Christmas goodies for the children, I will be at Kroger first thing in the morning to purchase every bag of Archway Wedding Cookies available in a three-city radius.

Why? Because Archway, evil, crack-distributing corporation that it is, happens to sell my particular form of crack only this time of year. Fine. Fine, the Girl Scouts have been causing people to go into Thin Mint withdrawls seven months before the next cookie drive every year for a thousand years. It's nothing new. But you see, at least the Girl Scouts know they make a killing off pathetic addicts who buy eight dozen boxes and claim they'll freeze them to last all year. (They don't last. They do, however, taste quite nice straight out of the freezer. *ahem*) But Archyway? Evidently, the idiots manning the helm of that company have completely discounted the addictive nature and potential economic impact of this product (or, to put it bluntly, what the hell is wrong with these people that they don't send more to the stores?!?!?) There are other "wedding cookies" out there, but don't be deceived. They're all made with plain sugar and nuts. Archway, though, they've put Soilent Green or Kentucky Fried Chicken seasoning or something into theirs. There is no substitute.

So, anyway, unlike the Girl Scouts, you can't pre-order. You don't know how many you'll find on the shelves. You don't even know who will have them from year-to-year. It's like watching network television move your favorite show around until they finally kill it. It's painful. Once I'd found this year's store, I had to track down the manager, explain my twitchy plight, and beg for inside information. He then checked the delivery schedule and did a little math in order to slip me the hot tip of the week - the cookies were delivered tonight, but won't be available for purchase until tomorrow. Thank God the FDA doesn't know about these, or there'd be a limit, a three-day wait, and I'd have to get a seasonal job bagging groceries at Kroger just to maintain connections.

In other news:

A blind hem! I did it! I friggin did it! And they're gorgeous - well, for being invisible. But I DID it! Unfortunately, I did it an inch too long on one panel, and so will be reliving the joy again tomorrow. Ah, well, it was worth it. The boys helped with the measuring, marking, cutting, and layout. Somewhere in there, among four people (one of whom kept draping himself in fabric and running around, yelling "Nekkid Thomas! Nekkid Thomas!") working on one project, there was bound to be a miscalculation in there somewhere. Otherwise, the curtains look great. Woohoo!


Smidge let John read to him tonight at bedtime. I was going to slip off and put the dishes away, but how could I resist listening in on that? Looking in to see the boys huddled over a book together, enjoying one another? C'mon, sometimes a Mom just has to store that stuff up while she can. Winter's comin' - and with it, Cabin Fever. This could be the dose that gets me through to March, right?

Miss Emily pulled herself up beside the tub tonight and stood there, playing and talking with Smidge while he bathed. She stayed up the whole time, just laughing and throwing things into the tub. (We moved anything potentially dangerous, such as the clippers and the toilet brush. Right now, he thinks it's cute, but with her arm, all it's going to take is one good smack with a blunt object and all that cute-baby-girl stuff will come to a screeching halt.) Her balance is really good (she doesn't get that from me), and when she crawls now, she's fast. Alarmingly fast. Can't bake, take things down to the basement, or get something from the car without a backup watch to keep her within the safety perimeter. This little girl's going to have absolutely no trouble at all keeping up with her big brothers.

James found a copy of Frankenstein, and he's thoroughly enjoying that. His reading has brought up more questions about things like cloning, creation, ethics, and power. We've discussed some of them before, after hearing bits on the news, or reading an article in the paper, often simply after he's mulled something about a bit and needs to synthesize it. Somehow, though, fiction, far beyond news sources or everyday events, has a way of capturing all the "what ifs" that we just don't have the patience to field all the time, condensing them into terriffic plays of the imagination. He sometimes answers his own questions, sometimes makes me ask questions, and once in a while we just nod in understanding. It's a little daunting, when I think about all that the kids need to learn in the next few years. But it's good. And it's interesting. He keeps me on my toes. Maybe by the time Miss Emily is reading on her own, I'll be ready to tackle whatever she throws at me.

Man, today was GOOD. They just don't come like this all the time. But when they do? Mm, it is indeed a sweet, sweet life.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Crisp Morning, Hot Coffee, and a Good Book

It's five AM. Why am I up? I don't want to be up. But here I am. Laundry switched out. Dog fed and loved on. The cream ceramic coffee mug is warm on my fingers, and the hot drink feels good going down. Miss Emily woke at 4:42 this morning. There were too many people laying at too many odd angles to add a baby to the bed, so she and I moved to the futon. We snagged one of Smidge's blankets en route, since he was wrapped up in ours. I need to bring up more blankets.

She's out cold. Zorak's gone to work. The boys are sound asleep. Even the birds are quiet this morning.

I read a bit more of A Higher Kind of Loyalty, the memoirs of Liu Binyan. He was a journalist in China, chronicling the effects of two revolutions and the growing pains of the Communist Party over the years. His story is compelling. I have to take it in small chunks. It's difficult to wrap my mind around his ideologies, but the struggles he wrote of are universal, and worth remembering. So I sat with him a bit this morning, awed by the corruption power will nurture, saddened by the games played with other peoples' lives, awed by my gratitude for living here, now, and confirmed in my conviction against ever having to face those things in our home country.

Now I need to take a deep breath. Step back.

Drink more coffee, and look at sleeping children, and wonder what we will do today that will make a difference. Some differences are small. Some are large. The key is making them good, regardless of size.

John and I will read together. James and I will work on math. We'll talk more about legends and history, about heroes and truth. We'll try to wrangle out the precepts of a free society in terms you can understand when you're eight and six.

And there are curtains to make. Believe me, that luxury is not lost on me this morning.

We'll study, and work, and hope. Today is good. Tomorrow has the potential to be good.

I wish someone else was up right now. I'd love to have coffee. Talk. Brainstorm. Discuss something a little meatier than curtains and blankets. This is probably why I'm not usually up this early - all my great-conversation buddies only went to bed a few hours ago!

Fine. I'll go be productive. ;-)

Have a fantastic Tuesday!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Too busy to blog?

I guess so. We've spent the weekend working on the house, repairing exterior doors and trying to get them painted.

I convinced Zorak to let me paint the exterior of the balcony door slate grey - just so we could see if it worked. With the somewhat blah, 1970's brick exterior, we need a nice trim that makes the house *pop*. I thought perhaps slate grey, or a dark charcoal, would do the trick. There are some bricks of that color, and it's the color of the trim in the master bedroom. (Trying desperately to tie the colors together at this point, so the house doesn't look like Rainbow Brite's been massacared in here.)

Actually, I should say it WAS going to be the color of the trim in the master bedroom. Thankfully, I still have yet to get around to prepping and trimming that room. So, back to the story (for the record, the weekend, as a whole, has been as disjointed and erratic as my writing is tonight - for that, I apologize) I put it on the door, and... It's a Hershey Bar! Our balcony door now looks like an enormous Hershey Bar. Not, um, quite what we were shooting for. As a matter of fact, we'd nix'd the color chip that came with the grey we put on the walls because it was more brown than grey. This one, though, it looked grey. I could have sworn it was grey. The ladies in the paint department said it looked grey. So, it's official. We are all color-blind in fluorescent lighting. The balcony door has one half-hearted coat on it, just so we could put it up.

We did finally purchase curtains for most of the rooms. Ivory Battenburg lace for the kitchen. It might be a bit much, but it's only two small windows. Hopefully nobody will notice. We needed something with a little body to it, to help keep the cold out. It needed to be free of fruit, barnyard animals, and creepy faceless dutch children. That left us with the Battenburg.

I bought some linen-colored cord to use as tie-backs for the blue canvas duck curtains in the boys' room, and some curtain rods with a little bling in 'em. Then I bought plain vanilla rods, plain vanilla white lace, and a little plain vanilla ice cream for our room. No, wait, we already had ice cream. Anyway, maybe nobody will notice the unpainted trim for all the blindingly white lace stuck to the windows?

Then I picked up these great denim curtains for the nursery. They have tab-tops done up as overall hooks. I'd found a pattern for that very thing over the summer, but hadn't mustered the hutzpah to sit down and stitch it up yet. (Seriously we have how many pairs of overalls that need to have the latchy things repaired? And I haven't made it so far as to find out what those things are called, let alone have gone out to buy them and do the repairs. Make curtains to match? Hee hee. That's so funneeee!) But now, thanks to mass marketing, I don't have to! Hot dog! I'm washing them up tonight, and will hopefully apply the Thomas edging to them tomorrow. (Cut, pin, straight stitch. THAT much, I can do.)

We tried once again to take a family Christmas photo. How'd it go, you ask? Well, we got some beautiful shots of the kids. A great photo of Zorak and the kids. A nice one of me and the kids. And John even took a relatively decent one of me and Zorak. But one with all six of us? Yeah, we'll try again Friday. I may try over the week to get individual shots and see if we can make a montage instead. I think that might be easier in the end.

OH! And we think we've nailed down the Christmas buying process. Someone had posted a little poem a while back:

Something they want, something they need, something to wear, something to read.

What a great way to figure out what to get! (I botched it, though, and thought it was something to "play with" rather than "wear", but hey, I'm always up for buying a new sweater!) So, the Big Gift - to be shared by all the kids, is a GameCube. We bought Miss Emily some additional Duplo blocks, not because we need more Duplo blocks (not by a long shot), but because these had flowers and pink blocks, and Daddy's heart just got all soft and squishy when he saw that. (How can you resist a soft-hearted Daddy?) We're going to have to do some hardcore looking for books. Thought I'd found just the right thing for James, but the release date isn't until March of '07. I'd feel like a bit of a heel giving an IOU for Christmas if it can be avoided...

Then we sat down to take a breath, and whaddya know, it's Sunday evening. Wow. But it's been good. The boys love their sparkly new curtain rods. Smidge had three of four vibrating fits over the mere thought of finally getting his Thomas curtains. The house is looking more and more Christmas Ready with every passing day. Oh, yes, it's good.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

BESTED!

Beaten by an 8-year old! Repeatedly.

I can't beat him at chess. His gleeful giggles during the game probably don't count as sabotage, do they? Eh, that's okay. His gracious manner of winning - happy, but not ugly about it - make it easy to enjoy losing.

I've gotta get on the ball, here, or they're all going to by-pass me quickly and refer to me in the future as their "poor, strange mother".

Kiss those babies!
~Dy