Not so bright: I sliced the meat off the third knuckle on my middle finger today. Stoopid, stoopid thing to do. Knew better, but sometimes we just get so comfortable in the things we do to stop thinking about the things we know. Thankfully, it was a sharp knife, and everything could be put back in place fairly accurately. I'll leave it splinted for a couple of days, hopefully it'll stick back together okay. Please pardon typos over the next few entries. I had no idea how integral to the typing process that middle finger is!
Not so stoopid: Evidently, Balto should have been named Houdini. We had company for supper tonight. Fresh children to herd - WOOHOO! So, we let him in the house after supper, while the children played outside. But, no, that would not do. The in-and-out traffic through the front door was just too heavy to expect him not to make a break for it and succeed. SO, we put him in the basement. Not fifteen minutes later, there he was, skulking along among the iris and daffodils, heading straight for all the fun! I took him back in, flipped the two locks on the basement doors, leaned a cinder block against the door, propped a pallet under the door knob, and braced that with a mongo extendo-ladder/scaffold combo. As I emerged from the basement into the hallway, I commented (half in jest) that if he can get out of that, he's a genius.
Well, he's a genius. Who knew? He's out there, now, rolling happily in the grass.
And so, another weekend ends.
We made a lot of progress on the Forever Yard. The mystery tree from last week is in bloom right now, so it looks like it's hearty enough to have survived the frost. (Yay!) Zorak has the forms almost done for the first garden bed. The pile for the chipper is growing impressively. The barn is nearly cleaned and ready to earn its keep. Zorak's already making plans for fencing, and our first cow-calf operation. It looks like I've lost my argument that goats are smaller (and thus, less intimidating to, erm, the small children... yeah, the kids...) But all taken, things are looking good. Feeling good.
The children ran wild for hours today, thoroughly enjoying their friends and this beautiful Southern spring weather. Sleepy children seem not to notice the time change, and so, they slipped to bed without complaint. I think we will have to make it a tradition to spend the first day of Daylight Savings Time BBQ'ing with friends, running the children into a dreamy, happy, exausted sleep come evening. Quite nice.
And now, I am off to continue traveling with Mr. Twain, who has left Tangier, and is headed for points further East.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, March 11
Saturday, March 10
Tell me this wasn't planted on purpose!?!?!?
There are three different plants in there, but the one I'm asking about is the thick, stalky one in the foreground with the greenish, reddish coloring and no leaves. Can you see the thorns on that thing? Oy! Zorak and I look like we've taken up Olympic cat tossing.There's another one among them that has tiny, curved hooks that are sharp and hard. Possibly barbed. I suspect evil, as well. Particularly the one that reached down and nabbed me in the hollow on the back of my neck while I wrestled with the reddish ones above - ohhhh, okay. Strike that. Zorak just informed me that they're one and the same. These things get whip-like near the end. Yeouch!
And that means there are only two plants in that photo. So, then, what's this stuff, with the leaves?
If you run into it, castor oil is incredibly soothing on the injuries inflicted by these plants.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, March 9
Old Mrs. Cook
Today, we scarred the boys (but only slightly) by dragging them to the hayloft. Smidge is the only one who went up willingly, at first. (But that boy has more adventure than sense, sometimes.) Once they got up there... nope, still not thrilled. We began to wonder if these are, in fact, our children. When Zorak and I were kids, you couldn't have pried us out of a spot like that. But then, the magic began to come alive..
For all the times we've worried that James has grown too old for some adventures, it's a soothing balm to hear a wee voice shout from behind the fence, "I'll be up in the loft!"
The majority of the upper level of the barn is oak. It's dry, sturdy, and well-built. Pretty neat, up there.
We've been looking for a burn barrel, and today we found one. In. The. Creek. *sigh* The yahoos who had this place before us were just jackasses. It's going to take us a good five years to remove all the trash they left strewn about the property. However, the more we work on our Forever Home, the more attached the boys become to "Old Mrs. Cook". She and her husband built the Forever Home, 35 years ago. She was known among the neighbors for her cooking and hospitality. It was she who most likely planted the pear tree, the apple trees, and the chokecherry bushes. It was she who nurtured the place in all its horticultural glory. The shrubbery was probably her idea, and the terraced garden down below was most definitely hers. It was another family who trashed the place, in between the Cooks and our family, but the more we do, the more we find ourselves attached to "Old Mrs. Cook". Today, we found something amidst the hidden landscaping alluded to earlier in the week. See that...
No, not the tires. (Although that is a mighty impressive collection, isn't it?) The rectangular flat spot to the right of the monkey grass. See that? That's a patio! We'll get better pictures once we've got it cleaned off (it took us five hours to get to that point, today), but you can see there are some lovely rocks embedded in the patio.
She had a secluded, shaded spot (before the shade tree was overtaken by that climbing stuff and succumbed to despair), down by the barn, where she could sit and relax while... I don't know, while the kids worked the horses? While Mr. Cook worked in the barn? Perhaps a tea break after working in the garden, herself? We don't know. But it's fun to guess.
Tomorrow, I'll need more help identifying the dangerous, man-eating vines that are growing down along that fence. Right now, I'm going to go find the witch hazel and castor oil and see if I can stem the bloodflow.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
For all the times we've worried that James has grown too old for some adventures, it's a soothing balm to hear a wee voice shout from behind the fence, "I'll be up in the loft!"
The majority of the upper level of the barn is oak. It's dry, sturdy, and well-built. Pretty neat, up there.
We've been looking for a burn barrel, and today we found one. In. The. Creek. *sigh* The yahoos who had this place before us were just jackasses. It's going to take us a good five years to remove all the trash they left strewn about the property. However, the more we work on our Forever Home, the more attached the boys become to "Old Mrs. Cook". She and her husband built the Forever Home, 35 years ago. She was known among the neighbors for her cooking and hospitality. It was she who most likely planted the pear tree, the apple trees, and the chokecherry bushes. It was she who nurtured the place in all its horticultural glory. The shrubbery was probably her idea, and the terraced garden down below was most definitely hers. It was another family who trashed the place, in between the Cooks and our family, but the more we do, the more we find ourselves attached to "Old Mrs. Cook". Today, we found something amidst the hidden landscaping alluded to earlier in the week. See that...
No, not the tires. (Although that is a mighty impressive collection, isn't it?) The rectangular flat spot to the right of the monkey grass. See that? That's a patio! We'll get better pictures once we've got it cleaned off (it took us five hours to get to that point, today), but you can see there are some lovely rocks embedded in the patio.
She had a secluded, shaded spot (before the shade tree was overtaken by that climbing stuff and succumbed to despair), down by the barn, where she could sit and relax while... I don't know, while the kids worked the horses? While Mr. Cook worked in the barn? Perhaps a tea break after working in the garden, herself? We don't know. But it's fun to guess.
Tomorrow, I'll need more help identifying the dangerous, man-eating vines that are growing down along that fence. Right now, I'm going to go find the witch hazel and castor oil and see if I can stem the bloodflow.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, March 8
Not With My Child
So our previous dentist decided he could not address John's and Smidge's dental needs (after extensive costs on our part), and recommended a pedodontist to have the work done. I called the insurance company, called the denstists on the list, and made an appointment with one whose office staff said they could certainly address the situation. When I shared my excitement with a friend, she said, "You mean you found one who would let you go back with the boys?"
What? I didn't even ask. What kind of a set-up would that be? I'd heard of the occasional dentist not permitting parents to go back, and the reasoning usually ran along the lines of "I am the child's care provider, and he needs to develop a relationshp directly with me." (Parents get in the way, essentially.) Well, ok, if a parent chooses to submit to a policy like that, that's fine and dandy. I'm not among them, so I thought I would call to confirm.
Good thing I called. But now, they've changed their line of reasoning. "It's a HIPA ruling. It's the law."
It's "the law" that the parent of an unemancipated minor cannot be present during exams and treatment? Um, no. Not exactly.
Firstly, HIPA addresses "privacy" with regard to the patient's files. It does lay out the framework for very specific cases in which a parent may not retain the rights and responsibilities of a minor's legal representative. Of the 60+ pages I've read of the Act thus far, suspected neglect/abuse, court order giving representative rights to someone other than the parent, and treatment for mental health when the child desires it and the parents do not are the only three specifically named conditions wherein a parent's right of representation may be removed by third parties. Parental consent to release responsibility is the fourth. All of which are set forth very clearly, and with precedented understanding and foreknowledge by all parties. I'm not going to tackle HIPA itself today, but only this specific point:
Nothing in HIPA authorizes a health care provider to deny a parent the rights of representation for the minor without cause.
Do not let a health care provider tell you that you cannot be present for your child's treatment due to HIPA privacy acts. If you allow it, then you have rescinded your rights under one of the specific provisions in the Act: express permission for the provider to bypass your representation. I have yet to find anything that cites rectification of the process when that permission was given based on faulty information, and I suspect that future searches will yield the same results.
When a provider denies you the right to be present for treatment, consultation, or examination right off the bat, that provider is acting unethically, if not unlawfully. If that provider tells you that it is the law, find another provider. You are being duped. Unfortunately, we are all too often unaware of our rights, what few remain, and our ignorance is going to completely strip us of our rights and responsibilities, in the end. When a harried parent is informed by a brusque staff member that something is a federal regulation, how many parents are readily armed with subsection and paragraph citation to counter it? (I also wonder how properly the staff are being educated. This isn't to say there is an onslaught by receptionists nationwide to participate in the Agenda of removing parents from the parental role. I honestly believe they are simply taught this, and thus propgate it.)
You can read the full text here. (It's a .pdf file.) Truthfully, the devils are in the details.
But not with my child, they won't. And we did find a dentist who isn't on the Gov't in loco parentis bandwagon.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Dy
What? I didn't even ask. What kind of a set-up would that be? I'd heard of the occasional dentist not permitting parents to go back, and the reasoning usually ran along the lines of "I am the child's care provider, and he needs to develop a relationshp directly with me." (Parents get in the way, essentially.) Well, ok, if a parent chooses to submit to a policy like that, that's fine and dandy. I'm not among them, so I thought I would call to confirm.
Good thing I called. But now, they've changed their line of reasoning. "It's a HIPA ruling. It's the law."
It's "the law" that the parent of an unemancipated minor cannot be present during exams and treatment? Um, no. Not exactly.
Firstly, HIPA addresses "privacy" with regard to the patient's files. It does lay out the framework for very specific cases in which a parent may not retain the rights and responsibilities of a minor's legal representative. Of the 60+ pages I've read of the Act thus far, suspected neglect/abuse, court order giving representative rights to someone other than the parent, and treatment for mental health when the child desires it and the parents do not are the only three specifically named conditions wherein a parent's right of representation may be removed by third parties. Parental consent to release responsibility is the fourth. All of which are set forth very clearly, and with precedented understanding and foreknowledge by all parties. I'm not going to tackle HIPA itself today, but only this specific point:
Nothing in HIPA authorizes a health care provider to deny a parent the rights of representation for the minor without cause.
Do not let a health care provider tell you that you cannot be present for your child's treatment due to HIPA privacy acts. If you allow it, then you have rescinded your rights under one of the specific provisions in the Act: express permission for the provider to bypass your representation. I have yet to find anything that cites rectification of the process when that permission was given based on faulty information, and I suspect that future searches will yield the same results.
When a provider denies you the right to be present for treatment, consultation, or examination right off the bat, that provider is acting unethically, if not unlawfully. If that provider tells you that it is the law, find another provider. You are being duped. Unfortunately, we are all too often unaware of our rights, what few remain, and our ignorance is going to completely strip us of our rights and responsibilities, in the end. When a harried parent is informed by a brusque staff member that something is a federal regulation, how many parents are readily armed with subsection and paragraph citation to counter it? (I also wonder how properly the staff are being educated. This isn't to say there is an onslaught by receptionists nationwide to participate in the Agenda of removing parents from the parental role. I honestly believe they are simply taught this, and thus propgate it.)
You can read the full text here. (It's a .pdf file.) Truthfully, the devils are in the details.
But not with my child, they won't. And we did find a dentist who isn't on the Gov't in loco parentis bandwagon.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Dy
Wednesday, March 7
Oh, Freud!!
Tonight, in the chaos that engulfs the church hall after Pioneer Club, I shouted to the boys to hut-hut, as we had to stop at the grocery store on the way home. One of the ladies beside me did a double-take and burst out laughing. She admitted she'd thought I'd told them we had to swing by the liquor store. *chuckle* I must look really tired.
There will be some changes in the way we approach the sorting of our days. I'm looking forward to that, but right now, am too tired to even remember what we agreed upon, let alone share it here.
And so, I'll leave you with a cute joke that landed in my inbox this week.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
There will be some changes in the way we approach the sorting of our days. I'm looking forward to that, but right now, am too tired to even remember what we agreed upon, let alone share it here.
And so, I'll leave you with a cute joke that landed in my inbox this week.
A mom was concerned about her Kindergarten son walking to school. He didn't want his mother to walk with him. She wanted to give him the feeling that he had some independence, but yet know that he was safe.
So, she had an idea of how to handle it. She asked a neighbor if she would please follow him to school in the mornings, staying at a distance, so he probably wouldn't notice her.
She said that since she was up early with her toddler anyway, it would be a good way for them to get some exercise as well, so she agreed.
The next school day, the neighbor and her little girl set out following behind Timmy as he walked to school with another neighbor boy he knew. She did this for the whole week.
As the boys walked and chatted, kicking stones and twigs, Timmy's little friend noticed the same lady was following them as she seemed to do every day all week. Finally, he said to Timmy, "Have you noticed that lady following us to school all week? Do you know her"?
Timmy nonchalantly replied, "Yeah, I know who she is."
The friend said, "Well, who is she"?
"That's just Shirley Goodnest," Timmy replied. "And her daughter Marcy."
"Shirley Goodnest? Who the heck is she and why is she following us"?
"Well," Timmy explained. "Every night, my mom makes me say the 23rd Psalm with my prayers, because she worries about me so much. And in the Psalm, it says, 'Shirley Goodnest and Marcy shall follow me all the days of my life,' so I guess I'll just have to get used to it!"
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, March 6
SCORE!
Tonight, after a particularly grueling day flogging the meadow into shape, wrangling the children into some semblance of an educational position, off-kilter napping schedules (mainly mine, but BabyGirl helped), baseball practice, and... did I mention it was a particularly tough day? We came home, and I managed to have supper on the table in less than an hour.
While I cooked, Smidge and John sidled over to the dining table for some horribly mangled game of chess-meets-dragonlore. Zorak and James played a riveting, and rather loud, game of chess at the breakfast bar. (James may one day be a mean chess player, but the kid will get beaten consistently if he ever tries to play poker.) Emily screeched protests against the injustice that everybody got to touch the chess pieces except her. You know, in my daydreams about the idyllic family evening routine, it's much quieter...
No idea how we managed it, but we sat down to eat before seven o'clock! We said our prayer (Smidge has stopped screaming while we pray, always appreciated!) and enjoyed a hot meal after a long day. But, that's not the SCORE! The SCORE! came when Zorak said, "Wow, you're getting really good at this. Just being able to walk in and whip up something good."
Angels sang, folks. They sang. They danced. I think a couple of them even waved lighters. It was beautiful.
And that's it. That is the summit of my felicity today. It may not seem like much to those of you who are culinarily gifted. Or have husbands who are thus blessed, (or will eat anything and not quietly decide to cook all the meals from here on in). But for me, this is huge. I have, after a mere thirty-three and a half years on this earth (admittedly, only about the last ten spent actually trying) achieved a major goal as a wife and mother. I can whip up something that my husband actually likes and doesn't sniff, poke, and then add Tabasco to before eating.
Sometimes, it's the small things.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
While I cooked, Smidge and John sidled over to the dining table for some horribly mangled game of chess-meets-dragonlore. Zorak and James played a riveting, and rather loud, game of chess at the breakfast bar. (James may one day be a mean chess player, but the kid will get beaten consistently if he ever tries to play poker.) Emily screeched protests against the injustice that everybody got to touch the chess pieces except her. You know, in my daydreams about the idyllic family evening routine, it's much quieter...
No idea how we managed it, but we sat down to eat before seven o'clock! We said our prayer (Smidge has stopped screaming while we pray, always appreciated!) and enjoyed a hot meal after a long day. But, that's not the SCORE! The SCORE! came when Zorak said, "Wow, you're getting really good at this. Just being able to walk in and whip up something good."
Angels sang, folks. They sang. They danced. I think a couple of them even waved lighters. It was beautiful.
And that's it. That is the summit of my felicity today. It may not seem like much to those of you who are culinarily gifted. Or have husbands who are thus blessed, (or will eat anything and not quietly decide to cook all the meals from here on in). But for me, this is huge. I have, after a mere thirty-three and a half years on this earth (admittedly, only about the last ten spent actually trying) achieved a major goal as a wife and mother. I can whip up something that my husband actually likes and doesn't sniff, poke, and then add Tabasco to before eating.
Sometimes, it's the small things.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, March 5
A Rose, By Any Other Name
Would be just as difficult to pick.
She-who-must-not-be-named (well, she could be named, but refuses to pick one), has, ironically enough, blogged about naming her children. Her story is great. She asked me to blog about it, too. My story? Well, they're named James, John, Jacob. And Emily. It's a pretty sure bet my story isn't that creative. And we don't have a cat named Smidge or Jimmy or even... well, we don't even have a cat.
So, here's how the basic scenario played out the first time around:
Z: How about Roland?
D: No.
Z: Creighton?
D: No.
Z: Roland?
D: No.
Z: Fine. You pick one.
D: *squeal* OK, how about Christian?
Z: *snort* How about B'hai?
*glare*
*silence*
D: You can't make me say okay to Roland, you know.
Z: Muslim? Unitarian? Agnostic?
Thomas. We both liked Thomas. But you can't pair Thomas with our last name. It invariably comes out "Thomas Edison". Hmmm. No good. In the end, we picked James. We both like James. We both have positive connotations of the name. He has a buddy, James, who he thinks the world of; I have an Uncle Jim and a buddy from high school who I think highly of, and so, it was done.
The girl name-picking session took a bit longer. It seems between the two of us, we either knew a thousand children with the names we liked, or could think of horrible things kids can do to the other names we liked. A few, we tossed because they would have condemned a girl to life on the second barstool from the end. A few more, we weeded out due to the somewhat restrictive nature of the names. The list of those rejected by only one or the other of us is enormous. We just couldn't come to a consensus. It was rough. Honestly, if we'd had James, then Emily, we'd have had to stop there, because we'd run out of girl names we could agree on.
Here comes child number two. The conversation(s) went something like this:
D: If it's a girl, Emily, right?
Z: ...right... and if it's a boy, Roland.
D: *hairy eyeball*
Z: Do you like Martin?
D: You know, I do.
Z: *pause* That was almost too easy. Do you really?
D: I really do -- wait. No. We can't do Martin.
Z: Why...?
D: My buddy, James? Yeah, Martin is his other name. That might seem creepy at high school reunions. I'm sorry.
Z: No. I totally get that.
D: Well... wanna try Thomas again?
Z: I really like Roland.
D: Chester.
Z: What?
D: If you can put Roland on the table, then I want Chester. Chester Christian. Or possibly Christian Chester. You can pick.
Z: Can we talk about this later? (And then, in his head...) Like when you aren't pumped full of growth hormones and kind of scary and irrational...
D: I heard that.
Z: I didn't say anything.
D: You thought it.
Z: And I was right. But you can't get me on a technicality. Even if we'd been taping this conversation, there's no evidence to convict me. Want a foot rub?
I don't remember how we came to John for a name. I do remember that we'd had it picked for a while before we realized we'd then have two children with the same first initial. My mother did that with her first batch of kids, only it was intentional. They all had the same initials, first-middle-last. Monogrammed gifts were a nightmare in that family. I thought it was kind of creepy, personally, and have always been glad I came later, thus dodging that bullet. So, we made sure his middle name did not begin with the same letter, and called it good.
There. We were done. Two kids. Only one slight snafu on the whole initial thing. Zorak liked the combination. As he pointed out, I could tell folks from church we'd named them after the Sons of Thunder from the Bible, and he could say they were named after the Belushi brothers. Everyone wins.
But, wait! There's more!
MORE? We can't have any more! We're out of names, and we're not having a girl. So. So, we're done. Remember? Two children? D-o-n-e. *chuckle* Ah, okay. But if we DO have a girl? (both, in unison) Emily. Ok. Cool.
Now we were in a pickle. We couldn't have James, John, and The Spare Kid. Or possibly, James, John and The One We Didn't Plan For. We felt compelled to use a J name. Do you have any idea how many bizarre J names are out there? Wow. Three months of wading through those, including a brief, yet enthusiastic, courting of Jedidiah (Zorak went to school with a Jed. He was twitchy, but brilliant, down-to-earth, and didn't seem terribly scarred by his name, but we couldn't come up with a middle name that could pull it together, you know, like a rug), and we emerged with Jacob. Again, I don't know how, exactly. We weren't even 100% certain the day he was born. I think poor Smidge spent the most time nameless of the four.
And then, Number Four.
D: Emily?
Z: Emily.
D: But, what about her middle name?
(*editorial note: no backstory to the boys' middle names. The combinations had to offer plenty of variations, enough nicknames to fit whatever they might like in the future, work well when yelled in full from the front porch, and not be difficult to pronounce or spell to strangers. That last one is my personal issue. Enough years being called "Dylan" or "Dion" and you get pretty fanatical about plain-Jane spellings.*)
We picked the boys' middle names by how they sounded with the first and last names. I'd like to do something special for Emily's middle name. You know, since her first name is a hand-me-down to the fourth generation. She needs a really special name.
Z: Yeah.
D: Would your Mom mind if we named her after her?
Z: *blank stare* Mind? No.
D: Ok. We should do that, then. Emily Radna. I really like that.
We toyed again with Jed. Wrangled over Roland (that doesn't even BEGIN with a J - I don't know how it kept coming up.) If she'd have been a he, we'd have probably gone with Joshua. It has a J. It's easy to spell, difficult to mispronounce, and we were out of ideas. Thankfully, though, we had our Sweet Miss Emily.
And now, we're done. I think. No guarantees, but I'm relatively sure. We're out of names.
She-who-must-not-be-named (well, she could be named, but refuses to pick one), has, ironically enough, blogged about naming her children. Her story is great. She asked me to blog about it, too. My story? Well, they're named James, John, Jacob. And Emily. It's a pretty sure bet my story isn't that creative. And we don't have a cat named Smidge or Jimmy or even... well, we don't even have a cat.
So, here's how the basic scenario played out the first time around:
Z: How about Roland?
D: No.
Z: Creighton?
D: No.
Z: Roland?
D: No.
Z: Fine. You pick one.
D: *squeal* OK, how about Christian?
Z: *snort* How about B'hai?
*glare*
*silence*
D: You can't make me say okay to Roland, you know.
Z: Muslim? Unitarian? Agnostic?
Thomas. We both liked Thomas. But you can't pair Thomas with our last name. It invariably comes out "Thomas Edison". Hmmm. No good. In the end, we picked James. We both like James. We both have positive connotations of the name. He has a buddy, James, who he thinks the world of; I have an Uncle Jim and a buddy from high school who I think highly of, and so, it was done.
The girl name-picking session took a bit longer. It seems between the two of us, we either knew a thousand children with the names we liked, or could think of horrible things kids can do to the other names we liked. A few, we tossed because they would have condemned a girl to life on the second barstool from the end. A few more, we weeded out due to the somewhat restrictive nature of the names. The list of those rejected by only one or the other of us is enormous. We just couldn't come to a consensus. It was rough. Honestly, if we'd had James, then Emily, we'd have had to stop there, because we'd run out of girl names we could agree on.
Here comes child number two. The conversation(s) went something like this:
D: If it's a girl, Emily, right?
Z: ...right... and if it's a boy, Roland.
D: *hairy eyeball*
Z: Do you like Martin?
D: You know, I do.
Z: *pause* That was almost too easy. Do you really?
D: I really do -- wait. No. We can't do Martin.
Z: Why...?
D: My buddy, James? Yeah, Martin is his other name. That might seem creepy at high school reunions. I'm sorry.
Z: No. I totally get that.
D: Well... wanna try Thomas again?
Z: I really like Roland.
D: Chester.
Z: What?
D: If you can put Roland on the table, then I want Chester. Chester Christian. Or possibly Christian Chester. You can pick.
Z: Can we talk about this later? (And then, in his head...) Like when you aren't pumped full of growth hormones and kind of scary and irrational...
D: I heard that.
Z: I didn't say anything.
D: You thought it.
Z: And I was right. But you can't get me on a technicality. Even if we'd been taping this conversation, there's no evidence to convict me. Want a foot rub?
I don't remember how we came to John for a name. I do remember that we'd had it picked for a while before we realized we'd then have two children with the same first initial. My mother did that with her first batch of kids, only it was intentional. They all had the same initials, first-middle-last. Monogrammed gifts were a nightmare in that family. I thought it was kind of creepy, personally, and have always been glad I came later, thus dodging that bullet. So, we made sure his middle name did not begin with the same letter, and called it good.
There. We were done. Two kids. Only one slight snafu on the whole initial thing. Zorak liked the combination. As he pointed out, I could tell folks from church we'd named them after the Sons of Thunder from the Bible, and he could say they were named after the Belushi brothers. Everyone wins.
But, wait! There's more!
MORE? We can't have any more! We're out of names, and we're not having a girl. So. So, we're done. Remember? Two children? D-o-n-e. *chuckle* Ah, okay. But if we DO have a girl? (both, in unison) Emily. Ok. Cool.
Now we were in a pickle. We couldn't have James, John, and The Spare Kid. Or possibly, James, John and The One We Didn't Plan For. We felt compelled to use a J name. Do you have any idea how many bizarre J names are out there? Wow. Three months of wading through those, including a brief, yet enthusiastic, courting of Jedidiah (Zorak went to school with a Jed. He was twitchy, but brilliant, down-to-earth, and didn't seem terribly scarred by his name, but we couldn't come up with a middle name that could pull it together, you know, like a rug), and we emerged with Jacob. Again, I don't know how, exactly. We weren't even 100% certain the day he was born. I think poor Smidge spent the most time nameless of the four.
And then, Number Four.
D: Emily?
Z: Emily.
D: But, what about her middle name?
(*editorial note: no backstory to the boys' middle names. The combinations had to offer plenty of variations, enough nicknames to fit whatever they might like in the future, work well when yelled in full from the front porch, and not be difficult to pronounce or spell to strangers. That last one is my personal issue. Enough years being called "Dylan" or "Dion" and you get pretty fanatical about plain-Jane spellings.*)
We picked the boys' middle names by how they sounded with the first and last names. I'd like to do something special for Emily's middle name. You know, since her first name is a hand-me-down to the fourth generation. She needs a really special name.
Z: Yeah.
D: Would your Mom mind if we named her after her?
Z: *blank stare* Mind? No.
D: Ok. We should do that, then. Emily Radna. I really like that.
We toyed again with Jed. Wrangled over Roland (that doesn't even BEGIN with a J - I don't know how it kept coming up.) If she'd have been a he, we'd have probably gone with Joshua. It has a J. It's easy to spell, difficult to mispronounce, and we were out of ideas. Thankfully, though, we had our Sweet Miss Emily.
And now, we're done. I think. No guarantees, but I'm relatively sure. We're out of names.
Sunday, March 4
Unearthing the Mysteries
We're learning. We've been inhaling, on a much smaller scale, I'm sure, the intoxicating fumes of history that archaeologists must feel when they begin a dig. We knew when we began working on the Forever Home that this place was once much-loved, and very well-cared for. In spite of the years of neglect, the signs were still there...
Now, as we venture deeper into the land, we're seeing remnants of 30-year old landscaping, long neglected. In a place where full trenches will grow over and become invisible in one year, you can imagine how rapidly the rest of the work vanished. Last week we began pulling "weeds" in the upper meadow that led us to a core "weed" that looks like a tree, but upon closer inspection looks like it was, at one time, a shrub. A decorative shrub. Hey... wait a minnit! (Back up, to take in a broader view of the area.) WHOA!! Check that out! Big tree, flanked by two "shrubs" here, and over there, Big Dead Tree (Magic Castle) flanked by two "shrubs"... so they aren't trees? And they're not supposed to be twenty feet tall? And the design made this little indentation (which we've thought was begging for a gazebo or a greenhouse) - a perfect little hidey spot. Wow, I'll bet that was really pretty...
Today, we worked around the barn (pictured in the header). See the mass of growth there, right in front of it? There's a fence-like thing at the back of that growth that I've imagined would make a lovely arbor for muscadines. Today, we got up close and personal with that mass of growth. There's terracing in there. Landscape timbers. Monkey grass, and ornamental "shrubs" (yes, the tall things), as well as some type of creeping vine thing (probably more poison ivy, and possibly a little Virginia creeper). WOW. Thirty years ago, this little lower meadow was absolutely inviting. The skeletal structure is there for an English garden style landscape. We've been down there a time or two, but never stayed long because of the snakes and wasps. This is the summer, however, for reclaiming the land, and it looks like it will be quite the adventure.
I doubt we'll ever restore it to it's former grandeur, but that's okay. It looks like it was much more high-maintenance than we'd be capable of maintaining; it's also just not practical for what we'd like to do with the land. In the meantime, it's exciting to walk in the shadows of years past, to see what others saw and loved in this place long before we came and loved it.
And the boys are not quite yet convinced our barn will ever be a place to play or hang out. Ever. But they said that about the house, too, once upon a time. *grin*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Now, as we venture deeper into the land, we're seeing remnants of 30-year old landscaping, long neglected. In a place where full trenches will grow over and become invisible in one year, you can imagine how rapidly the rest of the work vanished. Last week we began pulling "weeds" in the upper meadow that led us to a core "weed" that looks like a tree, but upon closer inspection looks like it was, at one time, a shrub. A decorative shrub. Hey... wait a minnit! (Back up, to take in a broader view of the area.) WHOA!! Check that out! Big tree, flanked by two "shrubs" here, and over there, Big Dead Tree (Magic Castle) flanked by two "shrubs"... so they aren't trees? And they're not supposed to be twenty feet tall? And the design made this little indentation (which we've thought was begging for a gazebo or a greenhouse) - a perfect little hidey spot. Wow, I'll bet that was really pretty...
Today, we worked around the barn (pictured in the header). See the mass of growth there, right in front of it? There's a fence-like thing at the back of that growth that I've imagined would make a lovely arbor for muscadines. Today, we got up close and personal with that mass of growth. There's terracing in there. Landscape timbers. Monkey grass, and ornamental "shrubs" (yes, the tall things), as well as some type of creeping vine thing (probably more poison ivy, and possibly a little Virginia creeper). WOW. Thirty years ago, this little lower meadow was absolutely inviting. The skeletal structure is there for an English garden style landscape. We've been down there a time or two, but never stayed long because of the snakes and wasps. This is the summer, however, for reclaiming the land, and it looks like it will be quite the adventure.
I doubt we'll ever restore it to it's former grandeur, but that's okay. It looks like it was much more high-maintenance than we'd be capable of maintaining; it's also just not practical for what we'd like to do with the land. In the meantime, it's exciting to walk in the shadows of years past, to see what others saw and loved in this place long before we came and loved it.
And the boys are not quite yet convinced our barn will ever be a place to play or hang out. Ever. But they said that about the house, too, once upon a time. *grin*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Saturday, March 3
Great Days
Friday, we enjoyed a tour of the WHNT TV station with our homeschool support group. What a delightful outing! John-Paul Dice led the tour, and he was wonderful with the children (and the mommies!) He started out with general descriptions, and geared his responses to the children's levels of interest. Southern hospitality at its best, truly.
Then, since we were in town, and the boys might mutiny if they didn't get to see Ward and/or Terry, we wrangled Terry (Me-Tay) into joining us for a trip to the crunchy market and lunch. It was so pretty that we played in the gazebo at the market while we waited for Me-Tay.
Zorak joined us at the restaurant, which is always a bonus for the kids. We couldn't find Me-Wah, though, so he couldn't join us. Smidge has yet to let us forget that, either. ;-) It was so nice, and the weather was absolutely beautiful, but since we'd all been up since six in the morning, we decided to come home rather than run any more errands in town.
We came home and worked-worked-worked. Thank you all, SO much for the discussion on the foliage. Turns out, I've been yanking poison ivy off many of the trees all week, and didn't realize it. Just sort of waiting for the rash to kick in now... eeek. Thankfully, the boys were relegated to the pulling of the tree-like things that definitely aren't poison anything. Yay!! The boys found quite a few earthworms in the process, which is an encouraging sign for the overall health of the land. Each worm has been lovingly fondled, oogled, and then placed gently back in the ground. I guess when you're six and three, it's important to mark your worms.
John had his second ball practice this morning. It was cold and windy. John had a blast. Baby Girl is one tough toddler. James and Smidge may forego the play area entirely in favor of the snack shack next time. Come to think of it, I love my son very much, but I may forego the bleachers and join them in the relative warmth of the snack shack if we have another cold morning like that!
John really found his stride today. They worked with the pitching machine, and he started out so timid, obviously nervous. He missed the first one, then cracked a few out there, and you could watch the transformation take place.
Next time he was up, he sauntered up to the plate, grinning like a cheshire cat, squared up, and tapped the plate with the bat. I have no idea what gave him the idea (we don't even watch ball on tv), but the coach who was catching chuckled and said, "That's right, look like a baseball player! You got it!" We do have *one of those* adults in the group. I'll have to blog about that one separately, but my-oh-my, it will be difficult not to slip a little valium into that person's coffee. Oy. Thankfully, it's just one.
We came back, prepared to work on the property a bit more, but we talked with some friends who just moved back and figured they could use a little help getting their place cleaned out and ready to move in. So we packed up lunch, yard tools, plumbing tools, and a picnic bench (thank you, Aunt B - those things are SO handy!) and headed over for the day. I'm glad we went. The kids played (as kids are wont to do, eh?), and we were able to lend a hand and enjoy the company of good friends.
At the end of the day, we are tired. Happy. Glad to live here, and to have the life and friends and opportunities we do. Impending itchy blisters and all. *grin*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Then, since we were in town, and the boys might mutiny if they didn't get to see Ward and/or Terry, we wrangled Terry (Me-Tay) into joining us for a trip to the crunchy market and lunch. It was so pretty that we played in the gazebo at the market while we waited for Me-Tay.
Zorak joined us at the restaurant, which is always a bonus for the kids. We couldn't find Me-Wah, though, so he couldn't join us. Smidge has yet to let us forget that, either. ;-) It was so nice, and the weather was absolutely beautiful, but since we'd all been up since six in the morning, we decided to come home rather than run any more errands in town.
We came home and worked-worked-worked. Thank you all, SO much for the discussion on the foliage. Turns out, I've been yanking poison ivy off many of the trees all week, and didn't realize it. Just sort of waiting for the rash to kick in now... eeek. Thankfully, the boys were relegated to the pulling of the tree-like things that definitely aren't poison anything. Yay!! The boys found quite a few earthworms in the process, which is an encouraging sign for the overall health of the land. Each worm has been lovingly fondled, oogled, and then placed gently back in the ground. I guess when you're six and three, it's important to mark your worms.
John had his second ball practice this morning. It was cold and windy. John had a blast. Baby Girl is one tough toddler. James and Smidge may forego the play area entirely in favor of the snack shack next time. Come to think of it, I love my son very much, but I may forego the bleachers and join them in the relative warmth of the snack shack if we have another cold morning like that!
John really found his stride today. They worked with the pitching machine, and he started out so timid, obviously nervous. He missed the first one, then cracked a few out there, and you could watch the transformation take place.
Next time he was up, he sauntered up to the plate, grinning like a cheshire cat, squared up, and tapped the plate with the bat. I have no idea what gave him the idea (we don't even watch ball on tv), but the coach who was catching chuckled and said, "That's right, look like a baseball player! You got it!" We do have *one of those* adults in the group. I'll have to blog about that one separately, but my-oh-my, it will be difficult not to slip a little valium into that person's coffee. Oy. Thankfully, it's just one.
We came back, prepared to work on the property a bit more, but we talked with some friends who just moved back and figured they could use a little help getting their place cleaned out and ready to move in. So we packed up lunch, yard tools, plumbing tools, and a picnic bench (thank you, Aunt B - those things are SO handy!) and headed over for the day. I'm glad we went. The kids played (as kids are wont to do, eh?), and we were able to lend a hand and enjoy the company of good friends.
At the end of the day, we are tired. Happy. Glad to live here, and to have the life and friends and opportunities we do. Impending itchy blisters and all. *grin*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, March 2
Hint #2: leaves, (also vines and bark)
We dug around beneath that tree. There were quite a few other leaves, but some of them we could recognize as belonging to other trees nearby. These are the ones there were the most of. Does this help any?
Also, this is from the tree behind it, but I'm wondering if it's vines that did this to the bark, or something else? I know this poor tree probably isn't healthy, but isn't the detail fascinating? (Click on the image to view the MONGO detail.)
Zorak asked me today if we are assuming that all vines on the trees are poison ivy. I have no idea. I'm just assuming that all vines on the trees ought not be there and must come off. Probably ought to check on that at some point, huh?
There's a lot I have put off, for the simple reason that this whole landscaping thing falls into one of those "painful ironies" categories. I've got two pretty big fears embedded in my imagination. One is of a vampire-werewolf cross - horrible creature, really. The other is vines that have malicious intent and will grow clear across the meadow, up the side of the house, through the window, and kill me in my sleep. Rent Watcher in the Woods. It could happen.
So today's three hours of yanking vines off trees and out of the ground? It's like shock therapy for the overly imaginative.
Kiss those babies (and keep the vines away from the windows!)
~Dy
Also, this is from the tree behind it, but I'm wondering if it's vines that did this to the bark, or something else? I know this poor tree probably isn't healthy, but isn't the detail fascinating? (Click on the image to view the MONGO detail.)
Zorak asked me today if we are assuming that all vines on the trees are poison ivy. I have no idea. I'm just assuming that all vines on the trees ought not be there and must come off. Probably ought to check on that at some point, huh?
There's a lot I have put off, for the simple reason that this whole landscaping thing falls into one of those "painful ironies" categories. I've got two pretty big fears embedded in my imagination. One is of a vampire-werewolf cross - horrible creature, really. The other is vines that have malicious intent and will grow clear across the meadow, up the side of the house, through the window, and kill me in my sleep. Rent Watcher in the Woods. It could happen.
So today's three hours of yanking vines off trees and out of the ground? It's like shock therapy for the overly imaginative.
Kiss those babies (and keep the vines away from the windows!)
~Dy
Thursday, March 1
What is this?
We're going to play a little game. (Don't run away! No, come back! I have coffee!)
I'll post a picture of something, and you guess what it is. This is like "animal, mineral or vegetable", except they're all going to be plants. More specifically, they're all going to be plants I cannot identify and have no idea how to go about identifying. So, you get to play AND do something altruistic for a friend. (Please come back.)
Let's start with the tool grabbing tree. The full shot is in the previous post. And here, we have a closer shot of the bark (bonus points if anyone can identify the tree in the background, too - no idea what that is)...
Here's a shot of a branch with buds (and the other tree limb mugging in the background - we've got a wild bunch of party foliage, here!):
And, to show off my inept photography skills, a blurry picture of a bud:
Fun, huh? (And yes, I really do love my youngest son. He was in no danger of being konked on the head by the trimmer. It was thoroughly lodged in there when this picture was taken.)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I'll post a picture of something, and you guess what it is. This is like "animal, mineral or vegetable", except they're all going to be plants. More specifically, they're all going to be plants I cannot identify and have no idea how to go about identifying. So, you get to play AND do something altruistic for a friend. (Please come back.)
Let's start with the tool grabbing tree. The full shot is in the previous post. And here, we have a closer shot of the bark (bonus points if anyone can identify the tree in the background, too - no idea what that is)...
Here's a shot of a branch with buds (and the other tree limb mugging in the background - we've got a wild bunch of party foliage, here!):
And, to show off my inept photography skills, a blurry picture of a bud:
Fun, huh? (And yes, I really do love my youngest son. He was in no danger of being konked on the head by the trimmer. It was thoroughly lodged in there when this picture was taken.)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, February 27
That Went Well...
No, that's not an enormous bird feeder. Yes, it is a telescoping tree pruner dangling from a tree. Would you all believe me if I told you the tree grabbed the trimmer and tore it from my hands, then told me to get back or the dog would get it? No? That's too bad. Would've made a great story.
And to think, this was the high spot of the day. The rest of our projects today for the Forever Home phase something-or-other did include what I thought would be an exciting and enticing foray into the world of *Secret Forts*.
Me: *whispering* Boys, check this out. Won't this make a great secret fort?
*crickets* Yes, in broad daylight. Stone. Cold. Silence as they surveyed the scene before them:
Me: See the magic castle back there?
John: You mean the dead tree?
James: Yeah, I think she's talking about the dead tree. Mom, are we going to build the secret fort behind the dead tree?
Smidge: MAGIC CASTLE!
(OK, at least he saw it.)
I laid out the plan to prune and clear out that clump of foliage in front of the "dead tree" (or, as some of us more imaginative types prefer to call it, The Magic Castle) so that they'll have a cool cave-like spot there when the leaves have filled in. For the record, when I was six, I'd have killed for something like that.
The boys worked hard, and they were diligent. But I don't know if "enthused" would be a good way to describe their view of the process. We hauled out a lot of dead limbs from the once-lively tree, and James wondered whether it'd be this gross when we were done. We made it into the inner sanctum of the someday-fort, and John began pondering just how many types of poisonous spiders dwell in there. They both ran for it the second I told them they could go. Ah, well, Balto and I thought it was pretty cool.
EmBaby fell asleep in the swing, so she missed a lot of the excitement. And Smidge? Well, he's still young enough that if we say it'll be magical, then it'll be magical. He worked the hardest of all of us.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Play Ball!
Or, more appropriately, "Run in circles and laugh until you trip and fall over!"
Baseball Season has begun. Yesterday was the first practice (moved from Saturday for some unknown reason). John is one of the older children on the team, which is good. It'll help balance out the fact that he hasn't been raised in a culture of sports and knows next to nothing about... any of it.
The coach is a doll, and his wife has more enthusiasm than any one person should be permitted. She's really great. And so organized. (I'll admit it, I sat and just stared at her - how can she DO so much with a manilla folder? How does she make that work? Don't things fall out and get coffee spilled on them, and don't her children *rearrange* them for her all the time? Ohhhhh, could she possibly have a Special Place for her paperwork? Mmmmmm. I must get to know this woman!)
But back to the children... They are so stinkin' cute! It's like being at the zoo, watching the Cute and Fuzzy Display. (The chain link fence may have added to that sensation a bit.) One little boy just danced and danced while he was in line. There was no music, but that didn't stop him. He was so much fun to watch. There's a little guy who reminds me of Ron Weasley, with his red hair and sweet nature. He was so enthusiastic, but couldn't run ten feet without flipping over. He'll be a tad bruised by the first game, but with his go-get-em attitude, he'll probably be running marathons in five years.
The kids were a bit shy with one another. Most of them look to the stands for their support and encouragement. As they get to know each other, they'll be more willing to shout encouragement to one another. But in the meantime, John and a couple of others flashed the "I love you," sign to their parents in the stands. And after each catch or toss or running stint, the little face attached to the action would turn our way, seek out his people and absolutely BEAM. That was good to see.
Actually, the whole afternoon was encouraging. There were three dads out on the field, helping the coach. The benches were filled with moms and siblings. No swearing. No fighting. No nastiness. We were in heaven. If you're ever feeling a little down on how our society is going, let me know and I'll bring you by the ballfield. Like a little shot of hope, really. But without the puckering fear of the needle, or the little cotton ball/bandaid thing.
We're sized for his uniform (oh. my. word. - those are just the cutest little things!!) and Zorak and I have the requisite parental support garments ordered (cap for him and t-shirt for me). I've got to find a small duffle bag for John to keep his things in. Practice comes three times a week, plus games on weekends, so it looks like I'm going to have to master the art of the stock pot, and make-ahead meals. But did I mention how absolutely adorable the little ones out on the field are? Oh.
And the coffee is good. Zorak put it well. It's not gourmet coffee good. It's not Circle K coffee good. It's, "We're sitting here, on a bench, watching our child play ball" good. Very good, indeed.
There were going to be pictures, but the upload cord has completely disappeared. Without a trace. Weird.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Baseball Season has begun. Yesterday was the first practice (moved from Saturday for some unknown reason). John is one of the older children on the team, which is good. It'll help balance out the fact that he hasn't been raised in a culture of sports and knows next to nothing about... any of it.
The coach is a doll, and his wife has more enthusiasm than any one person should be permitted. She's really great. And so organized. (I'll admit it, I sat and just stared at her - how can she DO so much with a manilla folder? How does she make that work? Don't things fall out and get coffee spilled on them, and don't her children *rearrange* them for her all the time? Ohhhhh, could she possibly have a Special Place for her paperwork? Mmmmmm. I must get to know this woman!)
But back to the children... They are so stinkin' cute! It's like being at the zoo, watching the Cute and Fuzzy Display. (The chain link fence may have added to that sensation a bit.) One little boy just danced and danced while he was in line. There was no music, but that didn't stop him. He was so much fun to watch. There's a little guy who reminds me of Ron Weasley, with his red hair and sweet nature. He was so enthusiastic, but couldn't run ten feet without flipping over. He'll be a tad bruised by the first game, but with his go-get-em attitude, he'll probably be running marathons in five years.
The kids were a bit shy with one another. Most of them look to the stands for their support and encouragement. As they get to know each other, they'll be more willing to shout encouragement to one another. But in the meantime, John and a couple of others flashed the "I love you," sign to their parents in the stands. And after each catch or toss or running stint, the little face attached to the action would turn our way, seek out his people and absolutely BEAM. That was good to see.
Actually, the whole afternoon was encouraging. There were three dads out on the field, helping the coach. The benches were filled with moms and siblings. No swearing. No fighting. No nastiness. We were in heaven. If you're ever feeling a little down on how our society is going, let me know and I'll bring you by the ballfield. Like a little shot of hope, really. But without the puckering fear of the needle, or the little cotton ball/bandaid thing.
We're sized for his uniform (oh. my. word. - those are just the cutest little things!!) and Zorak and I have the requisite parental support garments ordered (cap for him and t-shirt for me). I've got to find a small duffle bag for John to keep his things in. Practice comes three times a week, plus games on weekends, so it looks like I'm going to have to master the art of the stock pot, and make-ahead meals. But did I mention how absolutely adorable the little ones out on the field are? Oh.
And the coffee is good. Zorak put it well. It's not gourmet coffee good. It's not Circle K coffee good. It's, "We're sitting here, on a bench, watching our child play ball" good. Very good, indeed.
There were going to be pictures, but the upload cord has completely disappeared. Without a trace. Weird.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, February 26
Sometimes...
Sometimes you want to ask...
Sometimes you're not sure if you want to...
And sometimes you're pretty sure you wouldn't be able to make sense, even if you did...
That turtle has been up that tree for a month, now.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sometimes you're not sure if you want to...
And sometimes you're pretty sure you wouldn't be able to make sense, even if you did...
That turtle has been up that tree for a month, now.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, February 25
Garden Blogs?
This morning, while researching raised beds, I found this place, Compost Bin. The guy is in New Jersey, so I'm sure there will be things that wouldn't ever apply to our little piece of land, but he's enjoyable to read, and let his children plant a stick garden. How can you not love that?
Anybody read gardening blogs? I'd love to find some Southern gardening blogs (since we live in the South, and all). Would love to hear your suggestions!
Zorak and I have moved on to the portion of the Forever Home Remodel which shall hereafter be called The Garden. The technical term for its place in the whole renovation process is Phase I, part 3, subsection A. Or, possibly, we'll call it, "&#!@**$". We'll see how it goes. So far, though, so good.
We've dealt with location, layout, and general gameplan. For the most part. We have vague ideas where to go from here, and I imagine there will be a great deal of milling about, looking lost - both literally and figuratively - as we get our bearings.
Zorak and John took the tall pruning shears and the machete out back to tackle the massive growth back there, rid the trees of dead limbs, and get a jump start on the poison ivy. I went after the once-decorative shrubbery in the front. It's all lookin' mighty spindly right now. John asked why we were doing it that way. I'm sure it seems strange to a child's mind to go in and remove so much foliage. We talked about getting the land healthy first, pretty later. It's just like our bodies, or our homes, or our relationships: they need to be healthy and strong, to have all they need in order to thrive. And then, it's pretty delightful to see they don't need to be "managed" for beauty, really. They're beautiful in their own right. Plants, people, and lives. We may not get much to actually grow in the "garden" out back, but this may be a wonderful year for the children.
Kiss (and nurture) those babies!
~Dy
Anybody read gardening blogs? I'd love to find some Southern gardening blogs (since we live in the South, and all). Would love to hear your suggestions!
Zorak and I have moved on to the portion of the Forever Home Remodel which shall hereafter be called The Garden. The technical term for its place in the whole renovation process is Phase I, part 3, subsection A. Or, possibly, we'll call it, "&#!@**$". We'll see how it goes. So far, though, so good.
We've dealt with location, layout, and general gameplan. For the most part. We have vague ideas where to go from here, and I imagine there will be a great deal of milling about, looking lost - both literally and figuratively - as we get our bearings.
Zorak and John took the tall pruning shears and the machete out back to tackle the massive growth back there, rid the trees of dead limbs, and get a jump start on the poison ivy. I went after the once-decorative shrubbery in the front. It's all lookin' mighty spindly right now. John asked why we were doing it that way. I'm sure it seems strange to a child's mind to go in and remove so much foliage. We talked about getting the land healthy first, pretty later. It's just like our bodies, or our homes, or our relationships: they need to be healthy and strong, to have all they need in order to thrive. And then, it's pretty delightful to see they don't need to be "managed" for beauty, really. They're beautiful in their own right. Plants, people, and lives. We may not get much to actually grow in the "garden" out back, but this may be a wonderful year for the children.
Kiss (and nurture) those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, February 22
Something Beautiful
A while back, Jean asked her readers to post a picture of "something beautiful". I think she meant scenery, but, well, the South in the winter isn't the most picturesque place on earth. It can be, if you have Thom's wicked photography skills, but if your picture-taking abilities pretty much peaked with Polaroid instant film, this place is harsh. Of the umpteen bathousand "nature pictures" I've taken this winter, this is the sole survivor:
So, I thought I'd compensate by sharing a few shots taken lately that just make me smile.
It is very difficult to just let BabyGirl *sleep*. She's snuggly enough when she's awake, but when she's asleep and, I admit, I have a fondness for those tiny, curled, soft baby feet. Makes me want to swoop her up and snuggle her in, deep and close. That's a bit startling for her, though, so we tend to just take pictures...
John loves to take pictures. And he's good. He's got a natural eye for things, and I have no idea how he does it, but he can fiddle with the camera until he gets just what he saw in his mind. We just let him run wild with the camera, and it's always a treat (sorry Amy) to see what turns up. This is one of my recent favorites. Doesn't it make our plain ol' ceiling fan look much more romantic than you'd expect?
And this little beauty, is our Lean-O-Meter. Zorak and the boys made it for the tree in our front yard.
The tree has a disturbing lean to it, although it seems solidly rooted and healthy. It will, eventually come down, but in the meantime, the guys use this gauge to check the tree's behavior. If it starts moving noticeably, or hits a certain point on the scale, the tree's demise gets bumped to the top of the priority list. It hasn't moved since they hung it. It's beautiful to me because when I see it through the window, I know that Zorak finds ways to look after us, even when he's not here.
Kiss those beautiful babies!
~Dy
So, I thought I'd compensate by sharing a few shots taken lately that just make me smile.
It is very difficult to just let BabyGirl *sleep*. She's snuggly enough when she's awake, but when she's asleep and, I admit, I have a fondness for those tiny, curled, soft baby feet. Makes me want to swoop her up and snuggle her in, deep and close. That's a bit startling for her, though, so we tend to just take pictures...
John loves to take pictures. And he's good. He's got a natural eye for things, and I have no idea how he does it, but he can fiddle with the camera until he gets just what he saw in his mind. We just let him run wild with the camera, and it's always a treat (sorry Amy) to see what turns up. This is one of my recent favorites. Doesn't it make our plain ol' ceiling fan look much more romantic than you'd expect?
And this little beauty, is our Lean-O-Meter. Zorak and the boys made it for the tree in our front yard.
The tree has a disturbing lean to it, although it seems solidly rooted and healthy. It will, eventually come down, but in the meantime, the guys use this gauge to check the tree's behavior. If it starts moving noticeably, or hits a certain point on the scale, the tree's demise gets bumped to the top of the priority list. It hasn't moved since they hung it. It's beautiful to me because when I see it through the window, I know that Zorak finds ways to look after us, even when he's not here.
Kiss those beautiful babies!
~Dy
Well, kids...
The nice policeman is flashing his lights and parking right behind Mommy because... Uh, I don't know, but I'll bet we'll find out in a minute!
License and proof of insurance, please.
AH-HA! I cleaned out the car today! *in my best sing-song voice in my head* I know where my paperwork is! I know where my paperwork is!
Whipped out proof of insurance (AND registration, just to show how organized I am), reached over for my bag and... looked in the back and... dropped my head onto my arm. "Boys, please tell Mommy her backpack is back there." The boys look around. Nope. *sigh*
And no longer doing the sing-song thing in my head - Of course it's not. I cleaned out the car today. My backpack is sitting on the porch at the house. I'm pretty sure the dog is tearing it apart as we speak. ("You see, officer, my dog ate my license." *snort* The stories they could probably tell!)
Evidently, I pulled a California-stop at the 4-way stop on the corner.
So, he took down all my information and went back to see if I was on the up and up. It took him a long time. I was so anxious (just because I hate being pulled over) that I took to sorting the trash in the little dangly bag on the cup holder. James and John did me the honor of reporting back every. movement. the man made.
"Mom! Mom! He looks mad!"
"Mom, he's talking on the radio!"
"Mom, he has a funny look on his face!"
"Mom, he's looking up at us!"
(Well, wave and smile and sit. back. down!)
I figured this was going to cost us heavily, so focused instead on talking with the boys. What better opportunity to let them know that I made a mistake, and although it wasn't intentional, it's still my responsibility. See, consequences for our behavior: it happens to all of us. We all make mistakes, but how do we handle it when we do? Want some milk to go with that Humble Pie?
The boys waved furiously as the officer made his way back up to the car. I got a verbal warning for being an idiot who leaves her bag on the porch. Got a ticket for not stopping at a stop sign. Alabama's pretty proud of their stop signs! Ugh. I feel like a real boob.
But, on the upside, the officer was very nice and didn't have a Robocop complex, which I appreciated tremendously. We picked out movies from the store and made it home without further incident. AND, there are two tidy, clean vehicles in the front yard. We did more, but the pork chops are about done, so I'll blog later, when the kidlets are asleep.
Dy
License and proof of insurance, please.
AH-HA! I cleaned out the car today! *in my best sing-song voice in my head* I know where my paperwork is! I know where my paperwork is!
Whipped out proof of insurance (AND registration, just to show how organized I am), reached over for my bag and... looked in the back and... dropped my head onto my arm. "Boys, please tell Mommy her backpack is back there." The boys look around. Nope. *sigh*
And no longer doing the sing-song thing in my head - Of course it's not. I cleaned out the car today. My backpack is sitting on the porch at the house. I'm pretty sure the dog is tearing it apart as we speak. ("You see, officer, my dog ate my license." *snort* The stories they could probably tell!)
Evidently, I pulled a California-stop at the 4-way stop on the corner.
So, he took down all my information and went back to see if I was on the up and up. It took him a long time. I was so anxious (just because I hate being pulled over) that I took to sorting the trash in the little dangly bag on the cup holder. James and John did me the honor of reporting back every. movement. the man made.
"Mom! Mom! He looks mad!"
"Mom, he's talking on the radio!"
"Mom, he has a funny look on his face!"
"Mom, he's looking up at us!"
(Well, wave and smile and sit. back. down!)
I figured this was going to cost us heavily, so focused instead on talking with the boys. What better opportunity to let them know that I made a mistake, and although it wasn't intentional, it's still my responsibility. See, consequences for our behavior: it happens to all of us. We all make mistakes, but how do we handle it when we do? Want some milk to go with that Humble Pie?
The boys waved furiously as the officer made his way back up to the car. I got a verbal warning for being an idiot who leaves her bag on the porch. Got a ticket for not stopping at a stop sign. Alabama's pretty proud of their stop signs! Ugh. I feel like a real boob.
But, on the upside, the officer was very nice and didn't have a Robocop complex, which I appreciated tremendously. We picked out movies from the store and made it home without further incident. AND, there are two tidy, clean vehicles in the front yard. We did more, but the pork chops are about done, so I'll blog later, when the kidlets are asleep.
Dy
Take *that*, you evil pipe-freezing demons!
Zorak's not due home until tomorrow. And yet, the house is mid-way clean right now. Ah-ha - you shall not foil me again!
Of course, it helps that it's 70-something degrees and beautiful...
Probably not a high risk of freezing tonight.
But still, it's nice to know an old dog can learn new tricks, no?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Of course, it helps that it's 70-something degrees and beautiful...
Probably not a high risk of freezing tonight.
But still, it's nice to know an old dog can learn new tricks, no?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Computers, Wildlife, and Stuff
Right now, the computer works okay, as long as you don't get uppity and think you can just "point and click". Oh, no. This is a bit more like a hijacking, or blackmail. You must move slowly, with your hands up, make eye contact, get to your position and await further instructions. If you don't wait for the hand, well, all heck's gonna break loose and you'll only have to wait longer because of it. And if "they" (the ones that live inside the computer) don't want you to do something, you'd better not try. They can make bad things happen.
Gah.
The computer guy with the whimsical messaging system will be out Saturday. This is great, in that I don't have to unplug or transport anything. And it will force me to declutter the school room.
We did get out yesterday, but who knew the wildlife refuge closes at five? The man at the information desk obviously does not get paid overtime and does not do his job for the love of it. (It wasn't five yet, but he wasn't taking any chances.)
The Refuge Ranger (yeah, I had a hard time not giggling at that title, too), however, is delightful and enthusiastic, and she knows that it takes less time to whip out some interesting tips and leads than it does to stare blankly at people and hope they will think you're a wood carving. We left with some great ideas, and are heading back out for an excursion today. Yay!
What do you like to do to get out of the house?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Gah.
The computer guy with the whimsical messaging system will be out Saturday. This is great, in that I don't have to unplug or transport anything. And it will force me to declutter the school room.
We did get out yesterday, but who knew the wildlife refuge closes at five? The man at the information desk obviously does not get paid overtime and does not do his job for the love of it. (It wasn't five yet, but he wasn't taking any chances.)
The Refuge Ranger (yeah, I had a hard time not giggling at that title, too), however, is delightful and enthusiastic, and she knows that it takes less time to whip out some interesting tips and leads than it does to stare blankly at people and hope they will think you're a wood carving. We left with some great ideas, and are heading back out for an excursion today. Yay!
What do you like to do to get out of the house?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, February 21
Not The Best Marketing Plans...
The computer needs some lovin', and I've been putting it off for a while. But now, we're down to the gnat's end. So, I looked up a few computer repair places this morning. It wasn't productive, but it was interesting...
Place #1:
I dialed 123-4567.
The answering machine message says, "You have reached 890-1234. Please leave your message at the tone." *
I hung up, checked the number, and redialed very. carefully. (Stuck my tongue out and everything, just to make sure.)
Got the same message. I left my message, along with a disclaimer that I'd dialed a different number completely and so if this isn't the right place, please accept my apologies.
Hmmm... so I tried another place.
Hey, they have a website. www.valleycomputers.com Cool.
But, um, if you go there, you'll see this message:
I think I'll keep looking...
Dy
*Editoral note: I called the number again so I could get the exact number on the message, and I got busted. Steve actually answered this time! He forwards all his calls to one cell phone, so that does explain the mis-matched number.
Place #1:
I dialed 123-4567.
The answering machine message says, "You have reached 890-1234. Please leave your message at the tone." *
I hung up, checked the number, and redialed very. carefully. (Stuck my tongue out and everything, just to make sure.)
Got the same message. I left my message, along with a disclaimer that I'd dialed a different number completely and so if this isn't the right place, please accept my apologies.
Hmmm... so I tried another place.
Hey, they have a website. www.valleycomputers.com Cool.
But, um, if you go there, you'll see this message:
If you are the owner of this web site you have not uploaded (or incorrectly uploaded) your web site.
I think I'll keep looking...
Dy
*Editoral note: I called the number again so I could get the exact number on the message, and I got busted. Steve actually answered this time! He forwards all his calls to one cell phone, so that does explain the mis-matched number.
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