Hi all...

Just slipping in nonchalantly to, um, procrastinate a bit. I think I'm done messing up Emily's kitchen, now. And the laundry is done (at least at my house, I don't know about hers). The bathroom's clean. The guest room's clean. BabyGirl's room is clean. Life is lookin' better all the time!

The boys are outside. They helped until lunch, and they were so diligent and didn't whine (even when I wanted to) that I just had to turn them loose to run and play for the rest of the day. It sounds like they're having fun out there, too, but I'm... I'm... I think I'm ready to get up and do a little more.

Am I the only one who likes to come home to a clean house? To the point of making everybody else nuts in the last few days before a trip? It's worth the insanity to drag a travel-weary body into a clean and inviting home at the end of a long day. Preferably, a home that says, "Hey! I've missed you guys! Come on in. The beds are ready. The dishes are clean, and if you'll give the coffee pot a minute, he'll have a little somethin' for you."

Yeah, I'm glad we bought a house that can talk.

But now it's whispering that it's bigger than I think and I'd best get off my duff and finish or I... *gulp* won't finish. (Well, that sounded far more sinister than it did in my head. The voice isn't threatening me, just warning me that I may have to leave something unmopped or unwashed.)

Ah, yeah, I'll be going now.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

I love that man.

Tonight, amidst all the "fun" of roasting marshmallows and moths outside, I hopped back into the house for more coffee. It wasn't until I was all the way in the kitchen again that I heard a creepy scritching sound following me. It sped up when I did, stopped when I did.

I could still hear the children laughing in the yard, which meant either Zorak was behind me, or they hadn't seen the mass murderer enter the house. But *something* was wrong. I could even feel it in my back and right leg.

Step.
Scritch.
Step-step.
Scritch-scritch.

I think my body is starting to slip into paralysis! I can hardly lift my leg now!

*schloop-scritch*

Wait. Just. One. Second.

*peek*

Sure enough, I somehow managed to step on a melted marshmallow. And then on about two inches of leaf debris on my way to the porch. That would account for the scritching, the discomfort in my right leg (which was hefted up a good two inches), and the trouble lifting said leg. But what could possibly account for the fact that I didn't think to look under my foot to begin with?

*sigh* I don't know.

I scraped most of it off, then the small ones came at me with their flaming trophies and I had to hot-foot it back outside before they set fire to the floor or the curtains. And then there was bedtime, and laundry. And that death nap thing with the Elmo chair. The shoe lay, forgotten and sticky, in the kitchen.

Just now, Zorak asked if I wanted to go see the progress on the railings. Yeah, but I've got to mess with my shoe first. I stepped on something...

"I know," he said, smiling and pouring coffee. "I already cleaned it."

Oh. *sniff* I love you! I have to go blog this. *sniff*

But now I have to go because he took the coffee and left for the porch without me. He was muttering something about "addictions" and "obsessive behavior". Huh. Wonder what that meant? We'll blog about it later, right?

Dy

Top Ten Ways I Procrastinate

You know, I really shouldn't get on the boys about procrastinating. Ever. I have absolutely no right. Oh, sure, I get all noble and righteous about how I don't want them to make the same mistakes I've made. But the truth of the matter is that they are going to have to take care of me in my old age, and I have no desire to suffer hallucinations, thinking I've been left in a cave because they keep putting off giving me my medications or taking me out for an airing.

I should be cleaning.
I should be packing.
I should be digging up forms of identification.

But is that what I did tonight?
Of course not.

I played with the squash (fresh ginger and garlic - almost a big hit).

I okay'd the roasting of the marshmallows in the front yard. (Yep, that desperate not to have to do anything productive.)

And then, just to prove a point and win my medal, I fell asleep arched backwards across a foam Elmo chair in the boys' room. Perhaps that'll get me a silver. If I'd been truly dedicated to not being up and mobile, I'd have gone that extra mile and drowned in my own spit or something, considering the angle of my head and such.

Ah, well. OK. So I'll be productive tomorrow. What do you do to put off the less pleasant tasks?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh, my!

We're going to have to pick up the pace in the kitchen now. Sunny (the name for our new kitchen servant *wink*) is fast. Startlingly fast. Egg whites whip up into "soft peaks" in a matter of seconds - just enough time for each of the cavebabies to oogle the process, and then *poof*, it's time for me to step in and do something... but what? I normally read the recipe over while I'm whipping... where's the recipe? where's the spoon? what's the... ohhhhh, lookit that!

*heh*

This is fun. And the banana bread looks higher and fluffier than it's ever been before.

I *heart* Sunny.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh, and the pancakes...

I'd mentioned last week that we had that rice and buttermilk thing congealing on the kitchen counter...

It works! It's officially been deemed by even the non-wf folks in the household to be "The Best Pancakes Ever And Can We Eat These Several Times A Week". So, having passed the Flavor Board (ha ha - little wf inside joke, there - board, cardboard, lumber... *ahem* yeah...) Here ya go!

(*edited to add: I got this from someone who got it from somebody else who'd shared it on a forum. Today I heard it's originally from a Sue Gregg cookbook. So. Due credit. The recipe is hers. The comments from the peanut gallery are mine. :-)*)

Brown Rice Pancakes

Before you go to bed, pour into a blender:
1 1/2 C. UNcooked brown rice (yeah, I know, weird)
1 1/2 C. buttermilk (or regular milk with about a Tablespoon of vinegar)
2 Tbsp. oil (veggie, flax, whatever)
1 tsp. vanilla

Blend on HIGH for 3 minutes. Go to bed and try not to fret over ingesting dairy that's been left out all night.

In the morning, add:
1 egg
Blend for 1 minute.

Add:
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp salt

Blend just enough to get it mixed in well. Then cook like you would normal pancakes. (Listen to me - "normal". OK, fine, pour by 1/4 cupfuls onto a hot griddle. Flip them when the top is covered in bubbles, and then they're done when the bottom is browned nicely. There, more specific detail.)

I haven't tried these with the coconut milk, but have to say that coconut milk and a banana thrown in would probably be delicious!

They do work okay with rice milk, as well. (If anybody tries any other substitutions, as always, please leave a comment and share the wisdom you've gained. The wheat-free label works best when y'all don't just have to rely on what we've pulled off, ya know.)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Blogging Wounded

I did something bad and painful to my right arm earlier this week, and it hurts to breathe. Typing isn't easier. So, please accept my apologies if I didn't reply to each of the wonderful comments on the bricks, and the paint. I did read them all (reading doesn't hurt much), and your insights and stories were more helpful than I can say. Thank you!

Oh, I think I now know what early man looked like when he discovered the secret to fire. My guys gave me a Sunbeam stand mixer for Mother's Day. We loaded up the bowls, turned it on, and the clan gathered 'round to stare in awe at the technology. I'd have taken pictures, because it looked hilarious, but I was one of those standing around the fire, um, the mixer. We grunted. We oooohhhhh'd. We ahhhhhh'd. The Small Ones poked at it. The Big Ones admonished the Small Ones not to put their fingers in there because it'll snap them in two. Then, when they weren't looking, we Big Ones put our fingers in there, just to see.

It's delightful, and powerful, and wonderful, and did I mention delightful? I know, I know, domestic accessories aren't everybody's cuppa for gift-giving. But this is, for me, more akin to buying ammunition for an avid shooter, or parchment for a die-hard calligrapher. This little baby has just taken an activity I enjoy and engage in regularly (namely, making all this heavy, dense, wheat-free grain into edible foodstuffs), and turned it into less of a career and more of a hobby. I haven't words to describe the joy that brings me.

But you wanna know the best parts? Zorak has fallen in love with the Mixer. We made pizza for Sunday Supper, for the Usual Crowd. Three of the five of them are wheat-free, also, so I made the wf crusts in the mixer and we stood around staring at it while it worked. Then I rinsed the bowls. (Ta-da! All done!) Then Zorak stepped in to make his Famous Pizza Crust... and he could not believe how simple it is to make dough using the stand mixer. He's been singing its praises ever since. It makes me glad to know he doesn't view it as "one of those contraptions the missus has been clamoring for". Not that he'd ever say that, but, well, yeah. Nice to know he likes it, too.

And, as usual, the boys were just delightful. They planned a treasure hunt (for the record, I'd make a lousy treasure hunter - the maps were excellent, but I'm navigationally impaired). They made the entire breakfast, from the coffee to the bacon. They served the meal, and did the most hilarious Serious Waiter impressions I've ever seen. Then they butchered a few songs for my edification, and Emily's. As a matter of fact, the singing went a little long because of her addiction-inspiring squeak-n-squeal of joy. That was fun, and after all was said and done, we got to work on the framing for the screened-in front porch.

OK, I say "we", but what I mean is "Zorak". I took a vicodin and slept on the couch for a few hours. Then I sat on the porch letting him know I wish I could *wince* help *wince*. Yeah, I'm sure that made him feel better as the got the boards cut and fitted and secured into place. He's so good to us.

Happy Belated Mother's Day. I hope your day was just as delightful as ours.

Kiss those babies (and Daddies)!
~Dy

What Shall We Do With A Dated Brick Home?

Well, the inside of our wonderful Forever Home just looks and feels (and smells) so much better now than it did when we first adopted it. We're pretty happy with the work that's been done, and the work that will be done, and we have a clear vision for all that. But now we're faced with a New Challenge (one I'd hoped to put off for a while, actually).

The Forever Home is A Brick Home.

This is a huge thing to many people. They love brick. For myriad reasons, however, we just aren't enamoured with brick. More specifically, *this* brick...

I know, heresy. Yes. There, we've said it. But honestly, this house isn't ensconced in a lovely, timeless brick that harkens back to ages past. It's covered in That 70's Brick.
Click on the picture. There, do you see the little decorative swirlies there? On every. brick. Wasn't that creative? Eventually, the brick is comin' off, and it'll be replaced by stone and stucco, and it will be *lovely*.

HOWEVER, all that's going to have to wait for the den, and the master bedroom expansion.

So.

That leaves us with brick (this brick) for at least the next 5-7 years. (Because we are SO taking a break to enjoy this place between major jobs!) But in the meantime, my house is really ugly on the outside, and we'd like to do something not hideously expensive to update the exterior. Obviously, fresh paint on the trimwork will help, but I'm wondering if any of you have ever resurfaced a brick home? I'd love to mute, or blend, or somehow update these colors. Don't get me wrong, of all the palettes from the '70's they could have chosen, I am eternally grateful it's the "Orange" palette rather than something from the "Avocado", or "Goldenrod" collection. Yes, we dodged some pretty heavy caliber bullets in the color scheme. I'd thought about paint, but from all I've read, it seems there is a special place in hell for those who've painted brick. It's said they are required to pick the paint out of the mortar with toothpicks. So, honestly, we'd rather like to avoid that.

Still... this is... well, yeah. So, if we can do something to make it a little more appealing, I'd sure like to. And then we could further highlight the new Classic Neutrality of the brick with an appropriate trim color. (I've been angling for the slate grey you can see there on some of the bricks. Zorak prefers the more orangey color in some of the bricks - not the lightest ones, but the next down from that.) Anyhow, we were doing such a splendid job of ignoring this little problem until today, when we realized we really need to pick a trim color so we can stain the frame of new screened in porch we're building this weekend.

Tips? Ideas? Humorous anecdotes that'll make me feel like it's not *that* bad? Or should we just cave into the allure of 1971? What do you think?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

In Your Eyes

What do your children see when they look at the world around them?




I found this tonight, while sorting through photos, and had to pull it out. I hope what he sees tells him that he's loved, and cherished.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Where are the shoes?

The delightful L often posts about being able to spot the "formal" events in her area, because the children wear shoes. That always makes me smile. I grew up in Arizona and New Mexico. If you're outside, you have shoes on, because there are cacti and scorpions and goat heads. If you're inside, you have shoes on, because there are probably goat heads in the carpet. Not to mention, if it's after June 1st, your feet will blister, peel, and fall right off above the ankles if you go outside barefooted. You just wear shoes. But not here. Here, kids wear shoes for formal events, or February. Sometimes for church.

We had a bit of a logistical snafu getting out the door today, and Emily, in the chaos, got loaded up without shoes. I thought for sure we had shoes in the Suburban. After all, we have snacks, paper, books, crayons, and possibly a squirrel in there. There's got to be shoes, right? No. So I carried her sheepishly into the dentist's office, feeling just a wee bit defensive about my piss-poor parenting and the effect this shoe-less foray into "The City" will have on Emily's future prospects for therapy and possibly marriage. We enter. Nobody blinks twice. And that's when I see before me a lobby filled with... unshod children. There had to have been thirteen kids in there, and not a one of them had on shoes! Instead, there was a pile of shoes beneath the reading table. Is there some kind of unspoken ceremony, wherein a child enters the building properly shod, grabs a book, sits down, makes a few sacrifices to the Adults in Charge, then leaves the shoes at the altar and runs off to enjoy childhood as it was meant to be enjoyed?) Huh. I've never seen that before. But it does bode well for Emily's marital prospects, at least.

Really, I think it's just me, and my Ye Shall Protect The Hide Of Thy Feet upbringing. The kids don't seem to have the same hangups I do, and are slowly assimilating into the native condition. Smidge acclimated almost immediately. Our first summer here, Smidge ran about the apartment complex barefooted, and I didn't mind so much. I just tried not to think about the feel of chalky concrete on the soles of my feet. (It makes me cringe just typing that out.) But that was, mmm, okay.

Then we moved out here, and I thought for *sure* he would take to wearing shoes. But no. We bought the forever home, kicked the kids out in the yard, and I have no idea to this day where the shoes he had on have gone. His feet are the color of rich Peruvian llama wool. His little fat baby feet have grown and become lean, but now they have the "weathered" look of... of Ghandi. Blech.

Then, last summer, all three of them signed on with the Barefoot Brigade. Shoeless! Sockless! Not even sandals could placate the innate desire to... to do that. I gave them shoes. I made sure they fit. I tried various styles. I finally resorted to standing there on the porch cringing and yelling,

"The vet said the ground is infested with hookworms! Do you want to go BLIND?!?! Get your shoes on!"

They're good boys. They'd try. Well, the older two tried. We'd already lost Smidge by then. And near the end of last summer I thought for sure I'd fought the good fight and that my children would understand the Importance of proper footwear.

Now summer weather is here. The children all have crocs, which I thought for sure would make wearing shoes *so* easy, and *so* just like not wearing shoes, that I could put my twitches to rest. But, um, evidently not...


Ah! Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Kitchen Chat

I've got some brown rice concoction languishing in the blender. Rumor has it that it'll turn into pancakes if I leave it there long enough. But just in case, I didn't mention to the boys that there may be pancakes tomorrow. The dishwasher and washing machine are doing their thing, and I'm sitting here with dry hands, a comfortable back, and a whole lot of appreciation in my heart.

We had a pretty good day today, all around. Lots of time outside. A good portion of time really connecting with each other. I've been working hard on not letting my own lacking strength or enthusiasm seep out onto the boys, and I *think* (hope, pray!) it's beginning to sink in with me. So I set the tone, and really, they do tend to follow suit. (Funny how that works. Remind me of this when we have "one of those days" - odds are good it'll be because I dropped the ball.) One of them was feeling a bit contrary, a bit cranky, but he opened right up when I approached him about it and we were able to get to the root of the matter. It doesn't always go down that well, but when it does, it feels like winning a marathon. Or how I would envision it would feel to win a marathon. Maybe a three-legged race? I don't know, but it felt good.

The boys have been ploughing through the fruits and veggies lately, so we had to make an emergency trip into town for more fresh stuff. (NOT complaining!) It was nice to load up on things with the boys' input. Asparagus is in season right now, so we picked up five pounds of that. (You can never have enough asparagus on hand. Never.) With the grill now dead, we've been brainstorming quick meals. It's not so much preparation time, but more specifically we needed meals that will not require the oven, and only minimal stovetop use. Stir fry fits that bill nicely! I do love summer cooking.

I sent the boys ahead to find the next aisle we needed, and John approached a little girl at the end of one aisle and began talking with her, kidding with her, squirrelling around a bit. That took me off guard. "Huh," I thought, "he doesn't usually just dive right into - OH MY WORD, did he just nudge that child with his elbow?!?!?" Thankfully that was all internal. Turned out to be one of the girls on his baseball team. I'm glad he recognized her, because I've never seen her with her hair down, dressed in something other than practice clothes or their game uniforms. It was nice to actually run into someone we know while we're at the market. That was a normal occurrence when we lived back out west, and I didn't realize how much I've missed it. So, small Poky Little Puppy distraction. Kind of nice.

We found little gardening hand tool sets for the boys, so they're each armed erm, equipped for the garden now. Hopefully, we won't find ourselves regretting this decision from the comfort of the ER lobby.

Since I had my act together, we finished eating early enough to go outside and play after supper. (That skill's going to come in handy when the summer humidity hits!) While we were out there, Zorak had a Truly Brilliant idea, probably inspired by one of the children running smack into the woodpile in the dark *again*. He dug out our camping lantern and hung it on the cheesy windmill thing in the upper meadow, then pulled the picnic table over close enough to enjoy the light, but not so close that we had to deal with bugs. The boys played some horrible combination of rugby, football, high-speed cop chase... I'm not sure what it was, but it sounded fun. And painful. Baby Girl and Smidge walked atop the railroad ties around the windmill, ooohhhing and ahhhing over the bugs, the leaves, the stars in the sky. And I can't believe we did this, but Zorak and I sat on either end of the picnic bench for a good five minutes before we realized...

"HEY, we're the only two here!"
*scootch* *scootch*
"Mmmm, much better."

So what began as a simple means of preventing major neck injuries in the Small Ones turned into a lovely impromptu date night and family excursion. (The garden-gnome version of a windmill is still outta here the first chance we get, but now we think we'll replace it with a post for hanging the lantern.)

Did you have an enjoyable day today?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh, this feels good!

James just posted his translation work on the fridge. He worked hard, and he's proud of that work. He bounced and leapt and whirled out the front door to tell his brothers how excited he is over the work he did. I'm sitting here snickering to myself, and simply didn't have the heart to tell him that he'd just written a *whole page* of work. (Didn't have the heart to do that to myself, that is! Normally, getting him to write is torture, right up there with expecting him to floss sharks, or stab kittens with toothpicks. Not that we'd ask those things of him, but you wouldn't know it from the terror a simple writing assignment typically inspires.)

And so, he's learning the things he needs to learn.

And I'm learning the things I need to learn.

And here it is, lunchtime.

That went quickly. :-)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Bad timing #432

The heating element in your outdoor grill dies in May.

Perhaps it's time to put in a pit bbq?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Done by 7AM

I have a vague recollection of someone placing a book on my chest this morning around six, and a disembodied voice from somewhere beyond my peripheral vision murmuring, "Look, I'm done with my math." I think I mumbled something encouraging (I hope it was encouraging), and then everything went blissfully black again.

There's a slightly clearer memory of a voice and a blurry-headed boy at my bedside around six-thirty, showing me what I can only guess to be a completed Latin page, based on the jarringly chipper narrative that accompanied the bobbing movements of the blurry head.

Around seven, James came *bounding* into the room once again, fully dressed, to snuggle up beside me and whisper, "I've done all my schoolwork."

Mrmpf.

"Did you hear me, Mom? Isn't that wonderful?"

(OK, ok, I'll get up.) You did *all* of it?

"Yep. All of it. I even did my reading this morning. And see, I'm dressed!"

Mrmpf. Um... yeah... why?

"Because I wanted to make you smile." *big cheesy smile*

*choke* *snort* *grumble* (Riiiiight. Sure you did.) And?

"And may I play a little Paper Mario?"

Heh. OK, that makes a lot more sense than the initial presentation of a burning desire To Do Right In The World.

Still, seven in the morning and the kid is up, dressed, has fed the dog, and done all of his schoolwork independently. Yeah, that's a bargain I'm willing to strike this morning. And when he's done, I think I'm going to show him how to make coffee, in case this ever happens again.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

You are so not in the club.

"What club?"

"The church club."

"Yeah... I noticed."

We went to the VTC again today. They don't really break between Sunday School and the service (the pause is only long enough for the pianist to walk to the front of the church and sit down), and two and a half hours is just a bit long for the little guys to sit still and quiet without any kind of a break (potty, snack, stretch-yer-legs). So we decided to go for the service only, which the sign says begins at 10:35. We got there at 10:30. Sunday school ended around 10:50, and they moved right into the service. We got out of there at almost one. I asked what time they normally end Sunday School (thinking that perhaps today had been a special study), and was told, "Whenever I finish." Oh. Well, that'll make planning easy.

After the service, the pastor's wife approached and mentioned that it's been a while since she's vaccumed in there and hoped we didn't encounter too many bugs when I'd taken EmBaby to the far back for a bit. (We did. They were pretty numerous. The windows are filthy, too, and the place could use a dusting.) She said she'd get the vaccum out and bring it over and tidy up a bit, and so I offered to come and help. I've never been in a congregation that wasn't clamoring for women to come help clean the church. That is, never been to one until today. You'd have thought I'd said I'd come clean her home. Nope, they don't need any help with cleaning the church. OK, well, you know, if you ever do the big spring cleaning, or need help with the woodwork, or whatev--- "NOPE. We don't need any help ever. We're fine."

Uh-huh.

On the way down the steps, I asked the pastor about two of the ill who'd been mentioned in the prayers that morning, and let him know that if anybody is ever ill or homebound and they need someone to do grocery shopping or bring meals, please don't hesitate to let me know. His response took me by surprise: "We take care of our own in this community. We don't turn to any 'church organizations' when we need something." He expounded a bit, but it didn't make any more sense than that, and wasn't nearly as gentle.

That, a few other things, all of it together, struck me as... odd. Isn't a congregation part of the community? Isn't it the calling of the church to take care of those who need care? I wasn't offering to send out FEMA requests, or to call in a representative from a large national organization to come survey the situation and make recommendations. I was offering to help, myself, in person. Coming from a pastor, as well, the facial display of ironic quotes when he said "church organizations" seemed a bit... well, off. I thought maybe I was just being prideful in feeling snubbed so curtly, and decided not to say anything more about it.

Then on the drive home, Zorak hit me with the observation above. That's how it sure looked from his point of view. Folks, just a tip: when someone from outside your faith sees the flock snubbing other believers, it's Painfully Obvious. You're not being subtle, or probably even kind.

*sigh*

I know. We're not "from here". You don't have to remind me. (And I wish the people who are From Here would stop making such a point of it, themselves.)

I don't know how long this congregation has been down to five people, but it seems its been long enough that they've become settled in their ways. To the pastor's wife, it probably felt as if I *did* offer to come clean her home. In her mind, that's her church. She cleans it. She decorates it. It's hers. I wouldn't even say she knows she's developed that attitude, honestly. She acted more offended by my offer than anything.

Same thing with not taking a fellowship break between Sunday School and the service. Everybody who comes is there, so let's just move on. It's comfortable for them, and it works... for them.

And the pastor's response to an offer of a warm body to help out when help is needed? I have no idea.

But I want to cry.

Saturday Wrap-Up

The game this morning was amazing. Both teams played their wee hearts out. The team they played today has an inordinate number of little guys, too, and that made the coaches from both teams out on the field look like the Gulliver family enjoying a reunion in Lilliput. John's team lost this game - something like 17 - 14. It was close, hard, and fast. Kids flying past home plate from both teams the entire time. Obviously, neither team has quite mastered the whole concept of "fielding the ball" yet. But they had fun, and there was no tension, no attitude, from the stands or the refs. It was what baseball should look like. Good, good stuff.

Zorak's making progress in the basement. He built a door for the Scary Room, strung more wire (thus bringing the rest of the lights up to code), and added a few much-needed outlets. There's only one more wire to run and we can put the cover back on the electrical box! WOOHOO! He also cleaned up a lot down there.

The boys tended the fire. And had a sword fight. Thankfully, not all at the same time.

Zorak built stilts for the boys, and they had a blast trying to master a new skill.

BabyGirl ran around in circles, fed the Baltoid by hand, and insisted on climbing the Terrifyingly Dangerous Stairs to the Very Dangerous Balcony. (Anyone know where I can get a shirt that says, "No, I do not know fear"?)

James just about made me cry when he hit a MAJOR "growing up" milestone today. He started to snap at one of his brothers (who was, admittedly, being a bit irritating), but he stopped himself, and corrected his tone - without prompting from an adult! Nobody said anything, he just caught it on his own. Oh! It was beautiful. *sniff* My baby's growing up.

I spent h-o-u-r-s decluttering. I swear our paper products must be made of rabbit. There's no way we have brought *that much* paper into the house in the last month, so it's got to be breeding. New House Rule: you may not leave any two sheets of paper unchaperoned for longer than one day. (And if that doesn't work, then all paper products will be checked at the door.)

The rest of the day was pretty much the same old stuff: we wrote, we read, we laughed; we talked, we ate, we worked. Well, I say "same old stuff", but it's the stuff that holds the day together amidst the decluttering and building and planning. That's the stuff that gives you the time to make eye contact more, and smile a little longer, and sit closer together. In that stuff is where you get to say to your children, "I'm here," and they get to say to you, "We know." Can't beat that, even if it's not hilarious or poignant or eloquent.

I don't know what I would do if it weren't for the downtime, the loud and raucous time, the together time. A friend said something a while back about how hard it would be to get things accomplished when you never get six hours during the day with all the children gone, to get things done, to regroup, and to take quiet breaks. At first, I thought, "well, yeah, that's true," but then I realized, "*pfft* who am I kidding? If I had six hours to myself every day, I wouldn't accomplish a darned thing. I'd put the coffee pot and half-gallon jug of creamer on my nightstand, dig out the stash of Zebra Cakes, and spend six hours every day reading in bed and eating myself into a coma!" Sure, it sounds heavenly for the first three or four hundred pounds, but eventually? No, let's face it - the life I have right now is exactly the life I need. They keep me focused, keep me honest, and keep me going. It's really, really good.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Citrus and Beverage Stands

Not-so-clever attempt at avoiding a cliche. ;-) There's that, and the Byrds (or Solomon's) To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven... *pfft* That is so much easier to say (or sing) and not mean (or to mean, but from a distance; makes a delightful third person pep talk), than to live and still say meaningfully. Let's just say I don't think the Book of Ecclesiastes was written by a hormonal woman. It's still wise, and good, and pertinent. It's just far easier to identify with at certain times. This is not one of those times.

But even so, it's been a good week.

Zorak did some concrete work in the basement this week and had a little leftover cement, so he got the boys together and they made "dinosaur eggs" using that and the plastic Easter egg remnants. Today they opened the molds, and the little eggs look great. We'll put some clutches out in the garden beds next week.

The horned toad we were planning to mummify... well, we packed it in salt so it wouldn't puff up and rot before we could buy the materials to preserve it. Then Zorak built a "tomb" to keep Baltoid out. And it seems the tomb was so well-concealed that we forgot about it. I'm mostly afraid to go look now. But we did get all the things to mummify it. Think we'll have another slightly cool day before summer hits full-on?

While everybody else was busy watching William the Conqueror and the Tapestry of Bayeux, both of which are excellent, I found this little gem...



And I've been giggling to myself all night.

Yes. It's been good.

Kiss those babies!
Dy

Too yummy not to share.

A cup (or so) of frozen blueberries.
One can of coconut milk.
Half a cup of cold water.
2 Tbsp. cooking oil (NOT olive, okay? Ew.)
1/4-ish c. sugar (or perhaps honey? Somebody try honey and let us know how it works!)

Dump all this into your blender. Fill it almot to the top with ice. Blend for two full minutes.

Goes great with lunch! (And look, Melissa, it's kinda healthy... And Amy, I didn't use the "t" word!)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Heh. Yeah.

Well, we had great morning lessons, and then, since the humidity wasn't stifling, we headed out-of-doors. (That sounds so formal, doesn't it?) The boys wanted to help me mark out a track for our walking/running plans (I've been wanting to do the Couch Potato-to-5K program), so we got started on that.

Um, what's less active than a couch potato? Would that be the eye of the potato, perhaps? Or just the skin? Whatever it is, that's me. Whoo-boy. The boys endeavored to make me feel better, though, by bolting back into the house for granola bars so they could snack while we trekked, and then back and forth for water breaks, and finally yet again for books to read. When I'd had enough of their mocking (and I couldn't breathe anymore), we plopped down in the grass with our books and inhaled gnats for a while. That was nice.

The boys did copywork and illustrations today, which they enjoy more than narrations, but less than, say, puppet shows. John copied and illustrated the opening lines to the poem, "My Town", by Lois Lenski. James chose a quote from Themistocles' teacher:

You, Themistocles, are destined to be something out of the ordinary. Great you will be one way or the other, either for good or for evil.

It was all uneventful until he showed me his illustration. Is that a loin cloth? "No," he says, "See, it's just like how they blur faces and private parts on TV, with the little squares. Cool, huh?"

(On TV? Where is he seeing blurred faces - OR private parts - on TV? Do I need to be keeping a closer eye on PBS?) Ahhh, moving along, then.

We made the pendant craft from Chapter 37 in SOTW. And we now have one tiny head, two brittle snakes, and three broken, chipped, or cracked pieces of pottery pendants lying about the kitchen. Probably not the best craft for this crowd. But by gum, we did it, and we enjoyed it! GO US!

Then we blew an hour and watched Radio, which made me cry, of course. The boys decided it would cheer me up if we went outside to play frisbee. They were right. That was a hoot!

Zorak arrived home to find his clan enjoying the afternoon breezes, running about, mowing the lawn, eating the pine cones. (I'll let you decide who was doing what. There was an awful lot of activity, and it's sometimes hard to keep it straight.) Really, it was good.

Then, thanks to our running and snuggling and mowing and squirrelling, the children peacably brushed and flossed and curled up for the bedtime read, but didn't make it through more than three pages. What a great day!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

I need a name for these!

Oh. My. Word. I love squash, but if I had to face another plate of steamed or broiled squash slices, I'm afraid I was going to go Serial Mom. So, get creative. Why not? If you have a firm grasp of what will and will not explode upon combining, then the kitchen is your Crazy Private Lab. It's like I told LB; in theory, I'm a great cook! ;-)

Anyway, I have no idea what to call these things, and the only things popping into my head are cheesy 1960's-era names like "Heavenly Squash Cakes" or "One Potato, Two Potato, Three..." well, ew. That's just where I give up. (And this would probably be a good time to remind you all to visit the Gallery of Regrettable Foods! If you haven't been before, you'll laugh until you embarrass yourself or your loved ones. If you haven't been in a while, well, nothing like a little Broiled Yeti... yeah, to get you through the arsenic hour! *note: not for the children, the squeamish, or the prim*)

However, this recipe is a wholly G-rated, family affair. EmBaby has eaten two already, and supper's not even on the table.

Here, try them:
-Pre-heat your griddle to... oh, let's go with Hot.
-Make the two-serving size of instant mashed potatoes. (Or make two servings of regular mashed potatoes. I won't tell if you won't.)
-Shred one yellow squash and one zucchini (use the carrot shredder)
-Sautee (brown, whatever, I'm not finicky) half an onion and one clove of garlic (squished or pressed - however you break it up is fine) just until softened

Dump the potatoes and the squashes into a big bowl. Crack an egg into that, and blend. Add the onions and seasoning to taste. Blend well.

The mixture will be a bit thin for cooking at this point. Throw in some flour. I used bean flour. You can use whatever you'd normally use. (Why do I even bother with writing down recipes? I know.) About a quarter to half a cup, depending on how much moisture your squashes had in them. It'll be about the consistency of pancake batter when it's right. Lumpy pancake batter with colorful bits in it.

Use some kind of scooping device (I'd go with a Tablespoon, for uniformity and ease of flipping) to scoop the concoction onto the Hot griddle. Smooth out a bit. Cook until brown on one side. Flip. Repeat. Remove to plate.

OK, seeing it written down, they're basically potato pancakes with squash. That doesn't sound as good as these things taste, though. Seriously - YUM!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Good Homeschool Morning!

I had a splendid plan to get up early this morning to go walking. Sounded good, anyway, until the sun peered in the window, the birds began their serenade, and the Mighty Snuggly Smidge crept into bed to... well, to snuggle. And so, instead, we all slept in a bit, and are now enjoying hot tea, Themistocles, free play... and the free concert the birds are still providing. If we had a porch swing, we'd be out there right now, instead. (As a matter of fact, I've decided a nice, big porch swing is a homeschooling necessity. Skip the desk, use the kitchen table, and invest in a swing. Yup.) We'll walk later, when our lessons are done.

Spring brings with it an end to our mini-hibernation from the bitter cold of January. We get out and roll about in the daffodils. We stretch our limbs and scratch our mosquito bites. But we keep learning. Spring is a good time to review the plan and see how it's coming along. And that's what we've been doing. I like taking that time to review my job. For instance, it's my job to create a safe place for our children to learn, to provide good things for our children to learn, and to model the things for these children to learn. It's the best job I've ever had, and yes, a task to which I sometimes feel inadequate. But when that happens, it's not a time to give up (how would we feel about any teacher, pastor, mentor who simply rolled over and gave up when things got a bit challenging?) That's when it's time for me to take a deep breath, take stock of our plan, and work a little harder at what I do. Part of that whole modeling thing, I suppose. It pays off.

I had the delight yesterday of watching one of my children do something "for fun" that, just six months ago, would have caused him no end of frustration and sadness. He sat, writing words, solving crossword puzzles, reading directions, as if he'd been doing it his whole life. He giggled at silly games and said laughingly, "Oh, I know this! It's easy!" And it is, now. But I remember when those things didn't come easy for him, when the task of deciphering felt insurmountable to him. And I couldn't help but smile because this whole world is open to him in a way we often take for granted. I'm thankful to be a part of his learning adventure. And I'm humbled, when I stop to think that I have been a participant in history. Not world history, perhaps, nor even events that will make it into the annals of the state records. But our history. His history. His story. Wow.

While one child enjoys the gift of the written word, another child grapples with the spoken word. He works hard, every day, to express himself more clearly, to grasp the sounds and syllables that often evade only him. His speech and vocabulary have expanded tremendously this last year, but the work isn't done. He knows it, and I know it. And that's okay. He knows we are a team, and we're working toward the same goal. He knows he's safe among us and won't be ridiculed for his failures. He knows they won't be counted as failures, or held against him, or used to define who he is. His "classmates" won't ever tease him, or mock him for that which he attempts -- whether he succeeds or not. He knows that when he does succeed, we'll be there to lift him up in triumph. He knows that when he needs to try again, we'll be there to cheer him on. Of course, he doesn't know how to express it like that. He doesn't even know there is another way to learn, to live. And once more, I'm humbled and thankful.

And again, I've watched another child (wow, there's a lot of children in this reverie!) fly through some tasks and skills with the ease of one who has been doing them for ages, then in turn struggle and wrestle with others. So while the math and the science, the analysis and deduction all come intuitively to him, the self-discipline of staying on task and paying attention, of remembering what he's heard, and remembering that he's supposed to be reading... and paying attention to what he's read... well, those are his special challenges. And I am here, to guide, instruct, cheer, encourage. He'll get it, and it'll be his hard work that gets him there. But I will be there when he does, and I will know just what it took for him to enjoy the savory, rich flavor of a job well done.

The thing that strikes me clearly is that none of this is due to any Phenomenal Educational Training on my part. It's the dynamic of our homeschool. It's the ebb and flow of Life that we've chosen to embrace. It's the Big Picture goals Zorak and I have set for our home, our family, and our children. What they do with the tools we give them is up to them entirely. We hope to teach them to use their tools well, to take care of their tools, and to put them to good use no matter where they go or what they do in their lives.

And in the meantime, we're here. We're modeling. We're learning, striving, failing, achieving. I can't think of a better place for a child to learn than right here, at home.