Uncle Fred

This is a hard post to write. I'd hoped to have a better grasp of the words to do it with, but here we sit, and the words won't come.

If you've been reading here for long, you know all about Aunt B and Uncle Fred. They are who we want to be when we grow up. They are a huge part of keeping Family real, and making it meaningful. Uncle Fred's part in that process has meant so much to us through the years. He was a big influence on Charles' foray into engineering. He welcomed me into the family in his quiet, steadfast way. He's been a calming influence, a source of wit and dry humor; a delightful devil's advocate in late night discussions, and a person for whom the word "integrity" means the world.

This is one of my favorite photos of him, taken at the City of Rocks this past May. He'd been out and about all day, enjoying the company, the kids, the weather. I just love this picture.

I love that smile. That's the smile of someone who found something to enjoy in life, and enjoyed it.

This Saturday, we lost Uncle Fred. He and Aunt B were with the rest of us in North Carolina for the wedding. We all enjoyed a beautiful day at the lake house on Friday, and that evening, at the hotel, Uncle Fred and Cousin David watched a ball game together and argued about distances between bases. It was a full day, and a lovely day. It was the kind of day you'd want to have if you knew it would be your last. But we didn't know that, then. We just knew it was a wonderful day. Yet by Saturday afternoon, Uncle Fred was gone.

Charles says that without the Uncle Freds of the world, everything would come to a grinding halt, that he was one of the individuals that everyone else seeks out when the path forward is no longer evident. Uncle Fred loved knowledge -- for it's practical applications, for its own sake, for the potential it held. Not many people value knowledge on a level like that. He would teach you if you wanted to learn (and were willing to do your part), and would learn from anyone who had knowledge to share. If you had a plan, and you talked with Uncle Fred about it, if he said it would probably work, well, it would probably work. If he said it wouldn't work, you could pretty well bet it wouldn't work. He might tell you why it wouldn't work, but he probably wouldn't tell you what would work. He wanted you to know the enjoyment of figuring things out for yourself, of finding the answer and knowing it was right. For him, that was the good stuff. There was no obstacle that was impassible, to his mind; only more or less challenging to overcome. His enthusiasm was at once overwhelming and contagious.

Taryn and Patrick wanted to postpone the wedding, but Aunt B quoted Uncle Fred's philosophy as part of her argument that they should proceed as planned:

Can you do anything to fix the situation? Then what are you fussing about?

That's such a familiar phrase, and so very like the way Uncle Fred approached any situation. If you can fix it, fix it and move on. If you can't fix it, don't waste your energy fretting, just move on with it. The invocation of those words last Saturday brought a smile and a nod of understanding to everyone who heard. It brought comfort, as well. Ward said the best way to honor a person you admire is to emulate the philosophy and traits you most admired in that person. And so, we did our best.

What can be said to make it seem less impossible? To make it feel less painful? Nothing, I suppose. We loved Uncle Fred. Aunt B loved Uncle Fred. His family, from his children and his grandchildren, down to his extended and adopted family, in-laws, and even ex-wives, loved Uncle Fred. That says a lot about a man, to have so many people who feel his passing. And although the events of the coming week hold much grief, and much pain for many people, not one of us would trade that sorrow for not having known Uncle Fred.

Instead, we'll gather to honor his place in this world, his place in our lives. We'll acknowledge that there is a vacancy now, supported by memories and love and admiration for the man who once stood there.

Kiss those babies.
~Dy

The Wedding Cake

When several significant events happen in one fell swoop, I have a difficult time deciding how to blog them. Together? Separately? If so, then which one first? This was a busy, chaotic weekend, and there are several things to share. I've wrangled with how best to share them, and finally decided to begin with the frivolous and move on from there. This will, hopefully, allow me the opportunity to find the words to do the more serious subjects justice. I hope you'll understand.

And so, we have to begin the story with The Wedding Gremlin. This little critter is the reason they're so darned cute when they're little...

For two days, we commandeered Taryn's kitchen. We mixed and sloshed. We kneaded and plied. We made a fondant for the cake, and made dozens of rolled fondant flowers. We made gardenias, calla lilies, and stephanotis-ish-thingies. (The technical term, I believe, is "fantasy flowers".) We rolled, pressed, trimmed, shaped, and hogged the window unit to coax them to dry. By Friday night, the fridge was packed with flower bits and random stamen parts. It almost looked like we knew what we were doing. We went to bed that night, content in the knowledge that we had created lovely, edible flowers for the cake without wire, tape, or any pesky toxic inedible bits. Ahhh. Life was good, indeed.

Four o'clock Saturday morning, I awoke to the unsettling sensation that there was *plenty* of room in the bed. Ahhhh... where's EmBaby? I slipped from the bed to look for her. She hadn't fallen off (or at least she wasn't unconscious on the floor.) She wasn't in the bathroom. Oh, no! The bedroom door's open! I bolted into the kitchen and there, on the floor, beneath the table, sat the cutest little thing with her Little Cindy Lou Who Jammies and her big bright eyes, a rolling pin in one hand and the remnants of a lily in the other. She beamed up at me, her fuzzy hair radiating about her head in a very poor imitation of a halo, and said, "Mmm, YUM!"

Oh, it was a massacre. There were dead flowers all over the place. And worst of all, the groom's cake, a crawdad, had been maimed. She ate one of his eyes, twisted his little feelers, and poked holes in his head! Poor, gimpy crawdad.

I cleaned up the mess, salvaged the flowers that hadn't made it onto the floor yet, and brought the little Wedding Gremlin back to bed. I wish I'd taken a picture. If I hadn't been fighting a massive eye twitch, I might have thought to do that. Zorak did get a picture of the little Wedding Gremlin's next escapade, though. So, here you go. If you're having a wedding, and you see one of these things, BEWARE! They will eat everything decorative and/or sugary that they can get their hands on!

Of course, the week of the wedding was warm and humid. While that made for lovely swimming weather, it wasn't so great for the icing plans. The fondant gave me fits. Due to extenuating circumstances, we'd lost about four hours of work time Saturday, which left us having to send John (the ring bearer) ahead with the family, while we stayed behind to finish the cake. Final decision -- buttercream the 12" layer, because this fondant is NOT going to happen on that layer. Oh, folks, I wanted to cry. Wait. I did cry. Not for long, though, since we didn't have time to waste.

We finished the cake. We got it to the reception hall at the Very Last Minute. It wasn't exactly what we were shooting for, but all things considered, everyone was pleased. Er, at least kind. Heh. (Have I mentioned how Very Much I love our family?) And here you have it:


The happy couple did the requisite duties and cut the cake. (He spared her lovely gown, though, which, I think, made every woman in the room breathe a sigh of relief.)

We may never be asked to make another cake for a family event. But we're still up for childwatching duties, so that's good.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Home Again, Home Again

Ahhh... If I'd known how much of a motivator it would be to see the house through "new eyes" after not seeing it at all for a while, we'd have been taking week-long trips each month for the past, oh, six months. I am SO glad we cleaned the house before we left. We even took the ladder down from the window we've been working on. *grin* When we pulled up tonight, both of us were taken aback by how pretty the front of the house looks with all the new paint, and the porch.

After talking, singing, screaming, and talking for ten hours straight, all four children were sound asleep just before we pulled into town. (I'll admit I thought about faking it, just to see if perhaps Zorak would carry me in, too. But he busted me before I could play oppossum.) They'll be so glad to find themselves home in the morning.

SO much happened. I'll upload pictures and fill you all in over the weekend. Just wanted to pop in, though, and say howdy. Boy, does it feel good to be home. (And I've got to say, it's always a relief to come home and find the house hasn't been vandalized. I never realize just how puckered up I am about that until the headlights hit the house and there's no broken glass. *whew*)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Going Underground

Nah, not a revolution. Not yet, anyway. We're just getting ready to get started on the wedding cake. So, I'll be out of touch for a couple of days. Will resurface when I can. (But it's okay - Zorak knows where I am. *grin*)

Have an absolutely fantastic week, everybody. Love on those little guys, and enjoy all the lovin's they have to give back!

Kiss those babies,
Dy

Come. Find. Me.

The case of Tom and Tanya Rider has weighed so heavily on my mind this past week. I do understand the situation of the law enforcement, but let's face it, my heart goes out to a man who knew *something was wrong* and couldn't get anybody to help him. He must have felt a lot like Cassandra before things went south in Troy. And my heart also goes out to Tanya. I cannot fathom what she has experienced, and lived through. God willing, I never will.

We can't predict the future, it's true. But we can do our utmost to bolster against the unexpected. So, I wanted to put it in writing right now. Right here. I want to go on record:

If I cannot be contacted, nor my whereabouts verified, even as little as a mere two hours after I am expected to arrive somewhere, something has happened. Come. Find. Me.

I am not running off to live in Upstate New York with some moron off the internet. I am not hightailing it to Fiji with Zorak's VA monies. I have not left my beautiful children, or my fantastic husband. Not of my own volition. Not under my own motive power. This. Will. Not. Happen.

And listen, be quick about it, because I've gotta tell ya, folks, I'm a bleeder. Not to mention, my cell phone isn't going to last longer than eight hours on a good day with no calls. I doubt it would handle a full-out auto wreck very well at all. While I'm thinking of it, I hereby authorize Verizon Wireless to release my phone records on Zorak's request. Give up the goods, guys. I swear I will not hold you liable for that.

Eight days? I get woozy going twelve hours without coffee. Can you imagine the rampaging psychosis that would ensue after a full week with no caffeine? (Let alone water, food, somewhere to relieve myself other than the seat of my pants.) No. No, there is no "right to privacy" that would justify that, for me. I have no shame. Spill the beans - my phone records, tax records, really bad driving record, bra size. Whatever it will take, but Come And Get Me.

Worse (in my mind, but I may be weird like that), what if I'm abducted? Oh, hell, folks, I haven't the fortitude to make a haul like that. Don't bother looking at Zorak. Or, if your cynicism has influenced policy to the point that you must, get it overwith within 24 hours and then Come. Find. Me. Seriously, there is *nowhere* I'd rather be than home, tending to my family, in the arms of my husband. Ever. Believe me. Don't waste time on supposition that I may not want to be found. I'm telling you right here, right now, I do not ever want to be lost.

So, I know it's not notarized. But it's published and available to the public for date verification and all manner of good things. And, on the off chance that something should happen, please remind Zorak he can find this post under "Come Find Me", print it out, and take it to the authorities.

Now, off to brace myself against accidental death and dismemberment... Hmmm...

Kiss those babies!
Dy

"Ours Baby"

I found this at Momanna98's site, and thought it was absolutely amazing. So. This is what "ours baby" (as Smidge refers to him/her) is looking like right now.

Wow.

Just. Wow.

I'll move this to my sidebar when I don't have eighty thousand other things to figure out. But in the meantime, I thought y'all might get a kick out of it, too.

Kiss those babies!
Dy

Control What You Can, Ignore The Rest

That's our mantra today. Say it with me. It's more fun with a mouth full of cookies. Er, at least the boys think so.

The kids filled in the trench by the front yard portion of the drive this morning. With their feet. I just came inside so I wouldn't have to watch. And cringe. But that worked out well, as it gave me a chance to get the house cleaned and ready for the wedding. The boys did a great job on the trench, and then they came in for lunch. I'm not sweeping up the dirt from that trek until after everyone's in bed.

One of the things I have *got* to find a groove on is the paperwork. Right now, it's all in the school room. Right now, the school room doesn't have a cabinet, free shelf space, or a table. (Can you see where this is heading?) I'd become quite competent at ignoring it, pretending there are doors on the doorways, and that nobody could see the condition of the "school room". However, I realized the gig was up when Zorak commented the other night that we'd best get our filing system under control before James starts to adopt it.

"Uh, yeah, the bills to be paid go there on the floor in front of the computer. The ones that have been paid go under the computer. Just put magazine subscriptions over there by the door, and completed homework, eh, you can set on the chair."

Mmm, good point. So today, after cleaning and decluttering the kitchen, living room, dining room, our room (not as impressive as it sounds - there's not too much left to declutter), and starting the laundry, I tackled the school room. It looks fantastic. Granted, we can't eat at the dining room table right now (picky, picky!) but, at least the stacks are manageable. And the kids agreed to eat at the breakfast bar between now and Wednesday. That buys me some time. I love that they're flexible. :-)

The printer shelf has been holding paper and computer supplies, as well, but I think it's going to be reassigned to "domestic craft duty", or some such moniker. That means I'm moving the computer paper somewhere else (don't ask me where just yet, we're still in the Idea Phase of this plan), and I'm going to hoist the sewing materials up off the floor onto the shelving. One would think this solution obvious, but really, the sewing boxes were holding up paperwork, so I didn't exactly see the problem until today. *shrug*

One of the nice things about ignoring the things we cannot control is that we realize how very much is within our realm of influence. But we let it get lost in the white noise, and after a while we can't tell the difference between the things we can impact, and the things we cannot. No wonder it's so easy to get sidetracked!

So here's to another round of cookies for everyone! Taking charge, and letting go! (Gah, that looks far more chipper than it sounded in my head, but hopefully y'all know what I mean.)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

This Isn't Working

So, the backhoe fairy didn't come through. Something about leaky wings. I suspect some yahoo said they don't *believe* in fairies. Well, I clapped, darnit! It should've worked.

So.

We rented a trencher. We didn't have the cash to rent a trencher, not with the wedding next weekend, but perhaps the children can forage for acorns and I can make pancakes from those. Think the neighbors would lend me a cup of water? Gah.

BUT. That was okay, because we had a trencher, and that would do the trick. Except, we got the weenie trencher. (The Big, Tough Trencher was out of commission - probably ought to have been a sign, huh?) We killed the weenie trencher. And we didn't get to the lateral line before it died. I suggested we plant explosives along the fenceline, thinking we'd be sure of hitting it that way. (Small ones, don't worry.) Zorak is ignoring me, now.

The brakes on the Suburban, after three years of being "bad", finally went to well, I guess "dangerous" would be a good description. So, Zorak fixed those. We were like a couple of cave men, looking at the rotors...

They don't look warped.
No. Hey, is that a warp, there?
No, I don't think so. This is steel. It's not going to look like a wet book.
Well, if feels like it when we stop.
*both pause*
Yeah, I don't see any warping.
*shrug*
Well, take it all in, and see what we need.

He came back with new rotors. And an explanation as to how you can tell brake rotors are warped. (You know, just in case you ever decide to do major vehicle repairs you aren't familiar with, right? That can't be just us...) It's the streaks. Oh. *pause* OH! (The things were covered in black streaks. Hah. I get it...) And brake pads. My goodness, but they're thick when they're new! Then he and the boys changed the oil in the Suburban. That was really neat. Until John leapt from the grill onto Smidge's head. Backward.

"I didn't see him!"

Well, no, that's true. Although, I'm not certain it's an acceptable explanation, considering.

I sent Smidge inside to lay down. But first, he had to puke in the hallway. Because he's a puker. *sigh* I hope he doesn't do that at job interviews. Or when he's dating. Could make his life rough.

This morning, Zorak loaded up the trencher to return to the rental yard. I crept quietly into the bathroom to take a long-awaited pampering bath with salt scrub and yummy-smelling things from The Foil Hat (I love Amy's things!) I've just begun to scrape and slather, when I hear "clunk, clunk, clunk" coming down the hall.

While I wondered if the intruder had killed Balto, and whether I could at least reach my sweats first (because nobody wants to be found naked, dead in the tub), I heard Zorak:

"Bad news, Sports Fans. The clutch went out on the truck. I'm going to have to take the Suburban."

I...

Uh...

Well, sometimes you just can't really do anything about... anything. And that's okay. But this wasn't what I'd planned to write when Friday rolled around, lemme tell ya!

Ah, Kiss those babies! (It keeps me sane at times like this.)
~Dy

It's a good sign you're pregnant when...

You cry at E.T.

Not when he gets sick.

Not when you think he's dead.

Not even at the very end, when E.T. says, "come" and Elliot says, "stay".

No, you know you're pregnant when you cry as the bicycles lift off from the ground.

Seriously, what's that about?

I'll be glad to have my brain back soon.

Kiss those babies,
Dy

School Days

I love this time of year as a homeschooler. Our friends are all on different schedules, drifting in and out of routine. Some have been at it hot 'n heavy since August, some are starting up this week or next. Some haven't taken a "summer break" at all, but simply kept moving along, doing their thing, and are now ready to take a week or two off and relax beneath the last of the summer leaves.

To the uninitiated, I'm sure it's a terrifying scene. To the homeschooling eye, however, this schism of uniformity is simply a snapshot of the essence of the homeschooling lifestyle: individual adaptation to the child's needs and environment. It wouldn't work in an institutionalized setting (could you imagine kids straggling in mid-way through a pop quiz, two weeks into the term?) It's uniquely homeschooled. And, I will venture to say, it is part of the health and vigor of homeschooling.

Recently, a question has come up that generally makes the rounds in September, again late November, February, and again in late April: what do you do when you feel the need to do something "different"? I love reading the responses, and they are as varied as the community from which they come:

We hit the museums.

We take our books to the woods.

We sit at the fountain in the park.

We jump on the bed while we shout out our grammar lessons.

We read something new.

We eat decadent foods and wallow in a really great play or musical performance.

We go hiking.

We take on a volunteer project.

We start a new curriculum.

Do you see it? Every answer says the exact same thing: we do what we need to do to keep moving forward and keep enjoying this adventure we're in.

It's easy to take for granted the incredible opportunities we have as homeschoolers. It's easy to get bogged down in retrieving yet another unit block from the baby's nose; in reminding the children that they are not to suggest to anyone in uniform that the Hagia Sophia should, in fact, be decorated with opium *ahem*; in thinking about the tasks to be done that aren't getting done while we're knee-deep in grammar forms.

But don't let it get you down. You're the only one who is capable of looking at those eyes and seeing if they're shining. You're the one who can change the course of a conversation from "ho-hum" to "let's find out more". If you feel ho-hum, well, that'll rub off. If you want to find out more, and do find out more, well, that, too, will become "the norm".

Our "normal" will not look like your "normal". Yet, the beauty of the homeschooling lifestyle is that if you see another "normal" out there, you have every opportunity and advantage of making it yours. Want to read more? See more? Explore more? Do more? Why not? Many of the delightful aspects of our Adventure aren't things dredged from the recesses of my own creativity. They are ideas, books, philosophies I've seen from a distance and thought, "We need to aspire to that." Aspiration. Goals. Do it. It's your school. It's your adventure. Go for it. Make it uniquely yours.

I do love this time of year.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

And it just gets better!

This is a bit of a continuation from the last post...

We're reading about the Orthodox church. We get to mosaics. It's been a relatively normal bout of lessons, really. The boys are into it, they're excited about our plans to get some tiles and make a mosaic for the foyer. Things are good.

We veer into talking about different types of gems you often see in Byzantine art. Rubies, sapphires,

"Ohhh, opiums!"

Uh... (OK, perhaps we do need to sit down and have a little family talk...)

"Honey, did you mean 'opals'?"

*sheepish grin from the offending child* Oh. Yeah. *chuckle* Those.

I'm so glad we're home when these things happen!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Come again?

This morning, while the littles and I were cleaning out the car, Smidge- whose speech is nowhere near "clear", at the best of times - was rattling away, just chatting to all of us in no particular order, when I heard him say, quite clearly,

"Oh, I do love marijuana! I love it even when we are all in the car!"

In my most eloquent form of paralysis, I responded, "I... uh... what???"

He repeated himself, "I love marijuana! I do love it SOOO much!"

*gag* *choke* *cough* "Um... James? What on earth is he talking about? Why would he say he loves marijuana?" (Not that I should have any reason for suspecting James to be the resident pot pusher, but he's usually pretty good about cluing me in to what I missed in the conversation.)

James burst out laughing, and said,

"No, Mom! Not 'marijuana'. He said, 'Medal of Honor'."

Oh. Well, okay, then.
Ah, kiss those babies!
~Dy

A little orange, in honor of autumn

Me-Wa and Me-Tae bought James this cute outfit for his birthday. Me-Tae forwarded the pics to me yesterday, and James really wanted me to get this up today. He's so proud. And, oh, the POCKETS on this thing! It'll take us half an hour just to get it cleared out for the wash once he starts stuffing those pockets.

The "guys" are all out this morning, doing a little more dove hunting. Me-Wa came down, too, so all three boys went. Embaby and I are hanging out, making bread and cookies, enjoying the lovely morning breezes and wishing for a cold snap. (Well, I'm wishing for a cold snap. She's perfectly happy with everything at the moment.)

The other day, she went into the guest room and emerged with this ensemble:

She was so proud of herself! I guess she didn't want to wait for her turn to go, so she made the best of it while the gear was unguarded. With the watermelon accents, she could hide out in a garden patch quite nicely, don't you think?

You know, they just make me smile. That's all there is to it. Sometimes they break your heart, sometimes they make any and everything seem possible. But always, always, there's love, love and more love when you've got these little ones in your life. It's good, good stuff.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Last Birthday of the Year!

My very first "baby" is now nine years old. He's a neat kid, and he had a great day. First, he headed out with a travel mug of hot chocolate for some dove hunting with Dad. They didn't see anything, but they had a nice few hours together. I have no idea what they talked about; all Zorak said was, "He's a great kid. I mean, a really. great. kid." Sounds like it was good.

From there, we headed into town to meet Me-Wa and Me-Tae at the bowling alley. A couple games of bowling, a few quarters at the arcade, pizza and time with his favorite people. (We have no pictures, because the camera decided to stay in the truck. I think it was hoping for more hunting shots. *ahem*) All three boys *bolted* across the bowling alley as soon as they spotted Me-Tae. That was so cute!

James did give us all a chuckle, when Me-Wa and Me-Tae wished him a happy birthday. He didn't respond with the customary, "Thank you". He bobbed up and down a little, his eyes wide in his head and hummed, "Mm-hmm!" I guess he thought it was more of an inquiry than anything else?

James asked to have "the perfect meal" for supper, and so we did: thick steak, cooked rare; asparagus spears with a light garlic butter sauce; baked potatoes with butter; for dessert, banana ice cream. It was all absolutely perfect. Except, well, turns out there are some pinholes in the ice cream maker. So the ice cream was actually salt and banana flavored. *shudder* We'll try again another time. Zorak, thinking quick on his feet, mixed a little banana flavoring into vanilla ice cream and dished it up with a couple maraschino cherries. Not a bad second-place, eh?

Again with the Last Minute Cakes: this was supposed to be a bust of Superman, but we didn't get home until six and that just wasn't going to happen. James, however, was perfectly thrilled with this:

He was tickled pink to *finally* get Book 4 of the Harry Potter books...

And I think his brothers might actually be more interested in his new pocket knife/utility tool than he is... (he might want to keep a close eye on that one!)

Nobody got to bed before eleven. It was a full, wonderful, exhausting day. James was a satisfied, thrilled, happy young man. And we now have a nine-year-old. Happy Birthday, Wonderful James! We love you!!.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Day in the Life???

You know, I do love a humorous, yet honest, Day in the Life piece. By the time my sense of humor kicks in, though, and it dawns on me to grab the camera, the day's half-gone. Ah, well.

On that note, I found this little do-dad in my inbox. IKEA is sponsoring a photojournalism essay on the whole Slice of Life theme: What Makes Your Home a Home. Something like that. For those of you who don't run three to four weeks behind the rest of the world, you might want to check it out. It started yesterday, with daily assignments, and (bless them) a two-day grace period. (OK, in the interest of proper marketing and all that good stuff, the official title is: America At Home, a close-up look at how we live. There. Now I feel I've performed due diligence and all that.)

Tomorrow is also Talk Like A Pirate Day. Again with the coffee kick-in lag time, all you're getting from me is a Pirate Name Generator. But hey, a little rum and a couple'a coconuts, and you won't need anything more from me!

We've excperienced some stunning time-warp issues at the house today. Two hours to count to five in Latin and then stare blankly at four *review* questions. That pesky review. Such challenging stuff. Oh, what was that? Zelda? What? Uh-huh... *sigh* OK, let's take it from the top. Zelda has nothing to do with Latin! No, nothing. Fine. If you can prove to me that Zelda has ANYTHING to do with Latin, we'll talk. In the meantime, I am going to force you to recall such painful information as vocabulary, and then I am going to torture you further by forcing you to look up that which you cannot recall. No, it's review. Re-view. Looking back over what you've already done. So, um, yeah, it's not gonna be on that half of the book. It'll be in the half that looks vaguely familiar. Yeah, the part you've already drawn in. Yup. There ya go.

And yet, set the timer, and they can perform amazing feats in very little time. (90 challenging math equations in ten minutes!) *shaking my head* I'm going to have to get timers. Perhaps I can get timers implanted in their foreheads for Christmas. Not much fun for them, but oh, what a gift for me!

EmBaby, aka The Pit Viper, is learning the nifty lesson that if you are going to do unpleasant things, then the fun things will not happen. I hate this part of parenting. This is where I want to be able to explain once, "IF you bite somebody, you will not be allowed within arm's reach of people" and have that be... well, enough. There. Now you know. "IF you throw things at people during storytime, storytime will be abominably short." And again, that should do the trick, right? No? No. You're right. I know you're right. It's worth the effort to be gentle, consistent, and to develop the fortitude of our ancestors in not just eradicating the herd and starting over. That's why those little ones have such big eyes and fuzzy heads: God's protection for them while they work through this phase. They're too cute to toss to the wolves or exile to the compost bin.

Plus, when they do catch on, you have the opportunity to enjoy such beautiful moments as this:

And look, they were even all there, working together!

Right now, it looks like the grass suffered a stampede of sorts. Well, it did. But there's hope it'll perk right up soon. We might post pictures, if the plants survive!

OK, break time is over! Back to work. Hyeah!

(Kiss those babies!)
~Dy

The Dove Hunt

(The following post contains pictures from the hunt. While not "graphic" in nature, if you're upset by hunting, or by firearms, please go ahead and skip this post.)

Well, John was a little sad when he learned that he wouldn't be able to actually shoot until he's passed his hunter safety course. In Alabama, that's still two Very Long Years away, for him. So, Zorak took him to the upper meadow and they shot a few rounds before heading out. See that stance? That's not poor form -- that's recoil. A shotgun behaves very differently from a .22. A couple of those, and John decided perhaps it's best that Dad does the shooting this trip. (And yes, he's got hearing protection in.)

There's a lot of waiting.... and more waiting...
But when the company is good, it's not such a bad thing.

John wasn't sure how best to carry the birds, at first...

But he found his stride the second time around. He took his job very seriously, and I think he has a grasp of things that's good. As he laid the doves on the table to prepare them for the freezer, he commented on realizing now why it's so important to give thanks before you eat.

And Dad? How did Dad fare? Well, he had a truly fantastic day enjoying his son's company, enjoying the countryside, getting to know some of the farmers, and imparting a bit of himself with his child.
He's still glowing, and looking forward to spending more one-on-one time with the kids. It was a great day, all-around.

Kiss those babies!

~Dy

Saturday Coffee

My goodness, I think our house is a place of lore: Where Insects Go To Die. Blech. The windows are vile! It's time for a coffee break.

Zorak and John are out dove hunting today. I've never seen a child more excited about anything. Ever. That includes Smidge's full-body vibration when he's thrilled with something. John was simply abuzz with activity, packing, checking, loading, double checking. He was understatedly serious, yet eager. He's still a little guy, but he's veering into the next port, and it's never been so obvious as it was this morning. He loaded the Suburban, then climbed in and waited. I didn't get the chance to kiss him good-bye, and had to give his travel mug of hot chocolate to Zorak. He was off and ready. Then, I stood on the porch and waved good-bye to a child who had already turned his mind and his heart toward the awaiting adventure as they headed down the drive. He's spending the day with his hero, doing something that beckons of high adventure. My heart is bursting with joy, with thankfulness, and with a wee bit of wistfulness that my JohnBaby is fading so quickly. (Not too much wistfulness, though, because this Young Man is a wonderful person, as well. And I am thankful that Zorak has both the opportunity to spend time like this with him, as well as the desire to do so. That's good stuff for both of them.)

I've got the dining room, living room and kitchen windows (insides only) washed, as well as the sills, stoops, and aprons. It feels delightful (particularly as I've interspersed the cleaning with a little time at sea with Hornblower, and some fresh bread with peanut butter and honey!) However, my stomach is queasy from being eye-ball-to-spinnerettes with all the spiders that live between our storm windows and our house windows. It's like living on the INSIDE of a spider farm. Thankfully, our current "moving forward without much cash" project is the windows - still stripping, priming, glazing the windows, and repairing/replacing the storm windows. They do need a lot of work. I wish we could just replace them all in one fell swoop, but that would require much cash, and then we wouldn't be doing the "moving forward without much cash" aspect of it, would we? *grin* Actually, Zorak Of The Indomitable Spirit is insistent that we replace the windows *ourselves*, and... that's just not a horribly enticing concept for me at present. So, well, I'm not going to complain (too audibly) about having to repair/replace and clean the storm windows. Plus, it's that savings that'll pay for the new windows in the long run, so it's all good. And it will be wonderful once they've all got properly fitting screens and have been reinstalled w/ the proper gaskets so that the spiders cannot get in there to set up house at all.

The remaining Smalls are out back, digging for things I probably won't want brought into the house. Particularly not after I've finished cleaning. But they'll come in. And it'll be fascinating to see and hear all about it from their perpective. I really must find a place to put things like that. The bookshelf isn't conducive, as I realized while vacuuming the school room the other day -- cicada shells don't survive the shopvac well, at all.

And so, my coffee break is over, and it's time to turn our attentions back to the day at hand. Thanks for taking a break to visit this afternoon.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

*edited to correct my typographical stuttering problem :-) *

Vaccines, delays, and disease, Oh, my!

Thanks to the threads recently at the WTM forums, I found this article on delayed vaccinations. It includes a suggested schedule, as well, which is why I'm including it here. Sometimes it's difficult to get an idea for the "how" or the "what now" once you've come to a point where you say, "OK, that's not going to work." Hopefully, if you're looking for more information, this will help.

Kiss those babies!
Dy

Well, that didn't work so well.

You know, we've kept the shopvac out for our daily vacuum jobs on the laminate floors. It's more efficient than sweeping, and does a better job than our "normal" vacuum does on the bare floors. One of these days I'll buy the carpet attachment for it, and then I can do away entirely with the "normal" vacuum. In the meantime, however, it's just my hard floor vacuum.

Well, one of the things I *love* about the shopvac is that it will suck up ANYTHING, from about six inches away from the opening of the hose. That makes it so easy to get into the crevices and crannies, beneath the tea cart and the corner hutch... just, easy.

One of the things I *don't* love about the shopvac is that it will suck up ANYTHING, from about six inches away from the opening of the hose. That means I may have to sieve through the bin before dumping it, in order to retrieve stray socks, tinker toys, chess pieces, and matchbox cars (man, can those things move, though, when they fly across the floor to the hose! It's quite a sight, really. Kinda fun, too, but don't tell the boys that.)

Ok, I don't actually try to suck up the toys. But there are so many of them. And they're small. And my eyesight isn't what it used to be. Nor are my reflexes (which were never stellar to begin with). And so, most of the time, it's the clunk-rattle-schlooop, followed by the kathunk-thud-thud of a solid object pinging it's way up the hose that alerts me to the fact that I've just sucked up Something That Oughtn't Be Sucked Up. I sucked up something just the other day, as a matter of fact. But it didn't have the distinctive sound of any previously identified objects. So I didn't really worry about it.

And now, we cannot find the key to the corner hutch.

I wonder if Rigid sells a 1/4" screen attachment for the floor attachments? Might be a good investment on their part. I can't be the only one who uses the shopvac for daily cleaning? (Andie, back me up, here!)

Well, it's grocery day, so I'll handle that, and then, perhaps, Zorak will take pity on me and check out the shopvac this evening? I'd probably better make sure supper is FANTASTIC, huh?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

It's COMING!

Fall. Is. Coming!

I'm so excited, I can hardly restrain myself. Or spell. I had to put on a *hoodie* this morning, people! Well, I suppose I could have just gotten dressed, instead, but where's the fun in that? It's so much better to sit on the porch and watch the oppossums destroy the garden when I'm in my comfy jammies. Come to think of it, where was the dog while that was going on? Hmpf. Probably inside, wallowing on the couch.

It was DARK when I got up this morning. At six. It was still dark at six! It was foggy, and chilly, and dark. Oh, the joy! The sun didn't actually come up. The air lightened, the fog glistened, the birds went absolutely nuts. The neighbors' rooster did his thing. Repeatedly. Ah, here comes the dog, once he heard the rooster. (The rooster likes to strut into our upper meadow. He's not horribly bright, that one.) All of it, except the potential for rooster mutilations, was absolutely beautiful.

We've been on a pile-claiming rampage this week. I think it's working. Zorak mentioned something last night about the progress of the "house reclamation project". Sounds like it ought to be subsidized, doesn't it? Heh. Better that it's not. At least this way, we know we're making headway and we can work when we need to. Yeah, we're getting there.

It's not all about the grand adventures. Sometimes it's the great adventures. The melons slowly swelling in the patch. The sound of the pickup heading down the drive in the morning. The things that become normal, commonplace -- birds at the feeder, little children draggin fleece blankets out from the closet and into the living room, getting up in the dark -- that really cement this life of ours and make it Real. So I watched the pickup head down the drive, gave thanks for yesterday's rain, and watched the little guy drag his blanket to the living room. And I smiled at all that's real. All that's mine. I feel so lucky!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy