It's a long weekend, which doesn't bode well for making actual progress on our projects. And yet, we forge ahead with grand plans, anyway. (Ha - I typed "forget". Twice. How's that for fighting our natures?)
We have dirt coming at nine. A tractor to pick up at, erm, *whenever we get around to it* (skid steer - thingy with a bucket - whatever it's called, it's for moving dirt, and hopefully we'll be able to move enough dirt to put a bit of a non-Zen-like hurting on the Zen Waterfall in the basement!) Post holes to dig. Fence panels to build.
And, in case we run out of things to do (cough, cough, ahem), I have a brand new bottle of grout sealant. Because you just can't have too many layers of grout sealant on a boys' bathroom floor!
The boys are psyched about "getting" to use the post hole digger. Heh. You know, some things just look like a whole lot more fun than they are. This is one of them. And hey, since we've both used those things before, we are in no rush to explain that to the boys. We figure we can get a hole or two out of the big boys before they catch on that it's all a big, hairy illusion. We might even get one decent hole out of Smidge. That'll do.
I've decided the foyer needs a make-over. Not like it's "finished" to begin with, but more a functional make-over. I realized this evening that we really need a Central Command for bags and supplies. Some place to land everything when we come in, and have it ready to go when we need to go. Since we don't have a coat closet, mud room, game room, or garage, the foyer seems like as good a place as any. Or, more to the point, the foyer is the only place, other than the barn, that isn't already pulling its own weight around here. So it gets the job by default.
This ("this," being the whole "organizational, ready to be places on time" thing) is not my strong area, by any means. Particularly the "ready to be places on time" bit. Add in the need to be "prepared", and we're in way over our heads! My hope is to really tackle that demon and beat it down this spring. If I don't, I may end up on sedatives and st. john's wart/antacid cocktails before Memorial Day.
And... it's after eleven, and I can't think. I can't write. I am going to give up and go read. Sometimes, that's just how it goes. :-)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, February 15
Thursday, February 14
SCORE!
Great day, all around, and I have news for the boys when they get home from Scouts tonight!
We made it to Sam's. The boys were only mildly out of whack. I have a plentiful stash of tortillas. Yay us.
We got to see Me-Tae, who really and truly went out of her way to make a point to hook up with us today. (Literally - I'd just said we were going to Sam's, but it turned out we were at the *other* Sam's Club in town - neither of us knew there are two of them!)
We made it to see the midwife, and all is well with wee Heinrich. No wonder I feel like an 8-day old August roadkill carcass. I've netted almost 40 pounds this pregnancy, and it's all jammed up against my liver. Maybe a lung. Ugh. But that's okay. You're supposed to be miserable at the end of a pregnancy: you know it's near the end, and you don't mind seeing the end.
Back home, unload, sandwiches all around, and off the boys went for their meeting. The small ones and I gorged ourselves on pork rinds and M&M's and watched a Christmas movie. Nice, quiet evening in the fast lane, eh?
And then, the phone rang.
It was the baseball lady.
I was going to let the answering machine get it, but we don't have an answering machine. That sort of forced my hand.
WOOHOO - we can fill out the forms and pay the fees tomorrow and get the boys started playing baseball this season!
*ahhhh* Sweet relief.
But now, I'm looking at our calendar, and it's starting to creep me out a bit. Scouts, baseball, piano, balcony refinishing, new baby, camping trips and summer camp... what's happening to us? I guess this is what the Changing of the Seasons looks like. If it is, this will certainly be an interesting new season of life here at the Forever Home.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We made it to Sam's. The boys were only mildly out of whack. I have a plentiful stash of tortillas. Yay us.
We got to see Me-Tae, who really and truly went out of her way to make a point to hook up with us today. (Literally - I'd just said we were going to Sam's, but it turned out we were at the *other* Sam's Club in town - neither of us knew there are two of them!)
We made it to see the midwife, and all is well with wee Heinrich. No wonder I feel like an 8-day old August roadkill carcass. I've netted almost 40 pounds this pregnancy, and it's all jammed up against my liver. Maybe a lung. Ugh. But that's okay. You're supposed to be miserable at the end of a pregnancy: you know it's near the end, and you don't mind seeing the end.
Back home, unload, sandwiches all around, and off the boys went for their meeting. The small ones and I gorged ourselves on pork rinds and M&M's and watched a Christmas movie. Nice, quiet evening in the fast lane, eh?
And then, the phone rang.
It was the baseball lady.
I was going to let the answering machine get it, but we don't have an answering machine. That sort of forced my hand.
WOOHOO - we can fill out the forms and pay the fees tomorrow and get the boys started playing baseball this season!
*ahhhh* Sweet relief.
But now, I'm looking at our calendar, and it's starting to creep me out a bit. Scouts, baseball, piano, balcony refinishing, new baby, camping trips and summer camp... what's happening to us? I guess this is what the Changing of the Seasons looks like. If it is, this will certainly be an interesting new season of life here at the Forever Home.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, February 13
23 degrees and snowing
Well, John says it's snowing. To me, the world just looks mildly blurry, more like I might need glasses than anything else. But hey, if the 7-year-old says it's snow, I'm bound to trust his opinion. Young boys are, certainly, more highly attuned to "the presence of snow" than 30-something women who wear cardigans and wool socks and have no vested interest in snow as long as they don't have to go out in it.
Now, however, I'd like to know why Smidge is surprised that his Thomas sandals don't keep him warm. Three times, I said, "Put on socks, and your warm, brown shoes." Three times. And three times he slipped out the back door in a stinkin' t-shirt and summer sandals without socks. Now he doesn't want to go out "because it's too cold". Well, no kidding, genius! Gah. (I hate to sound curt, but seriously, this child has already contributed more than his fair share to the growth of the Klingon bump between my eyebrows.) I do have hope, since he's not Toddler Insane anymore, but still - why? WHY on EARTH would Mom tell you to wear socks and warm shoes? Or, heaven forbid, get down your big blue coat rather than your green fleece hoodie? Because she doesn't like you? Because she likes to torture you? *snort* Obviously.
And the fact that John's out there in boots, a coat, hat and gloves, having a glorious time? Certainly, that must be proof that he's simply given up on standing his ground. John's gone and caved to the Evil Maternal Empire.
That's okay. The myopic snowfall isn't really quite sticking, and it won't last long. As soon as the temps come above freezing, we'll be heading to the store for yummy things like bananas and milk and eggs. And then, I won't seem so evil, and he (wearing a coat and warm shoes at that point) won't seem so revolutionarily insane, and all will be well with our world. Sometimes it pays to have the same attention span and short-term memory as your younger children. :-)
I just have to remember to give the list to James before we head out, or we'll come home with a random hodge-podge of things we probably don't need.
I'm so thankful I didn't have all five children in one fell swoop. The staggered ages help me keep things in perspective. The little ones are cute, I mean really cute. Those great big eyes and top-heavy head:body ratio can make even the most criminal-feeling behavior seem surmountable and give you hope. They remind me that the big ones looked like that once, and that makes me smile, makes me remember that it'll be gone all too quickly.
The big ones, well, they simply aren't insane anymore. They have the ability to reason and discourse (not that they always use it, but they do have the ability, and I cling to that). They make better decisions on a more regular basis, and can usually spot their bad decisions with very little prompting or explaining. They are helpful and funny. The think it's funny when we tell them that they did the same things the littles are doing now. That, too, gives me hope, and makes me smile.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Now, however, I'd like to know why Smidge is surprised that his Thomas sandals don't keep him warm. Three times, I said, "Put on socks, and your warm, brown shoes." Three times. And three times he slipped out the back door in a stinkin' t-shirt and summer sandals without socks. Now he doesn't want to go out "because it's too cold". Well, no kidding, genius! Gah. (I hate to sound curt, but seriously, this child has already contributed more than his fair share to the growth of the Klingon bump between my eyebrows.) I do have hope, since he's not Toddler Insane anymore, but still - why? WHY on EARTH would Mom tell you to wear socks and warm shoes? Or, heaven forbid, get down your big blue coat rather than your green fleece hoodie? Because she doesn't like you? Because she likes to torture you? *snort* Obviously.
And the fact that John's out there in boots, a coat, hat and gloves, having a glorious time? Certainly, that must be proof that he's simply given up on standing his ground. John's gone and caved to the Evil Maternal Empire.
That's okay. The myopic snowfall isn't really quite sticking, and it won't last long. As soon as the temps come above freezing, we'll be heading to the store for yummy things like bananas and milk and eggs. And then, I won't seem so evil, and he (wearing a coat and warm shoes at that point) won't seem so revolutionarily insane, and all will be well with our world. Sometimes it pays to have the same attention span and short-term memory as your younger children. :-)
I just have to remember to give the list to James before we head out, or we'll come home with a random hodge-podge of things we probably don't need.
I'm so thankful I didn't have all five children in one fell swoop. The staggered ages help me keep things in perspective. The little ones are cute, I mean really cute. Those great big eyes and top-heavy head:body ratio can make even the most criminal-feeling behavior seem surmountable and give you hope. They remind me that the big ones looked like that once, and that makes me smile, makes me remember that it'll be gone all too quickly.
The big ones, well, they simply aren't insane anymore. They have the ability to reason and discourse (not that they always use it, but they do have the ability, and I cling to that). They make better decisions on a more regular basis, and can usually spot their bad decisions with very little prompting or explaining. They are helpful and funny. The think it's funny when we tell them that they did the same things the littles are doing now. That, too, gives me hope, and makes me smile.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, February 12
Piano Lessons!
It's going to happen! It's a reality!
James and John start piano lessons on March 6th!! (I start on the 7th *sheepish grin* - I don't remember enough to be of any use, otherwise.)
The teacher came highly recommended (which, really, is my only hope). She loves homeschoolers, worked us in back-to-back for the boys, and sounds like she has wonderful expectations that jive with the way we do things, here. She's big on consistent practice in shorter sessions vs. prolonged sessions less often. She said she provides fun projects and songs for the kids to work on, but it's contingent on the kids getting their theory work done... I think I'll like her. Plus, she doesn't have my gruff, scary R. Lee Ermey demeanor. Always a plus when working with children.
Now, I guess I'd better order that keyboard, eh?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
James and John start piano lessons on March 6th!! (I start on the 7th *sheepish grin* - I don't remember enough to be of any use, otherwise.)
The teacher came highly recommended (which, really, is my only hope). She loves homeschoolers, worked us in back-to-back for the boys, and sounds like she has wonderful expectations that jive with the way we do things, here. She's big on consistent practice in shorter sessions vs. prolonged sessions less often. She said she provides fun projects and songs for the kids to work on, but it's contingent on the kids getting their theory work done... I think I'll like her. Plus, she doesn't have my gruff, scary R. Lee Ermey demeanor. Always a plus when working with children.
Now, I guess I'd better order that keyboard, eh?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, February 11
Monday, Monday...
Well, today turned out, um, not half bad.
The baseball rep said to talk to the Community Rec. President. I left a message for him. He had somebody else call me back.
She was baffled as to how we could have not known. I mean, they have it on the high school display board, and they sent letters home with the kids. How could we not have known?
Well, my eldest is nine, so I never go to the high school, and we aren't in the public school system, so we're out of that communication loop. Sorry. (Although, come to think of it, this isn't through the schools...)
She didn't seem to like those reasons, but she did stop being quite so curt. She then went on to explain that they've got to "run the numbers" first and see what the teams look like (sounds like the group is coordinated by bookies, doesn't it? It was difficult not to snicker when that thought hit me, but I was still on the phone, so I managed to stifle it.) They'll let me know by Wednesday if the boys can play. She said she figures Smidge can play, but doesn't know the status of the other two groups.
Um, yeah.
So, not sure how this is going to pan out. I can't see having Smidge play and making his brothers sit on the sidelines (especially John, who has spent all winter out there, practicing his batting, running and catching - although, interestingly enough, he was the most gracious about this whole thing when I explained what I'd done. What a doll.)
If they can't play, I will probably try the next nearest districts and see if they'll let us play for them this year. Something.
I still feel like a heel.
On the Forever Home front, Zorak priced the materials for the fence today, and it looks like it'll be not only easier to do than we'd thought, but will also cost less than we'd anticipated. Yay! It looks like it's going to rain Saturday, so I don't think we'll be renting the tractor or moving dirt. But we can build the fence panels in the basement and get them stained. Plus, it's easier to dig post holes in moist dirt, anyway, right? ;-)
Oh, and we have propane. For a while, we didn't have heat, though, and that had me freaked out. I went all Useless Chick in Adventure Movie when the whole system shut down entirely and started blinking at me. Called Zorak up and he donned his shiny armor and walked me through it, saving both the day and my sanity in the process. I was thisfar from loading everyone up and spending the day at the mall, just in case the place exploded. (It wasn't anything that bad, but it was if you'd asked my imagination ten minutes into trying to figure it out! I'm such a goober sometimes. And yes, the pilot was lit. I'm not THAT much of a goober. Or, at least I wasn't... today.)
Tonight, we sleep soundly, and warm. Tomorrow, we... do more stuff! Hurrah!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The baseball rep said to talk to the Community Rec. President. I left a message for him. He had somebody else call me back.
She was baffled as to how we could have not known. I mean, they have it on the high school display board, and they sent letters home with the kids. How could we not have known?
Well, my eldest is nine, so I never go to the high school, and we aren't in the public school system, so we're out of that communication loop. Sorry. (Although, come to think of it, this isn't through the schools...)
She didn't seem to like those reasons, but she did stop being quite so curt. She then went on to explain that they've got to "run the numbers" first and see what the teams look like (sounds like the group is coordinated by bookies, doesn't it? It was difficult not to snicker when that thought hit me, but I was still on the phone, so I managed to stifle it.) They'll let me know by Wednesday if the boys can play. She said she figures Smidge can play, but doesn't know the status of the other two groups.
Um, yeah.
So, not sure how this is going to pan out. I can't see having Smidge play and making his brothers sit on the sidelines (especially John, who has spent all winter out there, practicing his batting, running and catching - although, interestingly enough, he was the most gracious about this whole thing when I explained what I'd done. What a doll.)
If they can't play, I will probably try the next nearest districts and see if they'll let us play for them this year. Something.
I still feel like a heel.
On the Forever Home front, Zorak priced the materials for the fence today, and it looks like it'll be not only easier to do than we'd thought, but will also cost less than we'd anticipated. Yay! It looks like it's going to rain Saturday, so I don't think we'll be renting the tractor or moving dirt. But we can build the fence panels in the basement and get them stained. Plus, it's easier to dig post holes in moist dirt, anyway, right? ;-)
Oh, and we have propane. For a while, we didn't have heat, though, and that had me freaked out. I went all Useless Chick in Adventure Movie when the whole system shut down entirely and started blinking at me. Called Zorak up and he donned his shiny armor and walked me through it, saving both the day and my sanity in the process. I was thisfar from loading everyone up and spending the day at the mall, just in case the place exploded. (It wasn't anything that bad, but it was if you'd asked my imagination ten minutes into trying to figure it out! I'm such a goober sometimes. And yes, the pilot was lit. I'm not THAT much of a goober. Or, at least I wasn't... today.)
Tonight, we sleep soundly, and warm. Tomorrow, we... do more stuff! Hurrah!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
ARGH - SO CLOSE!
Claudia asked me last night when baseball sign-ups start. I told her they should be this month, sometime. I felt so proud of myself for remembering that we have to start thinking about warm weather sports during the coldest month of our year. Yup. Feelin' pretty with-it.
I got online to check our community rec website, and it still had last year's sign-up info. Huh. That's weird. It didn't have last year's football info at all, which I thought was doubly strange. After a little finagling and clicking and roaming, *poof* the page suddenly changes - all new updates, all new info, all new site design! Same URL. Ahh, well, here we go, baseball... sign ups...
January 26th
Feb 2
Feb 9
Crap.
I've sent an email to the baseball rep, begging for clemency. Three little boys may disown me if I've blown it for the entire season.
*sigh*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I got online to check our community rec website, and it still had last year's sign-up info. Huh. That's weird. It didn't have last year's football info at all, which I thought was doubly strange. After a little finagling and clicking and roaming, *poof* the page suddenly changes - all new updates, all new info, all new site design! Same URL. Ahh, well, here we go, baseball... sign ups...
January 26th
Feb 2
Feb 9
Crap.
I've sent an email to the baseball rep, begging for clemency. Three little boys may disown me if I've blown it for the entire season.
*sigh*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, February 10
Busy Weekend
It's been a great weekend for productivity here at the Forever Home. Zorak hauled the carcasses of dead appliances down to the Recycle Guy, so the carport-that-wants-to-be-a-fire is looking a bit more, well, a bit less terrifying.
I cleaned the kitchen pantry, then sorted, organized and inventoried the food storage shelf (yes, "shelf", singular. We're not good Mormons, Catholics, or survivalists... just slackin' Protestants). I am tickled, though, to see that we've nearly met our first goal! I was hoping to get to a two-month supply, and we're just about there! We need to flesh it out a bit, as there are some things I've completely forgotten to store - like pasta, and (gah, this is embarrassing to even admit) water. Yes. Yes, I know. Der. However, I'd only begun this project in September, so I'm quite happy with the results, and we've been able to accomplish it without any appreciable increase in our grocery bill.
We have the back yard staked out for a fence! We have the new garden boundaries marked, as well, and we have the spot for the chicken coop laid out. Now, if only we can decide just how we want to design the coop, we might make some progress on it! I tried to talk KathyJo into coming down with her crew so we could turn the menfolk loose down there, but she's not budging. Pfft. You'd think she's enjoying the snow or something. ;-)
Oh, hey, and while we marked out the back yard boundaries, the house spoke to us again (shhh, you're the only ones we tell about this stuff - the neighbors might think we're nuts... but, then again, that could come in handy...) Anyway, there's a door off the kitchen that leads out back. We don't use it because, like so many other things on this place, it's scary-dangerous. The first step is over a foot down, and if you misstep, you'll tumble down a painful, brick-edged, gauntlet. The little iron railings have long rusted away, so if you mistakenly attempt to grab hold of one, you'll only increase the likelihood that you'll be impaled before you hit bottom. As of yesterday, that door is now marked for a small landing and wooden steps that'll lead into the back yard. (Not only will it be lovely and functional, but then the children won't have to traipse through our bedroom to get to the back yard. WOOHOO!)
Zorak eyeballed my hammock trees for a tree house. He even measured them. I don't want to sound territorial, here, and I would do anything for my children, but I worked for two full summers to clear enough briars and poison ivy to get *to* those trees, so I could hang a hammock. Not so they could build a tree house. A hammock, darnit. I've never had a hammock. I'd like a hammock. I WANT a hammock. Besides, there are eighty bazillion suitable tree house trees on the property, but not so many suitable hammock sites. *ahem* Um, so, that particular piece of land is currently in limbo. (It'll probably end up being a tree house. Maybe I can sling my hammock beneath the deck?)
We ran out of propane on Saturday morning. Gah. I hate this little tank. (Riiiiight. Because it couldn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm the one who forgets to check it? OK, let me rephrase that: I hate that I forget to check that little tank.) If you ask for a delivery Not On Your Delivery Day, they hit you with fees: "Should've Checked Your Tank, Stoopid" fees, which add up to several hundred dollars. Plus, you pay a higher price for the gas, itself, at an "off route" price. We called to find out just what the "off route" price is, and see about scheduling a delivery, but the emergency delivery guy never called back, so Zorak hooked up a little tank and we'll use that until Monday.
I had to smile. That brought back memories of our first home together, when we were often too poor to afford the 100 gallon minimum delivery. (And that was when it was $1.75/gal., too.) He'd use the small tanks to limp us along, getting them refilled at the gas station (back when gas stations still did that sort of thing) on his way home from work, switching the tanks out, until we could save enough money to get a real delivery. I'm glad we're not *there* anymore, and that if the guy had called back, we could have had a full tank. However, I'm also so thankful Zorak is the guy he is and does such a good job of providing what we need. (Now, if he could just find me a mental supplement, or a personal secretary, or *something* so I won't forget to check the darned tank next time!)
I have no idea what we'll be doing today. Zorak stayed up far too late last night drafting fence panel designs, so I'm sure we'll be ready to make some headway on those shortly. And the carport-that-wants-to-be-a-bonfire is much less creepy now that it's all cleared out and semi-functional. I was hoping to get some sewing done, but that's not looking like it's going to happen. That's okay. There's plenty to do in the meantime, and when the time comes, I'll be ready!
ACK, and they're heading outside without me! I'd better go.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I cleaned the kitchen pantry, then sorted, organized and inventoried the food storage shelf (yes, "shelf", singular. We're not good Mormons, Catholics, or survivalists... just slackin' Protestants). I am tickled, though, to see that we've nearly met our first goal! I was hoping to get to a two-month supply, and we're just about there! We need to flesh it out a bit, as there are some things I've completely forgotten to store - like pasta, and (gah, this is embarrassing to even admit) water. Yes. Yes, I know. Der. However, I'd only begun this project in September, so I'm quite happy with the results, and we've been able to accomplish it without any appreciable increase in our grocery bill.
We have the back yard staked out for a fence! We have the new garden boundaries marked, as well, and we have the spot for the chicken coop laid out. Now, if only we can decide just how we want to design the coop, we might make some progress on it! I tried to talk KathyJo into coming down with her crew so we could turn the menfolk loose down there, but she's not budging. Pfft. You'd think she's enjoying the snow or something. ;-)
Oh, hey, and while we marked out the back yard boundaries, the house spoke to us again (shhh, you're the only ones we tell about this stuff - the neighbors might think we're nuts... but, then again, that could come in handy...) Anyway, there's a door off the kitchen that leads out back. We don't use it because, like so many other things on this place, it's scary-dangerous. The first step is over a foot down, and if you misstep, you'll tumble down a painful, brick-edged, gauntlet. The little iron railings have long rusted away, so if you mistakenly attempt to grab hold of one, you'll only increase the likelihood that you'll be impaled before you hit bottom. As of yesterday, that door is now marked for a small landing and wooden steps that'll lead into the back yard. (Not only will it be lovely and functional, but then the children won't have to traipse through our bedroom to get to the back yard. WOOHOO!)
Zorak eyeballed my hammock trees for a tree house. He even measured them. I don't want to sound territorial, here, and I would do anything for my children, but I worked for two full summers to clear enough briars and poison ivy to get *to* those trees, so I could hang a hammock. Not so they could build a tree house. A hammock, darnit. I've never had a hammock. I'd like a hammock. I WANT a hammock. Besides, there are eighty bazillion suitable tree house trees on the property, but not so many suitable hammock sites. *ahem* Um, so, that particular piece of land is currently in limbo. (It'll probably end up being a tree house. Maybe I can sling my hammock beneath the deck?)
We ran out of propane on Saturday morning. Gah. I hate this little tank. (Riiiiight. Because it couldn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm the one who forgets to check it? OK, let me rephrase that: I hate that I forget to check that little tank.) If you ask for a delivery Not On Your Delivery Day, they hit you with fees: "Should've Checked Your Tank, Stoopid" fees, which add up to several hundred dollars. Plus, you pay a higher price for the gas, itself, at an "off route" price. We called to find out just what the "off route" price is, and see about scheduling a delivery, but the emergency delivery guy never called back, so Zorak hooked up a little tank and we'll use that until Monday.
I had to smile. That brought back memories of our first home together, when we were often too poor to afford the 100 gallon minimum delivery. (And that was when it was $1.75/gal., too.) He'd use the small tanks to limp us along, getting them refilled at the gas station (back when gas stations still did that sort of thing) on his way home from work, switching the tanks out, until we could save enough money to get a real delivery. I'm glad we're not *there* anymore, and that if the guy had called back, we could have had a full tank. However, I'm also so thankful Zorak is the guy he is and does such a good job of providing what we need. (Now, if he could just find me a mental supplement, or a personal secretary, or *something* so I won't forget to check the darned tank next time!)
I have no idea what we'll be doing today. Zorak stayed up far too late last night drafting fence panel designs, so I'm sure we'll be ready to make some headway on those shortly. And the carport-that-wants-to-be-a-bonfire is much less creepy now that it's all cleared out and semi-functional. I was hoping to get some sewing done, but that's not looking like it's going to happen. That's okay. There's plenty to do in the meantime, and when the time comes, I'll be ready!
ACK, and they're heading outside without me! I'd better go.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, February 7
Oh, they make me laugh.
The older two are working at the breakfast bar, finishing up their Latin. Smidge finished eating. He cleared his spot and ran down the hallway to finish getting dressed (why this is a two-part process, I do not know, but that's not the point of this post).
I heard John yell, "Walk!"
Now, the children tend to abuse any authority they might have over one another, so I try to discourage their desire to correct one another (even when they're right - yes, Smidge ought to have walked - John was just quicker on the draw than I). I'll allow it for life-endangering issues, but not for general purpose eye-poking. (There is a vain hope that if they know it's dangerous, then they'll be inclined to listen. This grand scheme, however, hinges on the others following that general pattern, which has yet to happen. And still, I persist. Go figure.)
So I said, in the same tone, "John!"
He replied, without skipping a beat, "Latin!"
Heh. Yeah. Latin.
They *know*. I know they know, because little exchanges like this tell me they've been listening. I have a choice: despair that they will never internalize and implement this knowledge; hope that eventually it will. sink. in.
I'm going for hope, today.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I heard John yell, "Walk!"
Now, the children tend to abuse any authority they might have over one another, so I try to discourage their desire to correct one another (even when they're right - yes, Smidge ought to have walked - John was just quicker on the draw than I). I'll allow it for life-endangering issues, but not for general purpose eye-poking. (There is a vain hope that if they know it's dangerous, then they'll be inclined to listen. This grand scheme, however, hinges on the others following that general pattern, which has yet to happen. And still, I persist. Go figure.)
So I said, in the same tone, "John!"
He replied, without skipping a beat, "Latin!"
Heh. Yeah. Latin.
They *know*. I know they know, because little exchanges like this tell me they've been listening. I have a choice: despair that they will never internalize and implement this knowledge; hope that eventually it will. sink. in.
I'm going for hope, today.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, February 5
Stay Safe, Guys
Tonight we sat on the front porch, enjoying a balmy (over 70 degrees, 73% humidity, breezy - absolutely, unnervingly beautiful for February) evening. The boys caught several moths for the lizard. I cleaned and read a bit. It felt so idyllic. Then I checked the weather online.
Oh. My. Word. Tornadoes are ripping through the South tonight, and a good portion of the region is under watch until the morning.
So. Be safe. Stay alert. Check in, and then turn that computer off and go hide in the tub or something, okay!?!? ACK.
It's okay. Go on. No pictures tonight, anyway. Due to an unfortunate miscommunication in basic procedures (evidently the 9yo and I do not speak a similar enough dialect of the same language to communicate effectively) I had to reschedule the hair appointment.
Tonight, let's just all hunker down and get comfy in a doorway or two, and meet back here tomorrow, shall we?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Oh. My. Word. Tornadoes are ripping through the South tonight, and a good portion of the region is under watch until the morning.
So. Be safe. Stay alert. Check in, and then turn that computer off and go hide in the tub or something, okay!?!? ACK.
It's okay. Go on. No pictures tonight, anyway. Due to an unfortunate miscommunication in basic procedures (evidently the 9yo and I do not speak a similar enough dialect of the same language to communicate effectively) I had to reschedule the hair appointment.
Tonight, let's just all hunker down and get comfy in a doorway or two, and meet back here tomorrow, shall we?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
There's Something to be Said for the "Grizzled Look"
Really, there is. I wasn't going to agree to pictures, because I wasn't entirely certain this could be fixed. So I rounded up all the baseball caps we own and contemplated asking Aunt B to sent me a really big, really gaudy sombrero from Juarez. I'm set for Spring!
As of right now, however, I have an appointment with a lady in the salon (actually, a different salon, but the same company - every time I called the first salon, HairGuy answered, and I panicked. I know, I'm a wuss. I accept that about myself.) This lady is supposed to be excellent with "color correction" (which is, I take it, a specific field within the hair-realm). So I'll see if I can get John to take some before and after shots. You're a sick bunch, you know that? ;-)
I do think, though, that after this incident I'm just going to let the wrinkles and the naturally bad hair come and ensconce me and call it good. Perhaps I can learn how to pack mules and hire out as a camp guide. Or I could tend the saloon in a re-enactment camp. There's always a use for our natural talents, if we'll just look for one.
Zorak suggested I go ahead and show you now, with this photo. (It's okay, I laughed, too. Then I choked on my coffee. I would have said it's more like this. But then I'd be lying. It's worse.)
And for the record, I'm just having a little fun with it. Yes, even my previous post was written with a grin. There is nothing that can be done to my head that will send me into tears or convince me the world is going to end. It's hair. It'll grow. Granted, a bad haircut grows only mildly slower than dying grass, but it'll grow. And if I'm going to stick with keeping it real, *whispers* this isn't the worst dye job I've ever had. Let me fill you in a bit...
1990: Henna. Yeah, bulk bin, mix-it-yourself, do-it-yourself Henna from the health food store. Did you know you *can* dye your hair calico? And your eyebrows, if you use the same mixture. And, did you know Henna doesn't come out without hardcore chemical warfare? It's true.
1993: my first experience with "cellophanes". In one fell swoop, my stylist chopped my then-golden (naturally golden, at that point) locks from waist length to a chin-length bob and turned what was left into something resembling an oil slick in a wet parking lot. It was a variegated eggplant, with hints of orange and purpley, and very, very shiny. It clashed horribly with my favorite fleece pullover (which had more red tones). I remember sitting at supper one evening with a gentleman friend who couldn't help but comment on the freaky irridescent halo cast by the romantic lights bouncing off the refractory of my head. He also bought me a different jacket to wear until the stuff wore off. Which, it never did. I looked like this for nearly a year. Evidently, my hair is terribly porous.
1996: I had red hair. Beautiful, Maureen O'Hara-style red hair. OH, how I loved it. Oh, how delightfully Irish and whimsical I felt. I loved having red hair. Until I picked up a different brand for a touch up. (It was on sale, and it looked the same on the box.) Turns out, different brands do not always get along. I spent the end of '96 and the first four months of '97 with what we affectionately refer to as "Biker Bitch Burgundy" hair. Lovely. And, wouldn't ya know it, that's the color it was in the last photograph taken of Mom and her four children before my sister passed away. So, yeah, there are 10x13 photos of this particular look hanging on several walls across the country. Nice, huh?
Spread out here and there are the inevitably bad hair cuts. The blunt cut Sphinx head. The Amazing Water Buffalo. The "so, were you mad at me" cut. The list goes on.
But amidst all that, I've managed to hold down jobs, pay for food and beer, expand my education, maintain absolutely fantastic friends (who all have a superb grasp on the absurd), find a delightful man (during one of my more normal phases, anyway - I don't know that he'd have come back to ask me to dance during the Irridescent Eggplant phase), and have children who love me enough to be honest with me when I make bad decisions. (Come to think of it, I can't believe not one of them shouted, "Bad Idea Fairy" when I walked in the door. Huh. I'd have thought that would be the most appropriate response, to be honest.)
Don't let a bad design presentation get ya down. Ever. It's not worth it.
As of right now, however, I have an appointment with a lady in the salon (actually, a different salon, but the same company - every time I called the first salon, HairGuy answered, and I panicked. I know, I'm a wuss. I accept that about myself.) This lady is supposed to be excellent with "color correction" (which is, I take it, a specific field within the hair-realm). So I'll see if I can get John to take some before and after shots. You're a sick bunch, you know that? ;-)
I do think, though, that after this incident I'm just going to let the wrinkles and the naturally bad hair come and ensconce me and call it good. Perhaps I can learn how to pack mules and hire out as a camp guide. Or I could tend the saloon in a re-enactment camp. There's always a use for our natural talents, if we'll just look for one.
Zorak suggested I go ahead and show you now, with this photo. (It's okay, I laughed, too. Then I choked on my coffee. I would have said it's more like this. But then I'd be lying. It's worse.)
And for the record, I'm just having a little fun with it. Yes, even my previous post was written with a grin. There is nothing that can be done to my head that will send me into tears or convince me the world is going to end. It's hair. It'll grow. Granted, a bad haircut grows only mildly slower than dying grass, but it'll grow. And if I'm going to stick with keeping it real, *whispers* this isn't the worst dye job I've ever had. Let me fill you in a bit...
1990: Henna. Yeah, bulk bin, mix-it-yourself, do-it-yourself Henna from the health food store. Did you know you *can* dye your hair calico? And your eyebrows, if you use the same mixture. And, did you know Henna doesn't come out without hardcore chemical warfare? It's true.
1993: my first experience with "cellophanes". In one fell swoop, my stylist chopped my then-golden (naturally golden, at that point) locks from waist length to a chin-length bob and turned what was left into something resembling an oil slick in a wet parking lot. It was a variegated eggplant, with hints of orange and purpley, and very, very shiny. It clashed horribly with my favorite fleece pullover (which had more red tones). I remember sitting at supper one evening with a gentleman friend who couldn't help but comment on the freaky irridescent halo cast by the romantic lights bouncing off the refractory of my head. He also bought me a different jacket to wear until the stuff wore off. Which, it never did. I looked like this for nearly a year. Evidently, my hair is terribly porous.
1996: I had red hair. Beautiful, Maureen O'Hara-style red hair. OH, how I loved it. Oh, how delightfully Irish and whimsical I felt. I loved having red hair. Until I picked up a different brand for a touch up. (It was on sale, and it looked the same on the box.) Turns out, different brands do not always get along. I spent the end of '96 and the first four months of '97 with what we affectionately refer to as "Biker Bitch Burgundy" hair. Lovely. And, wouldn't ya know it, that's the color it was in the last photograph taken of Mom and her four children before my sister passed away. So, yeah, there are 10x13 photos of this particular look hanging on several walls across the country. Nice, huh?
Spread out here and there are the inevitably bad hair cuts. The blunt cut Sphinx head. The Amazing Water Buffalo. The "so, were you mad at me" cut. The list goes on.
But amidst all that, I've managed to hold down jobs, pay for food and beer, expand my education, maintain absolutely fantastic friends (who all have a superb grasp on the absurd), find a delightful man (during one of my more normal phases, anyway - I don't know that he'd have come back to ask me to dance during the Irridescent Eggplant phase), and have children who love me enough to be honest with me when I make bad decisions. (Come to think of it, I can't believe not one of them shouted, "Bad Idea Fairy" when I walked in the door. Huh. I'd have thought that would be the most appropriate response, to be honest.)
Don't let a bad design presentation get ya down. Ever. It's not worth it.
Monday, February 4
Hopefully EmBaby Will By My Ally...
I *love* living in a house filled to the bursting point with male creatures. Really, I do. It's lively and funny (sometimes a little *too* funny). It's always active, creative, adventurous. It's also... um, brutally honest.
I made it to my hair appointment yesterday. HairGuy did all the work. I sat in my little chair, visited a bit, and read my latest brain candy. I don't know how to do what he does, so I don't try to follow along. Really, if your HairGuy is going to do something *wrong*, by the time you realize it, it's too late to stop it. Plus, there's always that doubt that perhaps it looks just fine and what you need is three days to live with it and adjust to the new look. (Am I right? I'm right.)
A house full of guys does. not. get. this.
I walked in and scooped up Smidge, gave him a big hug and told him how much I missed him. He pushed back a bit, furrowed his brow, and said,
"What did you do's to you's hair?"
I dropped him on the couch and wandered into the kitchen.
...Where Zorak started eyeballing my hair. I don't mean he admired it, or just looked at it. He eyeballed it like he suspected it of outlaw activity in an old Western mining camp.
"Did you pick that tone, or did he?"
(He did. I just sat there.)
He kept staring while he worked. A few minutes later, he could no longer resist and started picking at the front of it. My personal space was being invaded, and my vulnerability levels were already riding high (because it really is Very Very Light - much lighter than my borderline headcovering-like tendencies would have preferred - but I thought we'd already established that I didn't pick the tone.)
"Huh," he snorted. "You have a huge chunk at the front that he didn't get."
(Perfect. I didn't notice that when I'd left. Yet, notice I had not asked what he thought. I wasn't ready for that yet. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'd have found the chunk, eventually, but right there in the kitchen, with Zorak rubbing teriyaki-covered fingers through my bangs was not the most comfortable way of having my hair critiqued.)
I wandered away to the school room to hide for a bit. James entered. He stopped dead in his tracks and did this wide-eyed, slapstick comedy, full halt that can only mean something painfully blunt is coming from a 9yo boy.
"What? Is? That? Are you going grey, or did you do this on purpose, Mom? You don't even look like the same Mom!"
(Yeah. Like you have any hope of ever dating with this approach, kiddo.)
"You know, how about next time, you just don't do that, okay? It doesn't look natural."
(It's highlights. It's highlights they had to blend into year-old highlights from another salon. I know it's not "natural". Nobody thinks this is my natural color.)
"Well, if you're going to do this..." (He starts messing with the hair on the sides.) "Why don't you try purple next time?" (There is something very wrong with the fact that I know he's trying to be helpful. I do get that.)
(I love you. And I'm going to go rearrange the food shelf in the basement, now. I'll be back when all of you are asleep.)
John? John may just have the mojo it takes to live with women. He never said a word. He smiled and acted like absolutely nothing was wrong. All. Evening. Good boy.
My hope lies with EmBaby, now. Will it come naturally, or is there some kind of indoctrination process I'll need to begin? And when should I start it?
I'll call the HairGuy today. He can fix the missing chunk, I'm sure, but the guys are simply going to have to adjust to the "tone" of my new hair for a while. (Which makes me laugh, because then I picture someone yelling at my hair, "You watch your tone, missy!" For the record, they don't get that, either. *snort*)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I made it to my hair appointment yesterday. HairGuy did all the work. I sat in my little chair, visited a bit, and read my latest brain candy. I don't know how to do what he does, so I don't try to follow along. Really, if your HairGuy is going to do something *wrong*, by the time you realize it, it's too late to stop it. Plus, there's always that doubt that perhaps it looks just fine and what you need is three days to live with it and adjust to the new look. (Am I right? I'm right.)
A house full of guys does. not. get. this.
I walked in and scooped up Smidge, gave him a big hug and told him how much I missed him. He pushed back a bit, furrowed his brow, and said,
"What did you do's to you's hair?"
I dropped him on the couch and wandered into the kitchen.
...Where Zorak started eyeballing my hair. I don't mean he admired it, or just looked at it. He eyeballed it like he suspected it of outlaw activity in an old Western mining camp.
"Did you pick that tone, or did he?"
(He did. I just sat there.)
He kept staring while he worked. A few minutes later, he could no longer resist and started picking at the front of it. My personal space was being invaded, and my vulnerability levels were already riding high (because it really is Very Very Light - much lighter than my borderline headcovering-like tendencies would have preferred - but I thought we'd already established that I didn't pick the tone.)
"Huh," he snorted. "You have a huge chunk at the front that he didn't get."
(Perfect. I didn't notice that when I'd left. Yet, notice I had not asked what he thought. I wasn't ready for that yet. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'd have found the chunk, eventually, but right there in the kitchen, with Zorak rubbing teriyaki-covered fingers through my bangs was not the most comfortable way of having my hair critiqued.)
I wandered away to the school room to hide for a bit. James entered. He stopped dead in his tracks and did this wide-eyed, slapstick comedy, full halt that can only mean something painfully blunt is coming from a 9yo boy.
"What? Is? That? Are you going grey, or did you do this on purpose, Mom? You don't even look like the same Mom!"
(Yeah. Like you have any hope of ever dating with this approach, kiddo.)
"You know, how about next time, you just don't do that, okay? It doesn't look natural."
(It's highlights. It's highlights they had to blend into year-old highlights from another salon. I know it's not "natural". Nobody thinks this is my natural color.)
"Well, if you're going to do this..." (He starts messing with the hair on the sides.) "Why don't you try purple next time?" (There is something very wrong with the fact that I know he's trying to be helpful. I do get that.)
(I love you. And I'm going to go rearrange the food shelf in the basement, now. I'll be back when all of you are asleep.)
John? John may just have the mojo it takes to live with women. He never said a word. He smiled and acted like absolutely nothing was wrong. All. Evening. Good boy.
My hope lies with EmBaby, now. Will it come naturally, or is there some kind of indoctrination process I'll need to begin? And when should I start it?
I'll call the HairGuy today. He can fix the missing chunk, I'm sure, but the guys are simply going to have to adjust to the "tone" of my new hair for a while. (Which makes me laugh, because then I picture someone yelling at my hair, "You watch your tone, missy!" For the record, they don't get that, either. *snort*)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, February 3
Sausage and Highlights and Denim
Today was sausage day. The guys made sausage. Oodles of sausage. Pizza sausage. Breakfast sausage. Cajuny sausage. There is a vice stuck to the dining table, and scads of little white sausage chubs in the freezer. I'm not sure what's left to do, but I do believe that by the end of the day tomorrow, I may have both the kitchen *and* the fridge back. (woo!)
I tried to get a cut and color in town today, but by the time I hauled my big ol' self into town, there wasn't enough time for the color to set before they rolled up the sidewalks. So, eh, I have to go in tomorrow. (Which, in itself, is a shocker - I'm surprised they're allowed to color on Sundays. However, I'm not going to complain, because I really, really need some hair-help, and Zorak really, really doesn't want to do it himself.)
James went to town with me, andI dragged him into, um, we stopped at Hancock Fabrics. I've signed up for their flier a handful of times, but their system refuses to add us. So I had no idea they were having a sale today. I was just desperate for *some* kind of fabric to cover the Cheech & Chong couch we're limping along. I lobbied hard for vinyl, but James wasn't going for it. After my third attempt, he led me back to the "normal fabrics". (P'shaw - what mother hasn't contemplated vinyl upholstery, at least once? Well, outside of summertime, anyway.) He also vetoed regular blue denim, which was my next choice. Finally, I turned the process over to him with the one requirement that it be either waterproof *or* machine washable. (Do I know how to pick my battles, or what?)
Turns out the kid has an eye for decorating fabric and he found one he loved - a great, heavy weight, 100% cotton, MACHINE WASHABLE, denim in a creamy tan color (did I mention that it's machine washable?), with small flecks of blue and dark brown, which, he pointed out, could easily be used for accent colors at any point. (Evidently, all those episodes of The Christopher Lowell show I watched while he was in utero have paid off.) And the best part, well, after the fact that it's MACHINE WASHABLE, is that had been marked down, marked down again, and was on sale for 50% off. YEEHAW! $15/yd. fabric for $4/yd. Life. is. good.
The kids got to run around outside today, which they needed. Then they didn't get to bed until very late, which I didn't need. (And I'll admit it, I went just a little teeny-tiny bit nutso around 10:30, when they were still up, making noise and moving about in the air that I needed desperately to be still and quiet at that time of night). BUT, no blood, no foul, everybody still knows they're loved. And, I suspect, that Mommy really might want to consider upping her B-complex dosages. However, they are all bright enough not to have mentioned that while I was kissing everyone goodnight and making them swear not to leave their room before the sun comes up tomorrow. It's all good. Every day can't be a stellar day, but if you can keep the perspective that even the things that *feel* big... aren't really that big (and we're learning that), and the things that may slip our minds... really shouldn't be allowed out of sight... well, that goes quite a long way toward restoring harmony and warm fuzzies all the way around.
Warm fuzzies for everyone!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I tried to get a cut and color in town today, but by the time I hauled my big ol' self into town, there wasn't enough time for the color to set before they rolled up the sidewalks. So, eh, I have to go in tomorrow. (Which, in itself, is a shocker - I'm surprised they're allowed to color on Sundays. However, I'm not going to complain, because I really, really need some hair-help, and Zorak really, really doesn't want to do it himself.)
James went to town with me, and
Turns out the kid has an eye for decorating fabric and he found one he loved - a great, heavy weight, 100% cotton, MACHINE WASHABLE, denim in a creamy tan color (did I mention that it's machine washable?), with small flecks of blue and dark brown, which, he pointed out, could easily be used for accent colors at any point. (Evidently, all those episodes of The Christopher Lowell show I watched while he was in utero have paid off.) And the best part, well, after the fact that it's MACHINE WASHABLE, is that had been marked down, marked down again, and was on sale for 50% off. YEEHAW! $15/yd. fabric for $4/yd. Life. is. good.
The kids got to run around outside today, which they needed. Then they didn't get to bed until very late, which I didn't need. (And I'll admit it, I went just a little teeny-tiny bit nutso around 10:30, when they were still up, making noise and moving about in the air that I needed desperately to be still and quiet at that time of night). BUT, no blood, no foul, everybody still knows they're loved. And, I suspect, that Mommy really might want to consider upping her B-complex dosages. However, they are all bright enough not to have mentioned that while I was kissing everyone goodnight and making them swear not to leave their room before the sun comes up tomorrow. It's all good. Every day can't be a stellar day, but if you can keep the perspective that even the things that *feel* big... aren't really that big (and we're learning that), and the things that may slip our minds... really shouldn't be allowed out of sight... well, that goes quite a long way toward restoring harmony and warm fuzzies all the way around.
Warm fuzzies for everyone!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, February 1
A happy change of plans.
(Hunting story ahead. If hunting or photos of game bother you, you may not care to read this post.)
I borrowed an episode of Little House on the Prairie from the library Wednesday, and planned a cozy evening introducing the boys to the Ingalls family Zorak and I grew up with. Popcorn, hot chocolate, hanging out as a family. Sounds idyllic, doesn't it? We did spend the evening hanging out as a family, but it was outside, up to our knees in a gut pile. I decided to skip the popcorn for this one.
Zorak's routine this season has been to give me a call when he hits the bridge on his way home, at which time I alert the Boy On Call that it's time to find his coat and pop on his shoes. When Dad gets home, they head into the woods to hunt for a bit before supper. So far, they hadn't brought anything home, but the time together has been fantastic for everyone. The children get one-on-one time with Dad. Dad gets some time to talk with each of his children. I get to stay inside, where it's warm. Total win-win.
Wednesday was James' turn. They weren't gone more than 30 minutes when we heard a shot. I didn't think anything of it, as we live in the country and there are shots fired all the time, from all directions. However, soon here came James, who'd run the entire way, to ask me to get everyone bundled up and bring the camera, and Dad's knife. I was surprised that he'd want us all to go down there (in the cold... and in, you know, the cold), but we rounded everyone up and headed down.
It was getting dark by the time I got down there (takes a while to get us up and out, ya know), but there in the meadow was a beautiful buck and One Happy Daddy. The first deer he's hunted on our own property. A full freezer. A chance to tan some leather and teach the boys new things. Then I understood why he wanted us there. That was a really great moment for him, and he wanted to share it with the people he loves the most. I'm glad we went.
We took the deer back to the house, where the boys helped him field dress it. I have only the photo of them all after they got it in the pickup, because once we started work, I realized pregnant olfactory issues aren't a big help in field dressing game. So, I stood as close to upwind as possible, and held the flashlight with one hand, my nose with the other.
They got it hung and then we came in to resume our planned family evening.
Yesterday, I took Em to Sam's for groceries while Zorak and the boys came home to skin and butcher the deer. When Em and I got home, Ben and his boys were here. It was total happy chaos. Kids everywhere, the guys happily packaging meat. The boys helped skin and prepare the deer, which they've happily recounted several times. Good stuff when you're a young man. I'm so glad Zorak is so willing to take things slowly and teach the boys as we go.
My kitchen was horriffic. The two covered porches looked like the staging area for Tremors5. We were able to send Ben home with a roast and some steaks, and then we enjoyed a delicious meal of backstrap steaks, green beans and fried potatoes last night. I was exhausted, but in a good way. It's been a very happy, well-fed two days here at the Forever Home.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, January 30
Belated Bobcat Shots
I finally had a chance to upload and edit. (Or, if I must be completely upfront, I finally found the camera.) These were taken at the boys' pack meeting last week, when they both received their Bobcat Badges. (Which are still dangling precariously upside down, awaiting that Good Turn so they can be flipped and "official". I am so loathe to give up that leverage. Truly, I am.)
However, here they are, trying not to erupt in a fit of excitement and whooping, while they go through the ceremony.
But when it came time to do Dad, they were all business. (Actually, I got a stripe, too. The Scoutmaster was going to do two stripes on Zorak, but James asked if they could do one on him and one on me. I was holding the camera, so there is no photo of James doing my stripe. But I still smile a big, goofy smile when I think of it. They're such thoughtful boys.)
And then, they beamed...
Well, John beamed. James... James is just feelin' pretty cool, right about there. It's funny how they processed their new status differently. (Not that the difference stopped them from springing to the Suburban like leopards on crack when we left, but they do look so different, here.)
It was a good evening. A good experience. A rite of passage for them, but as Zorak said, also a big step for parents to see their children out there, doing things, achieving things on their own... suddenly seeming so capable and so... BIG. It's good, isn't it? Yep. Sure is.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
What is THIS???
James this morning has mentioned that he's excessively tired. He doesn't have a fever, and he isn't coughing. Throat isn't sore, no swelling, and his eyes dilate just fine. But he's *incredibly* tired. Honestly, I figured he'd been up too late last night reading and was suffering the consequences of his choices, and so, being the alma mater I am *snort*, I figured I'd proceed with business as usual and let him hang tough today (and hopefully, get some rest tonight, right? Um, yeah, right. Something like that.)
Anyhow, we sat down to breakfast, and I looked up and... YIKES! What HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?!?!?
You can see it across his nose, cheeks, and chin, here.
The left side is worse than the right.
He's never ruddy. I mean, he's pale, but he's not normally splotchy. Or red. He's not cold. He doesn't have this anywhere else on his body. He says it doesn't itch, it just feels "radiant, like when you get sunburned".
We've changed nothing recently - detergent, foods, vitamins. I wouldn't be concerned about this if he wasn't so doggedly exhausted this morning, as well. Any ideas?
Thanks, Dy
Tuesday, January 29
...And the wind howled...
We've read so many books with excellent descriptions of severe wind and storms. For the boys, however, it's usually just words when it comes to weather. They've always lived in moderately mild weather. They've never heard the wind howl, or scream, or whistle. I'm pretty sure they thought it was just rampant anthropomorphism.
Tonight, however, they've heard it whistle, and they've heard it howl. They've heard it beat against the windows, and they've heard the trees groan under the strain. The looks on the boys' faces, alone, as they realized what they were hearing, was worth every minute I've ever spent trying to explain it to them. Sometimes you've just got to experience something to make it real. The truly exciting thing, though, is that every story, every incident, came rushing back to them: Al and Harry and Shanks in the cave in the Arctic; Ma and the girls on the banks of Plum Creek; young Harvey on the Outer Banks, aboard the We're Here... all those pictures sprang to life tonight. Very cool, indeed.
******************
Oh, and now I'm laughing at myself! Smidge just came out to let me know he had really wanted to hear "one of the long chapters" (meaning, he'd sat in Em's room for story time with Dad tonight and missed story time with Mom in the process, and what's-up-with-that-anyway-mom!) I let him know we'd just read a short chapter tonight and would read more in the morning. Then, just as I reached to put my hand on his back to guide him back to bed, a gust of wind kicked up and actually moved the window frame that's right behind me!
I didn't jump, exactly, but I know I twitched a bit, and that motion sank in with him just as the sound of the wood creaking also reached him. He came straight up into the air, spun around and came back down in a spectacular fight-or-flight crouch. I didn't know those brown eyes could open so wide!
It was all I could do not to laugh, because it was funny. But still, that had to have been unnerving for the little guy. So I didn't laugh on the outside, and he's now tucked safely back in bed, reassured and snuggled. And now, I get to laugh, right?
Come to think of it, I think I'll go crawl under the covers, myself, and enjoy the sound of the storm from the comfort of thick, fluffy blankets!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tonight, however, they've heard it whistle, and they've heard it howl. They've heard it beat against the windows, and they've heard the trees groan under the strain. The looks on the boys' faces, alone, as they realized what they were hearing, was worth every minute I've ever spent trying to explain it to them. Sometimes you've just got to experience something to make it real. The truly exciting thing, though, is that every story, every incident, came rushing back to them: Al and Harry and Shanks in the cave in the Arctic; Ma and the girls on the banks of Plum Creek; young Harvey on the Outer Banks, aboard the We're Here... all those pictures sprang to life tonight. Very cool, indeed.
******************
Oh, and now I'm laughing at myself! Smidge just came out to let me know he had really wanted to hear "one of the long chapters" (meaning, he'd sat in Em's room for story time with Dad tonight and missed story time with Mom in the process, and what's-up-with-that-anyway-mom!) I let him know we'd just read a short chapter tonight and would read more in the morning. Then, just as I reached to put my hand on his back to guide him back to bed, a gust of wind kicked up and actually moved the window frame that's right behind me!
I didn't jump, exactly, but I know I twitched a bit, and that motion sank in with him just as the sound of the wood creaking also reached him. He came straight up into the air, spun around and came back down in a spectacular fight-or-flight crouch. I didn't know those brown eyes could open so wide!
It was all I could do not to laugh, because it was funny. But still, that had to have been unnerving for the little guy. So I didn't laugh on the outside, and he's now tucked safely back in bed, reassured and snuggled. And now, I get to laugh, right?
Come to think of it, I think I'll go crawl under the covers, myself, and enjoy the sound of the storm from the comfort of thick, fluffy blankets!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I blew it.
Yesterday, we decided to hit the library before lunch. We did so well! Until we pulled up to the library and realized (again) that it's closed on Mondays. *sigh* Ok, so off to Foodland for some, well, food. *snort* We're so original. And then to the feed store (we have a ROCKING feed store in town!) for more bird seed, a chicken book (let's call this, "Facing Your Fears Through Immersion", shall we?), and to look at seeds for planting some early crops - namely, the salad garden in the windmill box.
We ended up buying a candy bar in lieu of seeds, since the guy at the feed store said we're still likely to have some nasty freezes between now and Spring and recommended waiting until late Feb. to put in the cool weather crops. (He couldn't bring himself to use my cute little term, "Salad Garden", though. No, he's a man's man and he plants "Crops", not "leafy things", not "stuff in the windmill box", and most certainly not "salad gardens".) That's cool. Someday I won't have to ask whether they have "chicken stuff", either. I'll know what I'm looking for. Plus, he carried the bag of bird seed to the car for me. *swoon* I end up hauling the 50# bag of dog food myself at the grocery story, but at the feed store, the nice man will carry the wee 25# bag for the pregnant lady with the small children. He also made a point of telling the kids that they were very well behaved and welcome in his store anytime, and then he thanked me for that! Ha! Wow, if they carried groceries or bras, I'd do ALL my shopping there!
We got home and dove back into the books we were going to have to renew, anyway. Spent the afternoon reading and playing. I was just thinking I'd snuggle in for a nice nap when the phone rang. It was Zorak calling on his way home. from. work. ACK! Where did the day GO?!?! We did nothing - no Latin, no Math, no Science. We did History at breakfast, but that was it. Perhaps we'll call it a Literature Appreciation Day?
James made a loaf of the Soda-Bread-in-an-hour recipe we got from the homies. I threw together some turkey vegetable barley soup and it was just about done when Zorak got in. (And to think I'd cursed the store for carrying only quick-cooking barley! I really should apologize, even if it was only a good internal cursing. Like I'll ever have it together enough to cook regular barley? No. No, I won't. But thanks to quick-cooking barley, we had a delicious, non-crunchy soup.) We ate before midnight, and had time to play a few rounds of Boggle before bed. Yeah, I may not have it together for the marathon bits, but boy, can I sprint!
So today, in spite of the fact that it's nine and we're all just now getting warmed up and mobile, we'll need to double-tap a few subjects and get some work done. But that's okay. We have leftovers for lunch, and I think the library is open this afternoon! WOOHOO! OK, ok, I'm off to feed the masses. Kiss those babies, and have a lovely day, even if it doesn't go as planned.
~Dy
We ended up buying a candy bar in lieu of seeds, since the guy at the feed store said we're still likely to have some nasty freezes between now and Spring and recommended waiting until late Feb. to put in the cool weather crops. (He couldn't bring himself to use my cute little term, "Salad Garden", though. No, he's a man's man and he plants "Crops", not "leafy things", not "stuff in the windmill box", and most certainly not "salad gardens".) That's cool. Someday I won't have to ask whether they have "chicken stuff", either. I'll know what I'm looking for. Plus, he carried the bag of bird seed to the car for me. *swoon* I end up hauling the 50# bag of dog food myself at the grocery story, but at the feed store, the nice man will carry the wee 25# bag for the pregnant lady with the small children. He also made a point of telling the kids that they were very well behaved and welcome in his store anytime, and then he thanked me for that! Ha! Wow, if they carried groceries or bras, I'd do ALL my shopping there!
We got home and dove back into the books we were going to have to renew, anyway. Spent the afternoon reading and playing. I was just thinking I'd snuggle in for a nice nap when the phone rang. It was Zorak calling on his way home. from. work. ACK! Where did the day GO?!?! We did nothing - no Latin, no Math, no Science. We did History at breakfast, but that was it. Perhaps we'll call it a Literature Appreciation Day?
James made a loaf of the Soda-Bread-in-an-hour recipe we got from the homies. I threw together some turkey vegetable barley soup and it was just about done when Zorak got in. (And to think I'd cursed the store for carrying only quick-cooking barley! I really should apologize, even if it was only a good internal cursing. Like I'll ever have it together enough to cook regular barley? No. No, I won't. But thanks to quick-cooking barley, we had a delicious, non-crunchy soup.) We ate before midnight, and had time to play a few rounds of Boggle before bed. Yeah, I may not have it together for the marathon bits, but boy, can I sprint!
So today, in spite of the fact that it's nine and we're all just now getting warmed up and mobile, we'll need to double-tap a few subjects and get some work done. But that's okay. We have leftovers for lunch, and I think the library is open this afternoon! WOOHOO! OK, ok, I'm off to feed the masses. Kiss those babies, and have a lovely day, even if it doesn't go as planned.
~Dy
Monday, January 28
Has it been that long?
Four days?!? Whoops.
It's the new format on the WTM forums. It's killing me. The time I spend online is short enough as it is, but I've got to remember to change my order of operations now: email, blog, then boards. Otherwise, I'll disappear into cyberspace and never be heard from again. I'll get the hang of it. Eventually.
Anyway, this was a great weekend, in general. On Thursday night, the boys earned their first Cub Scout badges. The ceremony for that is very sweet, and the boys didn't wash their faces for two days afterword. (The ceremony involves face paint. I can't find the camera, or I'd post pictures.)
Their first cars (practice blocks from scraps here at the house) are done now, and they're ready to make their official cars for the Derby. Melissa's right, that is some Pretty Serious Stuff. Heh. Zorak's been fantastic about letting it be all about the boys. From design to construction to the little details like determining where to place weight and how it ought to be finished, he's let them lead the way and do it all. It shows in their cars. James' has a distinctive Batmobile/Jetsons look to it, and John's is reminiscent of the early-20th Century open road racers. They've had an absolute blast doing all the work, learning more about woodworking and physics, and spending time with Dad. They made the practice cars so they'll have something to play with and won't be tempted to take their derby cars outside for a demolition course before the race.
Because it's just Very Hard To Be Too Little sometimes, and not be in on the projects, (and also, I suspect, because it's fun to make stuff) Zorak made a Camaro for Smidge (who opted for the metallic gold paint - he has no idea how appropriate that is) and a '71 Chevy shortbed pickup for Em (a miniature of my first car, which we hope to haul out here from NM sometime soon!) The boys thought it should be pink, but we're going with the original blue and white. I may keep it for myself. It's really cute. Smidge has already "lowered" his car significantly with all the playtime it's received. And he decorated the hood with the requisite "hot chick and pit bull" paint job. (Actually, I think it's a googly-eyed boy and an army tank, but it's hard to tell. Could be anything, really. He's four, ya know. *grin*)
Zorak and I stayed up for a little date night Thursday. We just talked, hung out, ate a little late-night snack and watched a movie. Man, it's nice to have the coffee table back in the living room! We watched Mr. Woodcock. It's crude, so if you don't enjoy that kind of humor, skip it. But we laughed ourselves silly. It was much better than we'd anticipated. BillyBob Thornton has got astounding comedic timing and great delivery.
Saturday and Sunday were cold. That's about all I remember from those two days. I tried to get some sewing done, but that didn't pan out well. How do you sew with small children and no cupboard to lock yourself in while you work? (Ha - you thought I was going to say "lock them in", didn't you? No. There are four of them and only one of me. It'd be easier to fit just me in there. They're mostly free-range children, anyway.)
And now, it's Monday. January's nearly over. The high today should be just above 60, and soon it'll be Spring. I'm still grappling with how that all comes so quickly. (But I did find my calendar pen, so I think it'll be okay.) On that note, however, I'd best go update everything and get ready to feed the kids.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
It's the new format on the WTM forums. It's killing me. The time I spend online is short enough as it is, but I've got to remember to change my order of operations now: email, blog, then boards. Otherwise, I'll disappear into cyberspace and never be heard from again. I'll get the hang of it. Eventually.
Anyway, this was a great weekend, in general. On Thursday night, the boys earned their first Cub Scout badges. The ceremony for that is very sweet, and the boys didn't wash their faces for two days afterword. (The ceremony involves face paint. I can't find the camera, or I'd post pictures.)
Their first cars (practice blocks from scraps here at the house) are done now, and they're ready to make their official cars for the Derby. Melissa's right, that is some Pretty Serious Stuff. Heh. Zorak's been fantastic about letting it be all about the boys. From design to construction to the little details like determining where to place weight and how it ought to be finished, he's let them lead the way and do it all. It shows in their cars. James' has a distinctive Batmobile/Jetsons look to it, and John's is reminiscent of the early-20th Century open road racers. They've had an absolute blast doing all the work, learning more about woodworking and physics, and spending time with Dad. They made the practice cars so they'll have something to play with and won't be tempted to take their derby cars outside for a demolition course before the race.
Because it's just Very Hard To Be Too Little sometimes, and not be in on the projects, (and also, I suspect, because it's fun to make stuff) Zorak made a Camaro for Smidge (who opted for the metallic gold paint - he has no idea how appropriate that is) and a '71 Chevy shortbed pickup for Em (a miniature of my first car, which we hope to haul out here from NM sometime soon!) The boys thought it should be pink, but we're going with the original blue and white. I may keep it for myself. It's really cute. Smidge has already "lowered" his car significantly with all the playtime it's received. And he decorated the hood with the requisite "hot chick and pit bull" paint job. (Actually, I think it's a googly-eyed boy and an army tank, but it's hard to tell. Could be anything, really. He's four, ya know. *grin*)
Zorak and I stayed up for a little date night Thursday. We just talked, hung out, ate a little late-night snack and watched a movie. Man, it's nice to have the coffee table back in the living room! We watched Mr. Woodcock. It's crude, so if you don't enjoy that kind of humor, skip it. But we laughed ourselves silly. It was much better than we'd anticipated. BillyBob Thornton has got astounding comedic timing and great delivery.
Saturday and Sunday were cold. That's about all I remember from those two days. I tried to get some sewing done, but that didn't pan out well. How do you sew with small children and no cupboard to lock yourself in while you work? (Ha - you thought I was going to say "lock them in", didn't you? No. There are four of them and only one of me. It'd be easier to fit just me in there. They're mostly free-range children, anyway.)
And now, it's Monday. January's nearly over. The high today should be just above 60, and soon it'll be Spring. I'm still grappling with how that all comes so quickly. (But I did find my calendar pen, so I think it'll be okay.) On that note, however, I'd best go update everything and get ready to feed the kids.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Thursday, January 24
"33', feels like 25'," & School Math Challenges
And no, that's not just me being peevish, folks. That's what the weather channel actually says! Wowsa! The kids are outside doing a nature scavenger hunt. I've got water boiling for hot chocolate (THANK YOU, AUNT B - the box arrived yesterday afternoon!!), and the oven is heating up for chocolate chip cookies. I think we need a little refresher before we head to the library. (It helps if your hands aren't frozen stiff when you're trying to pick up your books.)
The new math routine is working really well with the whole Major Tom thing James has been experiencing. After breakfast, he drills just one or two review facts at the Math-U-See site. When he gets one under 40 seconds, he moves on to the next. If he doesn't get under 40 seconds, that's okay, too. He just starts with that one the next day. No more than five minutes per day. Short. And. Simple. Some are so simple, he flies through them. Some take a little warming up, but that's the point. This is our warm up exercise.
Then, he moves on to another lesson - usually reading or Latin - something to take his mind off the math. (I know it seems counter-intuitive to get warmed up and then move on to something else, but I'll get to that in a minute.) When he's done with that, we take two problems (only two - we're going with the *one arrow*, Zen-type approach to this - focus, make it count, make it work) of the sort that keep tripping him up. In his case, it's multiple digit multiplication, but this might work with any sticking point. We work them together on the white board. Actually, he works them. I stand there and try to spot errors in his vulnerable spots (for him, it's the housekeeping). Two problems. Quick and simple.
He then moves on to whichever lesson is next (Reading or Latin - whichever he didn't do before), and winds up before lunch with the day's actual math lesson. It's like a whole new brain! Well, not really. That last portion still takes an inordinately long amount of time. But (a) it's long division, which takes a while, anyway, and (b) he's still nine and still easily distractable. But, I'm okay with this, as he has no problem with division. That comes flowing from his mind as easily as questions I can't answer, and funny jokes.
The trouble comes from a combination of housekeeping and distractability. Plus, once he's gotten bogged down, he panics and just. can't. think. The whole system shuts down at that point. That's why I split the math lesson into three distinct segments, separated by Something Completely Different. He gets a taste of success, then moves on while he's feeling capable. He comes to the next segment still feeling pretty good, and ready to take on the next thing. He doesn't get overwhelmed. He doesn't have to sit and wait and stare at something that's troubling him while I have to stop and work with another child (as he sits there, staring at it, the tension builds, the panic rises, and by the time I come back, he's in full-on shut-down mode). As he internalizes the ability to take each step as it comes, he'll be able to wait without hovering over an Insurmountable Problem. For now, though, the first step isn't internalized, so this works quite well.
I'm so thankful we can individualize the approaches we take to tackle the hurdles. This one-two-punch of short-short lessons and an eagle eye on housekeeping seems to be workin' the magic. Our school days are a little longer this way, but they don't feel nearly as long - for him, or for me. That's worth it. There is nothing better I could be doing with my time than helping him learn how to learn!
What helps you help your little ones over the hurdles?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The new math routine is working really well with the whole Major Tom thing James has been experiencing. After breakfast, he drills just one or two review facts at the Math-U-See site. When he gets one under 40 seconds, he moves on to the next. If he doesn't get under 40 seconds, that's okay, too. He just starts with that one the next day. No more than five minutes per day. Short. And. Simple. Some are so simple, he flies through them. Some take a little warming up, but that's the point. This is our warm up exercise.
Then, he moves on to another lesson - usually reading or Latin - something to take his mind off the math. (I know it seems counter-intuitive to get warmed up and then move on to something else, but I'll get to that in a minute.) When he's done with that, we take two problems (only two - we're going with the *one arrow*, Zen-type approach to this - focus, make it count, make it work) of the sort that keep tripping him up. In his case, it's multiple digit multiplication, but this might work with any sticking point. We work them together on the white board. Actually, he works them. I stand there and try to spot errors in his vulnerable spots (for him, it's the housekeeping). Two problems. Quick and simple.
He then moves on to whichever lesson is next (Reading or Latin - whichever he didn't do before), and winds up before lunch with the day's actual math lesson. It's like a whole new brain! Well, not really. That last portion still takes an inordinately long amount of time. But (a) it's long division, which takes a while, anyway, and (b) he's still nine and still easily distractable. But, I'm okay with this, as he has no problem with division. That comes flowing from his mind as easily as questions I can't answer, and funny jokes.
The trouble comes from a combination of housekeeping and distractability. Plus, once he's gotten bogged down, he panics and just. can't. think. The whole system shuts down at that point. That's why I split the math lesson into three distinct segments, separated by Something Completely Different. He gets a taste of success, then moves on while he's feeling capable. He comes to the next segment still feeling pretty good, and ready to take on the next thing. He doesn't get overwhelmed. He doesn't have to sit and wait and stare at something that's troubling him while I have to stop and work with another child (as he sits there, staring at it, the tension builds, the panic rises, and by the time I come back, he's in full-on shut-down mode). As he internalizes the ability to take each step as it comes, he'll be able to wait without hovering over an Insurmountable Problem. For now, though, the first step isn't internalized, so this works quite well.
I'm so thankful we can individualize the approaches we take to tackle the hurdles. This one-two-punch of short-short lessons and an eagle eye on housekeeping seems to be workin' the magic. Our school days are a little longer this way, but they don't feel nearly as long - for him, or for me. That's worth it. There is nothing better I could be doing with my time than helping him learn how to learn!
What helps you help your little ones over the hurdles?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, January 23
Pardon the glazed expression...
I'm digging out from beneath the stacks of Vicks-imbued Puffs tissues. That's some stout aromatherapy, there, folks! Sam's had them mixed in with their regular Puff's Plus, and I didn't realize it until we were loading things onto the conveyor at checkout. (If you haven't ever shopped in a warehouse with four children, it may not seem obvious that that's not the time to say, "Oh! I grabbed the wrong thing! I'll just go switch this out!" No, that's the time to say, "Uh... yeah, I, uh, thought we'd give that a try. Just stick it on the conveyor and let's go. *smile*" We do end up with some odd purchases, but I'm also not yet criminally insane, and that is a definite win-win, in my book.)
Zorak has been unconscious for the most part since Monday evening. He woke up and ate last night, then collapsed again. I don't know what he had, but if I get a choice, I'll take what the kids have, thanks. Eesh. He's tough! He is also feeling much better, now, and even braved into the Outside World today to do work and such. Good man, that Zorak.
I feel like 2008 is careening out of control right now. Not in a bad way, really. Just in a I-can't-quite-keep-up way. It's a wild kind of excitement, but... where'd January go? And where'd my matching ink pen for my planner go? The Christmas cards, I can find (they're still on the breakfast bar). But then, that's probably not a good sign, either, is it? When I start feeling a little panicky, I get to step back and think of Zorak, this March - two boys in a very active Cub Scout pack, three boys in some form of ball-playing activity (in three different leagues and schedules, no less), and a convalescing wife with the newborn and toddler at home. And I realize... I get to be the one at home! I am sympathetic to his pending plight. Really, I am. But that doesn't quell the little chirp of relief that escapes my lips every time I think about it. For now, we've got it easy. And quiet. And if I can just find that pen, I'll be all set.
And if we make it to the library tomorrow, that will be THREE - count 'em, 1, 2, 3 - trips without late fees! How cool is that? Very cool, indeed.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Zorak has been unconscious for the most part since Monday evening. He woke up and ate last night, then collapsed again. I don't know what he had, but if I get a choice, I'll take what the kids have, thanks. Eesh. He's tough! He is also feeling much better, now, and even braved into the Outside World today to do work and such. Good man, that Zorak.
I feel like 2008 is careening out of control right now. Not in a bad way, really. Just in a I-can't-quite-keep-up way. It's a wild kind of excitement, but... where'd January go? And where'd my matching ink pen for my planner go? The Christmas cards, I can find (they're still on the breakfast bar). But then, that's probably not a good sign, either, is it? When I start feeling a little panicky, I get to step back and think of Zorak, this March - two boys in a very active Cub Scout pack, three boys in some form of ball-playing activity (in three different leagues and schedules, no less), and a convalescing wife with the newborn and toddler at home. And I realize... I get to be the one at home! I am sympathetic to his pending plight. Really, I am. But that doesn't quell the little chirp of relief that escapes my lips every time I think about it. For now, we've got it easy. And quiet. And if I can just find that pen, I'll be all set.
And if we make it to the library tomorrow, that will be THREE - count 'em, 1, 2, 3 - trips without late fees! How cool is that? Very cool, indeed.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
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