Taking a break

I don't know if I accidentally packed my muse, or if she's run off and left me, but right now I'm running on empty: physically, emotionally, spiritually. Any attempt at serious blogging would erupt in a shameful display of adolescent angst (which leads me to guess the chemicals aren't currently combining quite at peak performance, either).

So, I apologize for the lack of documentation of the boys' doings. I know y'all out West check in to see what they're up to. They're fine. They're funny. They're growing and exploring and testing, and right on track for fine young men. Their lessons are going splendidly and I can't say enough good about the things they're doing. All is well there. And I still have no clue where the camera cord is, but I will go dump the card onto disk and upload new pictures soon.

Zorak and I are fine, and things are good. We're happy, and we giggle for no reason. Or rather, I should say, we giggle for the simple reason that it's been almost ten years of working together, learning to work together, and figuring out what to work on together. And here we are. And we giggle. We're still a little clueless, but that's ok. We're clueless together. Kinda fun.

However, it's time to cocoon and regroup with my inner introvert, who has been sadly neglected. It's time to explore more with the boys, an activity which has been pushed to the back burner for paperwork and bill transfers and other such mundane stuff. It's time to take several deep breaths and mellow out. I won't be blogging this weekend, as we'll be busy spinning a gigantic family-sized cocoon and stocking it with books and snacks for the metamorphosis. Cookies and milk blended with stories make for lovely wings, ya know.

Have a wonderful Memorial Day. Thank a vet, and enjoy your freedoms.

And kiss, snuggle, love on, and enjoy those babies!
~Dy

Lessons, New Friends, Kinda Quiet

Lessons today were pleasant. The boys are on a roll with their math and Latin. John is writing four spelling words a day now, reading them as he goes. He's so proud of his accomplishment, and he didn't forget nearly as much during the move as I thought he would. His fine motor skills are taking off, as well, and he writes most of his assignments independently. *sniff, sniff* He's growing up.

James is writing letters to friends and family for his daily writing work. They are such a neat way to peek into his mind and see what he deems important enough to share. He desperately needs an actual science outlet. Not so much kits, but books to read. I need to spend some time browsing the library shelves and let him pick the keepers.

The boys lobbied for me to let Smidge watch The BooBahs (or whatever they're called). That took some doing. I'm resistant to change. It still bothers me that the Smurfs aren't on anymore (well, other than in syndication on cable, I know). Barney and the Teletubbies worked their way into my heart, only grudgingly, and only for the smiles they brought my boys. (Smiles and laughter from the boys can convince me to do nearly anything. I'm a sucker for those things.) *sigh* But BooBahs? Not only do I not do change well, I don't do weird change well. But Smidge really enjoys it, and I do get to read aloud with the boys without being attacked by the Atomic Elbow of the Stunted Screaming Yeti. So, I suppose they will stay. Fortunately, they're on while we do lessons. :-)

Our church held its last Wednesday night supper and Bible study of the year. We made it, had a wonderful time, and are seriously bummed that they break over the summer. The boys had a blast. I mean an all-out, filled to the gills, fantastic time. The children from their Sunday School class came running and they were off. That was neat. Even Zorak didn't find it too painful. At one point, he nodded his head emphatically at something the pastor said. I looked at him and whispered, "Are you mocking him?" He said, "No. He's right on." Oh. *awkward pause* "I'm sorry I thought you were mocking him." He smiled, "No, it's ok. Normally I would have been." So it looks like we've found a church home! Yippee!

That's about it. Today was a series of phone calls and information gathering. I did get James in for allergy screening the same day as John (I thought we'd have to trade them, but we lucked out and got a spot later in the day!) I made zero progress on getting Smidge on the grid or figuring which health plan to pick (they're all equally useless for our needs), but I did make headway with tags and driver's licenses. In all, that's productive! Not thrilling, but productive. I'll take that.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Miscellany: stuff, wedding attire, stories

Hot dogs for supper, with the wf hot dog buns, which, incidentally, John refused to eat, because, "Mom! They taste like wheat buns!" That cracked us up. Evidently there is such a thing as being "too good" at something. Go Ener-G!

It has now been a full week since our old realtor was going to "get this straightened out", and also "track down a really great tip"... Uh-huh. And people wonder why I'm cynical? On the other hand, the couple that showed us the property where James' head exploded - they called the next morning to see if he was ok. Now that goes a long way! We're still not any closer to having any clue what's going to happen next, but that's ok. We've got our lifetime to get it straight, and in the meantime, well, this is life. We live it, even if it is among boxes and plans and changes and uncertainty. The important things are not uncertain, so it's all good.

We are (finally) getting ready to finish plans to travel out for Zorak's younger brother's wedding. (I would say "little brother", but he's 6'9"...) What in the world constitutes "semi-formal" attire for someone over (significantly over) 20? Can I get away with a nice broomstick skirt, blouse, vest and lace up ropers? Zorak is set: Wranglers, dress shirt, jacket and "the good boots". I, however, stood in the closet for all of ten seconds today before realizing I own three categories of clothing: "casual", "church", and the pre-child era "extremely formal". Yup, I'm stumped.

And did you know that Zorak descends from a noble and talented race of story-tellers? He does. It's amazing. At night, before I go in to read some canned material to the boys, he sits and tells them "Daddy Stories". These are stories from his childhood, and each night the boys howl with laughter, gasp with surprise, and squeal with delight. It's amazing. Sadly, I descend from a tribe of stuttering mimes and out-of-work gypsies. Seriously, my ancestors were thrown from the caravan because, other than a deep willingness to move a lot, they could not engage in money-making gypsy-like activity.

The boys ask for "Mommy Stories" now when I come in to read. I freeze. I don't have any cute stories from my childhood. I certainly don't have any that are appropriate for the under-drinking-age crowd. Heck, I'm still struggling with some of the stories myself and have not yet decided whether to repress them, let alone subject my children to them! But still, they ask. I tried to convince them that when I was a little girl, I bribed a guy named Paris to give me a golden apple... they didn't bite. So tonight I stumbled through a story. (Parents will do anything to please their children - I should have instead insisted that my mother's name was Rapunzel and offered to tell the story of how she met my father.) They listened politely, didn't interrupt, and were very careful not to make any noise while I spun my tale. I think John fell asleep. In other words, it didn't go well. But on the upside, I don't think they'll ask for anymore "Mommy Stories". They might even go ahead and pretend they believe me when I tell them all about how I helped Daddy find his way through the labyrinth... Ugh.

Ah, well, fortunately, they love me anyway!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Quiet Night, A Southern Lady, A New Life

We did no schooling today. Well, no, we did discuss black holes and James did math in his head while we ran errands. (I'm glad he can do it, but I wish he wouldn't ask me if he got the right answer. I have to write the numbers in the air with my finger and physically work it out - that gets hairy over, say 30 mph.) We did, however, have a great day getting ducks in rows and stuff in one sock, so to speak. (I can't remember the phrases my mother used to use for getting your things in order... she had some great phrases, though!) We dropped a wad on honey and John is in awe that James gets to suck down an entire Tablespoon at a time! I suppose when you're four and you have a retentive mother who will put jam on your toast with breakfast, but won't let you have a "jelly sandwich" for lunch, that's got to look pretty astounding.

James' eyes are back to normal size. They look pretty beat up, but they've been through a lot. Thank you for your prayers and well-wishes and information. It helps tremendously knowing y'all are out there. He's optimistic about beating this thing, and once he sets his mind to something, get on the boat or get out of the way! (We hope to keep this particular talent focused on positive things as the years progress...)

Renee, Hi! *waving* Thanks for the tip. We've been to the little place on Pratt. It's got an excellent bulk section, doesn't it? I love it. But we have to go to Food For Life, over in the Oakwood Center, for bread. Ener-G has the most "normal" wheat-free breads we've found, and the place on Pratt doesn't carry that brand. Today was a hard-core bonus day, too; they have wf hot dog buns and hamburger buns, wf donuts, and pizza crust (nobody west of Vermont carries Gillians Foods pizza crust, which ROCKS, so we tried a new brand). The folks there said it's "to die for". I'll report back on that later in the week. And I've gotta say, Santa himself couldn't have outdone me today when John saw those items in the basket.

We finally changed the oil in the Suburban, too. I know, not thrilling, but we were rapidly approaching the point of doing it ourselves. rather than having a public record of the actual mileage between changes. It's not like going to the shop that a friend from high school manages, where he just writes in "six months or nine thousand miles" on the sticky note that goes in the window... then rolls his eyes at me when I feign astonishment at such affrontery.

The afternoons have a very good feel to them, and we are so very thankful to be here. I think I've put my finger on why I feel so "at home" here, even though I haven't ever really lived in the South. My mother was a Southerner. She didn't have an accent, but she was, through and through, a Southern Lady. Living here now, I can really see the common threads...

Our dinner table always had room for one more. We always had enough food - it might not be fancy, but it was good and there was enough to share. If you came to the house more than once, you were no longer a guest; you were family. If you left hungry, it was your fault. There is no shame in being poor, only in acting like it. Dignity was huge and so was respect. Hard work meant a lot more than good intentions, but a kind word could also go a long way.

She was born in FL, then lived the majority of her childhood on a farm in TN. This all clicked with me the other day, as we drove past TN farms and I remembered going to Grandma's... suddenly my heart and head were flooded with great memories. And I realized why I feel so at home here - this is the kind of home my mother strove to create when I was a child. She would be tickled to know it worked. *happy grin* I wonder how she would feel about us living here now?

Well, the boys are down and I am going to curl up with my favorite mantis and enjoy the gorgeous evening outside!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Change in Plans

I truly believe that in order to be happy, you have to remain focused on the goals, on what's important and what really matters. You have to be flexible to meet those needs and be willing to change direction to keep the important things together. Today revealed a pretty interesting twist in the plot, and it looks like we will need to sit down and rethink our entire plan for the future.

The property we looked at today is beautiful. The view is breathtaking, and the house is actually the most beautiful thing we've seen in a long, long time. The boys loved the hilly yard, the play area, the swimming pool. John and Smidge played the entire time we were there.

James also ran about, climbing and playing and laughing... for about five minutes. Then his eyes began to water and he said he'd like to wait in the Suburban. I got him settled into the Suburban, gave him some Benadryl and a book, then went back to keep an eye on the other two boys. I checked on him a few minutes later and his eyes were doing that thing again. We knew he had developed allergies, but nothing this drastic has happened since the one incident in New Mexico nearly two years ago. The ER doctor at the time had called it "an incredibly violent reaction to something". Today made incident number two, only it was a bit more violent; this time it was both eyes. The whites of his eyes swelled up and had that translucent, gelatinous texture again. They both had swelled up over the cornea; the left eyeball had begun to overlap the lower lid, and his eyelids were so puffy they had no crease at all. He could still breathe, but said his throat itched down inside. I swooped him out of the Suburban and headed into the house to wash him off, yelling up the hill for Zorak, "His eye is doing that thing again. We need to leave immediately!" We're both very thankful today wasn't the first time it ever happened! We'd have thrown the Suburban in 4LO and hit the hospital trailing fences and cattle parts from cutting straight across fields.

Bless his heart, on the way into the house James said, "Mom, if we move here, I will feel like this all the time." I know, Baby. We won't move here. We aren't doing this to make anybody suffer, and we'll find the right place for all of us. He told the realtor, "This isn't what I normally look like. I generally look much better than this." *my heart broke*

That was at three. It's 9:14 now. His left eye is still mostly swollen shut, and he's been asleep since six. We gave him as much Benadryl as we could, checked with a pharmacist, and that's about all we can do.

Obviously, it doesn't seem this boy is cut out for the pastoral life in the country. I don't know what we need to do. Neither of us wants to make him live the rest of his days ingesting antihistamines just so he can go about his work. Like every parent, we want as few obstacles in our children's way as possible. But obstacles will come. Some minor, some enormous. Our job isn't to try to keep them all out of the way, but to teach the boys how to leap each hurdle; they need to be able to gauge the ones they see coming, and react quickly to the ones they don't see coming. Therein lies our only power, and we hope the boys will learn from this that life is good, no matter what direction you're heading, as long as you can keep in sight the things that are important. (Those things will change course with you, too, when you work together.)

I hate this. Zorak hates this. We hate seeing our baby - no matter how big he is now, he still seems so small when something like this happens - suffering and know we can't make it go away. We can't "fix it" - right now. He's so patient and has such fortitude about the whole endeavor.

Tomorrow I'll call Dr. Jarvis (the NMD here) and see if we can get in earlier than the appointments we have. We will also track down a local honey source and get him taking that, as well as increase our water intake. It's going to be OK - better than OK. I do have to say, though, that it's much easier to say that when my baby is tucked safely into our bed, sleeping peacefully (and breathing rhythmically!), and showing improvement. I worry about the boys' eyes so much, and this strikes at the heart of many of our fears. But it will be ok.

Anyhow, we're off to look at alternatives, ideas and options!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh, The Places You'll Go

This is probably not what Dr. Seuss meant, but we did have quite the galloping adventure today. The boys have become rather adept at house hunting. They seem to have developed an intuitive sense of what they can touch and what they cannot while we're viewing a property. They have (finally) figured out that whining in the car truly will not get us anywhere any faster (or in a better mood). They have even begun to remember details they liked or didn't like from different properties. By Jove, I think they've got it!

Today we drove many hundreds of miles (ok, almost 200, but that feels like "many"). We saw many towns with the small population marker (under 5,000 people) on the map - and a few that are nowhere to be found on the map. Thanks to my amazing navigational skills, we were afforded a view repeated views of the wildlife refuge... from a number of angles. It was beautiful. But the big excitement today is that we actually set foot on (and in) three different properties. It would have been four, but I could not understand what the listing agent was saying. He was very nice and very helpful, but I don't know how many curves in the road constitute "a few". Three counties later, we figured we'd passed it and moved on to the next property. It's ok, though, as we can always try again.

Tomorrow, after church, we venture to Tennessee to look at property there. Then Monday will bring us back to the realm of the flightless for another week of daily livin'. It's all good. I am also most likely going to start a separate blog for the homesteading posts. There are a few good reasons for this: it may be unsuitable to a homeschooling blog (pertinent parts can be shared here); as a journal for the boys, some of the tone may be inappropriate to a journal of their childhood, at least until they're older; I don't have categories and that's starting to bother me.

Wrote a letter to the editor of the Huntsville Times tonight and got that sent off. I don't know if it'll be published, but I can say it is phenomenally difficult to make any sort of a well-reasoned argument in 250 words or less, particularly when you must quote a rather wordy individual who has column inches to spare. (Incidentally, 250 words will get you through the first two paragraphs of this entry, and the first sentence following that.) But it had to be done. This week's plan is to write a letter to the City Council, as well. Whether we're on the same side of the board or not, I really love to know people get involved. Government of the people, by the people just won't work if the people won't work. Then it's no longer for the people, either - it's over the people, and that wasn't what the Founding Fathers had in mind. They wanted us to care. They wanted us to think. They wanted us to roll up our sleeves and be a living part of the process. Are you doing your part? (Not a lecture, just feeling particularly perky tonight - it's a good thing. Right up there with "Have you hugged your kids today?" and "Have you flirted with your husband lately?")

Oh, and an one other thing I wanted to say - I cannot recall hearing a single swear word in National Treasure. Wow. I need to go through it with subtitles on to be certain, but if there truly is not one single swear word, that deserves a letter of appreciation to the producers, I think. I love living in a free market, where we truly can decide what goods are of value. I just wish we took advantage of that more often. So, enough wishing, time to put my money where my mouth is, eh?

OK, I'm pretty baked and it's way past even my bedtime, so I am heading to bed. Sunday School comes awfully early in the morning, although thankfully they do have coffee. I'll fill y'all in next time on the things we found and our utter lack of imagination when it comes to "vision". It's scary.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

But it's more than just that. So much more!

Lest you think my days are filled with flipping through the Yellow Pages, searching for a Haitian Church to help with the realtor issues, I thought I'd share a bit about the rest of it.

James, AKA "The Earthworm Midwife", attended a twin birth today. When he came to the door to announce that "it happened again, Mom!" I was stunned and went searching for the camera. By the time I found it, he was happy to report, "It's twins! And they're beautiful!" We did get some cute pictures of James and his patients. We also spent about an hour watching them, and were impressed with the behavior of the mama worm. I'm not sure what I expected, but something akin to attentiveness wasn't on the list.

John rides his bike now with the training wheels seldom touching the pavement. He also goes frighteningly fast for having training wheels on there at all. Have you ever run too fast with a regular old stroller and hit that point where it becomes molecularly unstable? It's scary, and we're worried he's going to have one heck of a crash soon. So we talked with him about how well he's doing and how he balances so well and is really a great biker - general pep talk stuff. "So," I say, in my most enthusiastic voice, "It looks like you're about ready to take off those training wheels, eh?" He pursed his lips and shook his head ever so slightly. "Nope. You see, when I start to tip, it's the training wheels that catch me. If they come off, there will be nothing to catch me, and I don't even want to think about that." Oh. Well, that talk backfired.

Smidge is chunking up, and although I know it's preparation for another growth spurt, it's just so darned cute! His skinny little arms have fat rolls and his other chin reappeared this week. He's got the Buddah Belly going big-time, too. And it is just the kind of cute that makes you sick if you don't have children.

Zorak has found several things here that lead him to believe he's hit Eccentric Engineer's Mecca. (Aunt B, make sure Uncle Fred isn't in the room when you read this!) There is a Harbor Freight Tools - right here in town. The arsenal has some magnificent (just look at the gleam in Zorak's eye) auctions going on right now. And they have a farm-like equivalent to the Dandy Dime or the Thrifty Nickel, which is filled with building supplies, overstocks, weird remnants, tractors, welders... whatever you could want if you're so inclined to make stuff out of other stuff. Zorak can't wait to close on a place and start bidding. I am afraid. Very afraid. (But there is a lot of neat stuff... *shhhh*)

This morning we awoke to the most magnificent thunderstorm. The rain came down in torrents and the breeze was heavenly. The boys and I sat on the patio watching the birds hide in the trees and waiting for the lightning to subside so we could go play in it. (The lightning kept up until the rain stopped, so we didn't venture out, but we did have a lovely time of it.) We look forward to a great weekend together, exploring our new Home Town! Hope you guys enjoy yours, as well.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

AL Realtor Rant, 5/20

Realtor Rant, AL 5/21

Curiouser and curiouser. After the white rabbit donned her capri pants and heeled slip-ons, she ducked behind her righteous indignation, claiming she never told the Queen of Hearts not to...

No. Wait. I am so confused. Oh well, OFF with her head! (You can never be too careful with these things.)

"Our" realtor called yesterday to see how it went up north. She made the observation that my response seemed "not thrilled" - for why? So I explained that we, once again, could not see the house, and explained why. Of course, according to her, she never said such a thing. The listing agent doesn't know what she's talking about. The same thing with the occupant of the property. That listing agent has no idea what's going on or who lives where! (Hmmm, yet the listing agent was sitting with the family in the yard when we'd pulled up... and she hopped in their old, 4x4 pickup to drive us around the property... but perhaps she has a tendency to sit in strangers' yards when she has nothing better to do and take off with their vehicles when she tires of that?) Then she dove right into personal attacks on the other realtor. Yup, ya just lost me. That was, quite honestly, even less professonal than the Ducati guy in Richmond. At least he just ignores his customers and doesn't go off badmouthing other Ducati dealers while refusing to do his job. *sigh*

So we took the good advice we've received and today I called listing agents to see their homes. Every single one of them wanted to know if I wanted them to "look around" and send other things our way. Many were very good about it when I reminded them that we're taking a break from "working with" a realtor. Others were quite pushy and irritating about it. "Why not? Are you sure? We could just pull these up for you and we can help..." Ok, in a word: no. Unless you have an exclusive listing that's not in the MLS database, you really aren't going to do anything we haven't been doing for three months already. Not only do I have zero desire to go through the whole flow chart of our priorities with every. single. person. I speak with today, but did you not catch that nifty little phrase in my introduction? Let me go over that again, "Hi. My name is Dy. We are looking for property and have been working with a realtor, but it's not going well at all, so we would like to look independently for a while. We would like to see your listing *insert MLS number here*. When can you show that to us?"

One gal's voice cracked when she said, "You mean you don't want me to send you any listings if they aren't from my office?" Yes, that's correct. She barely whispered, "I'm just trying to help." I thought she was going to cry, and I'm on the other end thinking, "No! There's no crying in real estate!" Ugh. I'm not trying to be a meanie. I just want a house.

We'll see what the weekend turns up. There are eight properties which we've told the ex-realtor we'd like to see. We have told her repeatedly that we would like to see them. I've asked for appointments three times just since we've been back, and we have yet to see any of them, nor have more information on them. She's been too busy finding thoroughly useless listings to press on us. So we'll do it ourselves and let the whole of the commission go to whoever can do his job without being a weenie.

Oh, and for the record, Amy really didn't do this to us. She's a scapegoat. It's realtor-gate and we needed somebody to pin this on, because the idea that this may be Karmic is, well, terrifying.

Hopefully the next Realtor Rant will be a Realtor Rave! :-)
Here's hoping,
Dy

What a Wonderful World

Zorak and I used that song for our wedding processional (it went well with the bagpipes for the recessional), and to this day, I get weepy when I hear it. It means more now, because when I look around I see not only Zorak, but a house filled with a family - my family. There are children scattered all over the floor and remnants of their presence evidenced in every room of the house. Whether it's the latest Lego creation on display or a drawing left on the kitchen table, I see that we are fully, unquestionably, and definitely a family. What A Wonderful World, indeed.

We watched National Treasure earlier this week and decided to let the boys watch it with us later in the week. They fell in love with it, with the codes and the sheer adventure. James thinks Riley is the best character in the whole movie. And John's reaction to the scene (trying hard not to spoil the movie if you haven't seen it) where Nicholas Cage's character breaks out the pipe was priceless. He gasped aloud and said, "THAT man is a GENIUS!" Zorak and I cracked up. It's become a key phrase in the house this week.

The week ended nicely (house hunting aside) with a family trip to the park, plenty of bike rides (I am going to have monstrous Popeye-style forearms from pulling that wagon - Smidge needs to learn to ride a bike soon) and plenty of stories and things to learn and do. When, at the end of the day, we can look back and bring more smiles than sighs, it has been a good day, indeed. That there are more good days than bad is a gift I never dreamed possible.

Enjoy your Friday, and kiss those babies!
~Dy