The Things They Do

It's funny to watch the boys. Usually from a fairly safe distance. With coffee in hand.

John has been Very Six lately, riding his brothers like a little rule-master, leaving very little room for grace. James did this at six. Friends' children have done this at six. Doesn't make it any more pleasant, but at least we know it's not us. But yesterday, as we head into the dentist's office, John says to James, "OK, while you're still here, I have to ask. Do you want us to go in with you this time? You know, because I worried about you back there last time."

Well, where did that come from? And what will it take for it to stay?

James, after absolutely nothing happened at his last visit, was feeling pretty big, so he said he'd like us to wait in the lobby for him. OK. *sniff sniff* (Motherhood seems to be a series of events that leave me completely torn, no matter what happens. Part of me wanted to be back there, to hold my baby's hand. Part of me was rather glad I could sit in the lobby with the other three, where we each had someplace to sit. You know, not on top of one another. Y'all know what I'm saying, I know you do.)

John positioned himself where he could see down the hall to the exam rooms - presumably so he could run to James' aid if the bat signal flashed. Em, Smidge, and I curled up on a couch and... I don't know what we did. There was no actual sitting still, and I can't remember finishing the dolphin book, or the duck book, or the kitten book. There was a lot of talking, and a lot of general activity, but this part's a little fuzzy. It's like drinking, without the hangover.

We were there about ten minutes, when Miss Tammy, the World's Greatest Hygienist, came back and said our presence was requested. Again with the two minds: "Oh, my baby needs me, let's go," and "You mean I have to gather all this stuff that's seeped out of the bag and MOVE?"

It turns out, all was well with the big, independent child, until the numbing process kicked in. Then he felt that perhaps a little Mama Presence might be handy. But the thing that had me chuckling all the way down the hall was John.

He snapped his book shut, hopped to his feet and muttered, "Well, it's about time."

Everything went well. As usual. The offending tooth was removed (it was already loose, so it didn't take much work), and as the boys received their goody bags, James asked, "But, when are you going to take out the tooth?" Miss Tammy laughed and told him it's already out, and the look on his face when he stuck his tongue through the hole was hilarious.

Hopefully, we won't have to go anywhere today. We'll just stay home and recuperate.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

What did you EAT?

Delightful days. They come along on occasion, and we soak them up. We smile at our children as they play together peacefully. We sigh with joy as they do kind things for one another... we, wait. That wasn't today. Today was good, but it wasn't that kind of good. It was typical, "I have four children and no organizational skills," good. I take what I can get.

We left for the library after completing our lessons, tidying the kitchen, making some fabulous muffins, and rearranging the living room. We also cleaned the bathroom, did a load of wash and picked up the dining room. It would probably sound impressive if I just stopped talking there, but in the interest of honesty, we, erm, didn't leave the house until three-thirty.

I hid my non-Southern hair in a clippie, which almost hides the flaws. Almost. It's kind of like wearing a dickie under a blazer; everyone knows it's not a real turtleneck sweater under there, but nobody's so rude as to say anything about it. To your face. Ok, I'm good with that. Now I just hope the children don't ever find my clippie hiding spot and use it for "The Claw!!" I have lost more of these things that way...

Anyway, we loaded up, feeling very with-it and adventurous, and headed into Decatur to check out the library. That was when James busted me. I was singing a song as I unloaded the Small Ones, and he said, "What song is that, Mom?" Oh, just one I made up. "Yeah, but what's the tune from? Where'd you get that?" HE KNOWS! He now knows I don't have a rythmic bone in my body! He knows now that I am nothing more than a *gasp* lyric hack! Wait till we have to cover budgeting and finances. It's a long, yet rapid, trip from Awe-Inspiring Omniscient Mother to Whatever Replaces Awe-Inspiring Omniscient Mother.

We got into the library and got in line behind the one guy at the counter. And there we stayed for just over 20 minutes, while four library workers tried to explain to him that no, he doesn't have a fine, and yes, he can use his card, and no, really, there's no fine. The line began to build behind us. The boys became antsy. Miss Emily wanted D-O-W-N. It was all I could do not to just reach over and swivel the monitor to face him so he could see it in writing and go about his day. But then, with four women standing there, nodding, looking Very Authoritative, I really expected that at any moment one of them would maybe go man one of the other machines. Didn't happen.

Smidge started out well, but by the time we were motioned forward, he was a Puppy Dog. A panting, whimpering, on-all-fours Puppy Dog. I have no idea where this came from (or why he graced us with it right then). He wasn't like that when we loaded up! I actually asked the boys if they'd fed him anything on the way to the library. I checked for crumbs, artificially colored moustache stains, telltale chocolate smears. Nothing. Either it was just a strange burst of energy, or those children have become exceedingly efficient at Evidence Removal.

In the end, we all got cards, even Dog-boy. We picked out our TWO books (first time borrowing on a new card they limit to two items - thankfully we have to be back in town tomorrow), and came home to enjoy the adventures of the Ancient Greeks, Miss Sophie, and Bob the Builder.

Tonight, I actually got Miss Emily to sleep without having to bribe her. She sat on my lap, happily playing with whatever she could reach (it was dark, there's no telling what it was) when suddenly, said object clunked to the floor and she slumped back into the crook of my arm. *awkward pause ensued* I peered cautiously down at her, not wanting to make actual eye contact, but wondering if she might need medical attention or resuscitation, and there she was, doing the best John Belushi impression I've seen in ages. Eyes half-open, goofy grin on her face, both chins showing, arms sort of floating to her sides. She looked very intoxicated. After I checked to make sure it was just sleepiness and not whatever she'd been chewing on, I stroked her nose a couple of times and *donk*, there she went! Out!

This is the first time, in four children, that I have been able to do that! I haven't been able to put a nursling to bed -without nursing - E-V-E-R! It was beautiful. I feel so... competent.

So yeah, today was good.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Homeschooling Wierdos

I'm pretty sure Ward is starting to think we don't actually homeschool. Since he works the same schedule as Zorak, he's gone when Zorak is gone and, well, that's when we do our lessons. Most moms know that if Dad's home, ain't no schoolin' gettin' done. The wise ones are okay with that and just kind of work with it, doing lessons at, oh, midnight, or migrating to the library for studies. Whatever it takes. But it sure does look strange to an outsider. Thankfully, he's not a nasty-Nellie when it comes to things like this. I think the way we treat our dog probably irks him more than whatever we could do with the children. *grin* (He's been hinting not-so-subtly for over a week that the dog needs a bath. Yes, the dog needs a bath. But it's 100' out, with a ton of humidity, and the dog weighs 60 pounds. Somehow, that bath just isn't falling high on my priority list. He's healthy and fine, just a bit dirty, but it's not like he needs to be pretty for the neighbor dog, or smell good enough for hunting the opossum, okay? Okay.)

However, we are schooling regularly and it's going well. Right now, it's a little too hot 'n sticky to do any exploration. That's killing me, as the Wildlife Refuge is right there, and it looks so inviting! The large lily pads and little inlets are teeming with life. The water is high and the foliage is thick. It beckons to us, calling, "Come! Bring your magnifying glasses and notebooks! Wallow in me!" Then I open the car door and *whump* the heavy, stagnant air punches me in the chest. I cannot breathe. I cannot move. Bits stick together instantly. I yank the car door shut and turn to the boys, "Who wants a cream slush from Sonic?" Thank heaven for the bookish side of academia! There will be time for exploring come fall, glorious fall...

I've been dying to get out and explore our turf, though. Not necessarily the out-of-doors exploration, but the area in general. It's gorgeous down here, and there is SO much to do that we, well, haven't done. Been too busy. And I'll be darned if that's going to be my mantra while the children are growing up. I don't want them to look back and feel like we were always "too busy" to do the things we would have liked to do. My mom's mantra was, "circumstances prevail", and I can understand that. She had to be the bread winner, drill instructor, chief cook and bottle washer, head nurse, disciplinarian, chauffeur. There was no tag team for her - she was "It". But I don't have to do double duty, and that's much appreciated. So, in honor of how very fortunate we are, we're going to get out and enjoy it a bit more. We're planning to make a couple of road trips while Zorak's gone. He's not a big fan of the family excursion day trip, so this is a perfect time to do these things. Ward's here, so the house will be fine (and we don't have to take the dog!) The adventure will alleviate some of the we-miss-dad that the boys experience, too. I don't have a laptop, so I'm not sure what the blogging situation will look like while we're on the road, but I'll try to keep ya posted.

OK, time to go look productive!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Preparations & Games

Two small boys stood in the dining room this morning, waving out the window. One small Smidge stood in his mud pit in the front yard, waving. Ward's Jeep pulled away, taking Daddy to the airport.

And now it is quiet.

We wanted to take him ourselves, but Miss Emily's nostrils have her on a sinus-driven nursing strike. She can eat, or breathe, not both. Smidge's lower face is somewhat crusted over in a time-lapsed photography model showing the formation of stalactites. Rather fascinating, really. The older two haven't fallen prey just yet, but it's not for lack of effort on part of whatever viral ick is doing the dirty work.

The past few days have been days of preparation. Cleaning, packing, itemizing. We soaked up as much of Daddy as we could, and tried to cover him in love and assurrances that he will be missed.

It sounds so idyllic, doesn't it? But you know it's not all picture-perfect. There's the stress of being on the road, which translates to some pretty weird behavior on his part. There's the stress of knowing we will be without him for a while, which also translates to some pretty weird behavior on my part. You can't have that many translation problems without creating some rather awkward moments. That's the way of things, I suppose. It doesn't change the fact that we'll miss him, or that he'd much rather be planning an excursion with everyone traveling together. In some ways, it highlights just how deeply we are a part of one another's lives. It's good.

And then, as if we just didn't have enough random noise and chaos in our lives, I picked up the ultimate home accessory for a house full of boys: a foosball table. Oh, for the love of cabbage, what is the attraction? I don't know, but for $12.99 at the thrift store, I couldn't pass it up. The table also includes a small pool table, a ping pong table, a hockey table, and - BONUS - most of the dodads necessary to play each game are actually there! If the kids continue to play for at least one week at their current rate of play, this thing will have more than paid for itself. If they're still at it by Christmas, I'm going to consider it The Buy of the Year! (And perhaps Zorak will have forgiven me for lugging it into the house.)

Granted, I didn't give any real thought to where, exactly, a foosball table would reside in our home. File that one under "pretty weird behavior", shall we? Zorak handled it well, and for now it lives between the living and dining rooms. Literally, right in the middle of the walking path. Oh, but you should see the fun the boys are having - it's totally worth it.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

I'm Not Brave

I was going to hang out with my coffee, visit and play online for a while, maybe make some cookies and enjoy the peaceful rain and the quiet of the house.

But it's not quiet. It's thundering right. over. my. head.

And this rain has a mind of its own. Right now, it wants IN.

And this computer? Mmm, I'm thinking "high point", and perhaps I ought to go work in the basement...

The cookies can wait.

I'll talk to ya'll in the morning.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Please Make Time

There's talk here, there, and everywhere about "the pace of life", for lack of a better term. Generally, I don't join in the "how do you get it all done" discussions. I don't get it all done, so I assume nobody is asking me. *grin* This week, however, a few points have caught my attention, and I've been mulling. Lucky you.

The Europhiles, it seems, love to extol all the virtues of the pace of life in Europe, as opposed to the gawdawful speed with which we Americans devour our way through every. single. thing.

I've got to say, I don't get it.

Pace is, among other things, "The rate of speed at which a person, animal, or group walks or runs. The rate of speed at which an activity or movement proceeds."

Assuming we move on our own power, wouldn't this definition indicate that we, being the supposed "person, animal, or group", control our pace? We aren't pre-programmed automatons. We are beings capable of thinking, determining, and choosing. I've always thought so, at least to a large extent. Perhaps I'm off a bit. But perhaps it's a matter of priorities and goals. Where are you going? Why are you taking the path you're taking? What will you do when you get there? Who is going with you? Certainly, things such as food and shelter must be tended to, but beyond the basic necessities, it's all elective.

We once spent a wonderful weekend in Philadelphia with friends. We had a lovely time together, although none of us moved at the same pace. Some of them had flown in from out of state for a mom's weekend getaway, and so each moved at her own long-legged pace. (It probably felt good for them to stretch their legs and move faster than a speeding snail.) We drove up and, naturally, had all the children with us. We didn't have trouble keeping up with our friends, per se. We simply kept in our heads a general idea which direction they were heading and chose not to worry about keeping up. Our poor friends kept looking back to see what in the world was keeping us.

Sometimes it was a sewer grate, or leaves on the sidewalk. Occasionally, it was an inscription on a wall, a carving in a pillar, or the extra time it takes to walk single file along the planter curb. Nothing particularly spectacular, just a different pace.

It's okay. We'll meet up at the fire station. Or the restaurant. If we get too far off, we've got our cell phones to touch base. Pace is something you control. Or not.

If it's a group or activity that is proceeding too quickly, and causing us to feel harried and cranky with our fellow travelers, why not take a look at whether that particular group or activity is paced appropriately for us? I hate to sound trite (and yet, I'm going to do it, anyway), but we all have the same twenty-four hours in a day with which to accomplish the things we'd like to do, and the things which need to be done. Occasionally, the two intertwine beautifully and there is less need for intentional living. That is not always the case, however, and so we must take stock, pack (or re-pack) our bags, and set the pace.

Zorak, for example, would much rather work six months out of the year and spend the rest of the year exploring with the children and I. Since he has yet to convince his employer of the benefits of this plan, obvious as they may be to us, nor has he found another way to provide for his home and family as well as he can now, he has to determine the pace at which he'll live this life, and go from there. We aren't looking at a uniquely American dilemma. He'd have to make the same decision in Europe, Asia, or even Australia.

If we want more time to do things, or not do things, to savor things, or to inhale more-more-more, well, we must make time and do it. We must weigh the opportunity cost for our decisions. How will we spend our time, and what will we have to show for it? Chatchke and appointments and hissed cursewords as we punt everyone out the door twenty minutes late for everything? Memories, friendships, stories, thoughts? Creature comforts, soul comforts, dreamy smiles, from-the-gut laughter? Not everything is an either-or situation, but when it comes the pace we set, it is. Either we will go quickly or we will not. Encouragingly, we aren't locked into a set pace. We've been known to slow way down to prolong our enjoyment of the sunset on the riverbank, to stave off the bittersweet ending of a favorite book, to giggle like kids at the wonder of sunrise through freshly painted windows.

No, I haven't got all the answers. I've nowhere to keep them, even if I did. I understand that it's more common to bemoan something that's self-inflicted than to hike up the britches, tip the cap foreward, and do something wonderful about it. It's easier. The payoff, however, is exponentially larger for the added effort of setting our own paces.

In a delightfully-timed entry, MFS recently revisited her thoughts on making time. I particularly enjoy re-reading her no-nonsense list of ways to make it easier. They're all common sense suggestions, which makes them easy to forget, and worth remembering. Check it out if you're feeling overwhelmed, or perhaps would simply like to make time to get back to the good stuff. You know, at your own pace.

And always kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey now, not so fast, folks!

Can you believe there are people who think it doesn't matter whether we articulate our thoughts clearly? Look at all the excitement I caused with just a couple of poorly-picked phrases. *grin* So, to answer the comments and emails, no.

What I meant (and evidently said very ambiguously), is that if someone(else) has a baby at some point that isn't during a traditional school break, and needs to know how to get back in the swing of things in, say, February, I can help with that one. And if some imaginary family, who-is-not-us, is moving, I'd be happy to share my mid-move sanity savers. But moving again? No. In the eight years since James was born, we have moved ten times. Statistically speaking, there's a good chance we've moved in any given month. I just pulled November out of my hat. It was something like one in the morning. So, for clarity's sake, here's a quick run-down:

A) Not pregnant again. Still not out of the cards, but I'm not the one shuffling the deck, if ya know what I mean, so we'll see what happens.

B) Not moving again. At least not any time soon. We might like to retire to Tennessee. Or Wyoming. But for the forseeable future, we are putting down some deep, thick roots right here.

Today was, I believe, the last of the Whatever Wednesdays at church. Pioneer Club begins again in September, and I'm... really not looking forward to it. I liked having our Wednesday activity in the middle of the afternoon. We enjoyed being home for supper, even moreso just being home before nine or ten o'clock on Wednesday evenings. It's been delightful to get to the library (although Grandma Joy did let me know that August and September are amnesty months for our little library, so enjoy!) and then toodle into town shortly after lunch. It was a good pace. But now we'll be going back to the six-thirty meeting time. After supper. After being away from Zorak all day. More time away. Supper apart as a family. Supper in the car. Ick. It's one thing if we're apart because his work calls him away, or because one of us is out saving the world. But this... this doesn't count.

That I should write this at all is somewhat ironic. You know, the "I just ate what" kind of painful irony that those who know and love you find hilarious. I had just drafted a bit last night in reply to the "pace of life" angst that seems to be spreading like a psychological virus this month. My basic point: we set the pace. Why set it, then bemoan it? Doesn't make sense. *ahem* Yes. Well, then. It's almost as if someone chooses to drive an hour each way, at the end of the day, in the middle of the week, to drag her children to a one-hour function. Shyah. What a maroon.

*sigh* Well, I still stand by what I never got around to posting in the first place. I'll see if I can run a quick spell-check on it in the morning, okay? Don't want to move too quickly and burn myself out tonight. *if only you could hear my eyes rolling all over the place...*

Thankfully, no matter how dumb we behave sometimes, our children love us. Our spouses love us. Our friends with the blackmail photo editing capabilities love us. We are fortunate, whether we're harried or peaceful.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Mish-Mash

Getting caught up over at Donna's last night, the older contingent of the house spent almost an hour trying to figure out if this guy influenced this guy, or vice versa, or if they were peers, or, or, or what... We were like kids on the debate team, preparing for an extemporaneous speech. (Which, yes, completely pegs me as a total geek, I know.) It took some doing to convince Ward that Donna's photo wasn't a Rockwell. They're that close.

The pupils aren't feeling well this morning. They weren't feeling well last night, as evidenced by the sniffly, snarfy, snuffling noises during reading time. The sad part is, these kids blow their noses like bulls crash through china shops, so I didn't recommend they go get the tissue box until I'd finished reading a chapter to them. The boogers will still be there when I'm done, but I can't hang in there long enough to read an entire chapter of anything, pausing for the blowing-of-the-noses. James has a dentist appointment at 2 something (might want to narrow that down a bit, yes?) and the smallish one is still sleeping, so I decided to treat the older boys to a morning movie. They're watching "Hoodwinked", and the laughter pealing from the living room is more fun than the movie itself. (I previewed it last night and giggled a lot - a good movie for the six and up crowd.)

I've been trying to read 1919 by John Dos Pasos. It gets weird and choppy and very difficult to care much about, then it gets mildly interesting for a few pages and drops back into lithium-induced choppiness. I think this will be one of those train wreck books that I finish simply because I have a slightly morbid sense of curiosity. Not one I'd recommend so far, in spite of the reviewers promises that I will "never look at The War the same again"... I'm thinkin' I'll never look at sailors the same again. And it's probably a good thing I'm already married to Zorak, or I might not look at him the same again. But so far, the "biting commentary" seems to be more focused on just how miserable one can make oneself by making bad choice after bad choice. We'll see how it goes.

So far, our curriculum choices have been winners. We've begun Apologia's "Exploring Creation through Astronomy", which is the only new program I've added. It's a bit pedantic in some areas, but that's where the beauty of having children who share my sense of humor comes in. In all, though, a well-done book, and I think we'll enjoy our year of exploring the skies.

Anybody else going to trade in their old copy of Famous Men of Rome for the new color version? I saw that offer and just about flipped. I'm not sure what to liken my excitement to, as I hate it when black and white movies get colorized, but this is different. I think. At least, it was to me. Now perhaps the boys won't spend so much time debating what color this or that would have been? I'm soooo trading mine in!

Ah, well, the movie is just about over. Time to enjoy the rest of the morning with the Littles.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Earth is too small! Back to school.

We are fairly out of synch with the traditional "school year". A school calendar, for us, would be mostly a log of what the year looked like, rather than what it might/may/ought to/hopefully will look like. We go year-round, taking breaks when needed, but never really stopping or starting a year. The back-to-school sales always catch me off guard. When people begin posting questions here and there about the best way to start the school year, I'm usually stumped.

This isn't to say (in an exaggeratedly snooty accent), "OHHHHhhhhh, WE go year round so we NEVER have to deal with that." Oh, no. No, no. Ask me again in February, after yet another birth, or mid-November, after we've moved *again*, or sometime in the middle of April, between visits from family, and I've got ya covered. We can kick start like pros. It's just the "this is the start of the school year" tag line that causes me to trip over one of my left feet and look around to see if anybody actually saw that.

However, among the starts and stops, I've figured out a couple of things. During those late night gab sessions with good friends over curricula and reading lists, I've been given some real gems. Occasionally, as I talk to Zorak while he sleeps, we experience a stunning epiphany and make all manner of life-style-altering-really-big-adjustments. (Yes, "we". I poke him in the head when I need feedback. Whatever works, in a pinch.) Today, you get absolutely nothing deep, but hopefully something useful.

When I see questions that begin with, "I have everything planned for the first day of school..." I smile. I'm not mocking them. I'm mocking myself of four years ago. She was a funny, compulsive woman.

What I've learned since then: if you must plan it all out, write it in pencil. Lightly. Trust me.

When I read, "What can I do to make the first day of school special?" all I can think is, "Do you have a timer on your coffee pot? And a cattle prod? Perhaps a backup plan? And tell me you wrote your plan in pencil." Each day is going to be as special as we choose to make it, but there are definite phases to "special". It's easier when the children are younger and stickers make everything special. It's harder when they're old enough to know that you're not actually allowing them to "help" make cookies when you give them a bowl, a whisk and a tablespoon of flour to play with while you bake. Then it gets easier again when they can bake cookies on their own, and better yet when they surprise you with a clean kitchen. See, "special" is such a subjective term. Don't set yourself on fire in an attempt to make something spectacular. Not only will you set the bar way too high, but your insurance company is going to stop paying the burn center after three or four incidents.

What I've learned: concentrate on making bonds and memories; traditions will bloom from those roots.

"What am I missing?" Oh, my, you're missing a ton. We all are. Homeschool, public school, private school, highly paid live-in tutor - nobody can cover it all. There's simply no way to learn it all, not even if you give the little darlings a caffeine drip and run them like dogs 24/7.

What I've learned: It's better to ask yourself "what do I want them to take from this year", and then ask others how to flesh it out. There's just too much. But if you can get them moving, intertia kicks in and it gets easier.

And you know, out of three dozen balloons, we haven't any small enough to make Mercury, Earth, or Pluto. Our solar system is now flying around the living room and the rest of science will have to wait for smaller balloons. But that's okay - there's still plenty to learn, plenty to do. Thankfully, we have cookies to bake and I wrote the week's plan in pencil!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy