Blessed Reprieve

Summer would be wonderful if it wasn't so hot. Or if my children were content to sit quietly under the ceiling fan, mainlining iced drinks and listening to stories. Alas, I have four of them, and they are truly ours, so... no, it doesn't work like that. They have Zorak's seemingly limitless energy, combined with my intolerance for the heat and humidity. If we could rig a child-sized hamster wheel to a generator, we could turn the A/C down to 70 and still cut our electric bill in half.

The thing is, by the time we get up in the morning, it is very hot 'n sticky outside. The air is suffocating and still. It hangs heavily, clinging to your neck, your eyelids, your nostrils, filling your throat with its sticky, moist presence. Before you can descend the porch steps, your body is coated in a thick, salty film, not a refreshing, drenching sweat, but rather a heavy, oily sealant. Try this to get the full effect:

Rub lotion lightly onto your hands. Now stick them in dirt and wave them around. Then put them in the oven - just turn it to 200' and hold them in the open door for a minute.

OK, now imagine that sensation on your neck, your torso, your inner thighs. Call me a weenie, but I can't enjoy that feeling.

Thankfully, the temperatures over the next few days are supposed to be in the mid-80's. I never thought I'd say this, but YAY! Mid-80's, I can handle. The boys are dying to be outside for more than ten minutes at a time. I am dying for them to be outside for more than ten minutes at a time. The dog would be thrilled to have them outside... ok, let's just say this dip in temps will make everyone Very Happy. And our home has been such a source of comfort, to have one place we can go to get out of the humidity and heat, to sprawl out in relative comfort and while away the hottest hours of the summer. It'll be nice to get out and stretch our legs, but it's been nice to have a hidey hole, too.

And soon, fall...

Fall, with its smells, its harvests, its festivals, and bearable temperatures outdoors. Sweet, sweet fall. It will do wonders for all of us, I think.

Ten more days til Smidge's birthday. Zorak will be on the road again next week, arriving home late the evening before the big day, if all goes well. I thought he'd earned enough travel points to get a waiver on this one, but it seems not. We'd thought about making another big family trek out of it, but there's still so much to do here, and I don't think the little ones are up for another long trip from home just yet. So we will stay home and prepare for the birthday, work on our home and our lessons. We will press our noses against the glass, waiting for fall, and for Daddy's return.

It's good to have a home that keeps us safe and dry amidst all life's quirks - big and little. It truly is a blessed reprieve.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Setting Goals and Living the Dream

Man, this is nice. The house is quiet, the coffe is hot, and the computer is up and running. Sometimes, that's payment enough at the end of a long day. Most of the time, though, that's not all the payment that comes. How I ended up with this sweet, sweet life is somewhat beyond my comprehension, but I'm glad for it.

I'd mentioned that during our "OK, Let's Look Normal" pow-wow, the boys and I set goals. Today, they began putting them into motion. It's fun to see children setting and then reaching for their own goals.

John's one self-set goal for this year is to have his own reading log by Christmas. Not one I write in for him, but one he maintains himself. Today, the child spent two hours reading, "as practice" for improving his writing skills. I sat back and grinned like the Cheshire Cat.

James would like to do more writing. He's switched to using cursive exclusively, on his own, aside from letter-writing to friends who don't read cursive yet (which I thought was so sweet that he'd think of it on his own). He is also determined to read all the books written by several authors he's found recently.

Both boys would like to pursue art and music this year.

For my part, I would like to see us spend this year on Rome, tying our Latin studies in with our History and language studies, moving into the Middle Ages in late spring of '07. Not sure how that's going to pan out. We are already several years out of synch with "the plan", but it doesn't seem to have hurt anyone, so we'll just put that under the gee-I'm-glad-we're-flexible list and move on.

Fall is coming (eventually), and that's exciting to me, as this summer has simply been too hot to get out and enjoy the beauty that surrounds us. Hopefully, the boys will have ample opportunity to break in their backpacks and drawing supplies! Oh, and the messenger bag I bought? Got it at Target, but found one I wish I'd bought, instead. You can get it from American Science & Surplus. You can find it on this page, the "Not Black Canvas Bag" at the top. Check it out, shop around - they have a ton of stuff you'll realize you really need, so even with shipping, you'll come out ahead. Or broke. But you'll have a nifty bag to live out of!

And so as not to break our productive streak, I've got to get to bed. Those small ones seem to use energy more efficiently than I'm capable of, and they're starting to gain on me.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Please Print This Page

I love seeing that message. It means I've just purchased something, usually curriculum or books. It means I've written a schedule, or a list, which I will probably lose. It also reminds me that I can now print that page. So I do. Just for fun. It doesn't take much.

Well, after James informed me that he is a little sad that he won't be promoting to the third grade Sunday School class with his friends, I realized it's THAT TIME OF YEAR for everyone else. (Yes. I know. As if the sales, the queries, the suggestions for First Day of School Fun Stuff, the *ahem* blogging, weren't clues enough. *sigh* I know.)

So, in an effort to appear a little less odd than we actually are, the children and I held a pow-wow yesterday to discuss our goals for the year, which include, but are not limited to, not taking a four month break, including more music, adding in a formal science program, and getting up to speed on our curriculum choices. We will have a big day next Monday (yeah, again with the oblivion, I can't be the only one who didn't know it's a holiday...) er, Tuesday, then, wherein we will observe the formal beginning of both First and Third grades for the boys. Smidge wants to be blue. So, we'll have a first grader, a third grader, and the blue kid. Miss Emily may, or may not, be promoted to Toddler this term, but the Principal and I have agreed to have a little inservice meeting to discuss the options later. ;-)

Then I phoned the church to confirm that yes, James did pass this year, and please put him in the third grade class. His teacher laughed and said she remembered that we homeschool year-round and figured it just wasn't something that had come up yet. She'd already put his name on the third grade roster. (Bless that woman!)

And so, with our calendar filled in (Science Fair on the 8th; Smidge's b-day on the 9th - again, already?; Moundville Indian Festival coming up; promotion Sunday on the 3rd; new math, latin, and copy books; Zorak going TDY - WTH... again, already?!? *sigh*) I'd like to say I dusted the living room and put on a little music for the children and I to read by. But I didn't. I freaked, put the calendar away, popped in Chicken Little, and grabbed a cup of coffee. I can only handle knowing so much about what we need to get done. Seriously. This is new to me.

In my younger days, I'd ask, "What about the adventure of denial? The heart-stopping terror that is throwing together a science project while flying down the Interstate, praying for time to stop so you can make it on time. The cry of the infant, the whine of the toddler, the anxious bickering of the neglected older children. What would life be like without that niggling feeling whispering to you at night that you've Forgotten Something... Something Important?"

Well, now I know, and I don't particularly care for either option. But there is something to be said for facing the dread of upcoming responsibilities with more than 15 minutes of preparation... it's still somewhat heart-stopping, but does cut down on much of the audible background whining. So, we'll keep plugging along. We'll write in in, and then print that page.

Someday I'll get the hang of this.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

What to print, what to print?

Oh, joy! Elation! Our new printer arrived while we were gone. It's now hooked up and functional. I printed numerous test pages, some activity sheets for the boys for church today, and then... I drew a blank. There are so many things I have been simply anxious to print for the MONTHS (and months, and months) that we've been without a functional printer. Now, can't even find the things I'd saved to print off!

Honestly, I think it's the speed of the printer. The thing goes so quickly and stealthily that I panic. I used to have time to peruse things, compose the items I wanted to print out, and have a cup of coffee while another project printed. No downtime. I felt rather productive. But now, the thing spits out the job and then sits there, staring at me. THE PRESSURE!!! (Oh, but it's nice!)

Mr. Ward joined us for church this morning. He's in the zone right now, and a church home is in the forefront of his mind. I think he liked it, as he did a drive-by after the service from the church to the house they have a contract on right now. 2.5 miles - pfft, I'm envious! Even if he doesn't end up coming to this church, though, I think he's now primed and ready to find one for himself and his wife when they get settled. (It's always the first visit that seems the hardest to just get up and go do, isn't it?)

And the brain? It's not fully engaged yet. Still very sleepy. Not witty. Not organized. Just sleepy. It's like living inside a cotton ball. Thankfully, the boys don't require any actual venturing out and about tomorrow. We'll do lessons, tidy, engage the brain tranny and see if we can slip into second gear. Maybe. Or we'll leave it in neutral and coast for another couple of days. That's always nice, too.

G'night!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Quick Recap

We ate very poorly, spent far too much time in the sun, and it will take us a full week to catch up on our sleep, not to mention getting the sand out of nature's crannies. But what a great trip! These kids are so much fun to travel with. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Miss Emily has eaten her fair share of sand, and found it to be quite tasty, gauging from the amount of time she spent grazing the beach. I bought her a sun bonnet, and she hates it. Fortunately, it ties under her chin, so she's stuck with it and is at my mercy. Took me a bit to convince the boys that she was not going to be strangled with it, though. (Glad to know they listen to our "never put anything around your neck" speeches!)

Smidge wore himself out running from the waves. Back to the waves. After the seagulls. From the seagulls. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you must RUN! And squeal! Stop to giggle. Then RUN again!

Most of the time, I only saw James and John from the shoulders, up. They hit the water and didn't emerge until the skin began curling from my body, in spite of the 35 SPF coating, and I insisted that six hours was enough time on the beach for one day. The surf was pretty rough, and although I'm not up on maritime terminology, the red flags on the beach didn't look terribly encouraging, in my estimation. Did that deter the boys any? Nope. They just flung themselves face first into the fray and called it good. I don't know how a boy can go under a wave, come up blustery and irate that he got water up his nose, yet dive back in, only to re-emerge a few seconds later, bleeding from multiple wounds, shouting, "WOW! That was FUN!" Obviously, I was never a little boy. All I could think was, "They're going to attract sharks if they keep bleeding like that."

In the end, though, I'm the only one that got seriously burned. No sharks came to feast on my children. Miss Emily seems to have passed most of the sand, and thankfully, seems completely unphased by it.

We had a very good time catching up with my friend from high school (his name is also James, so for clarification sake, we'll refer to him as "Mr. James"). The boys adored him. I enjoyed his company tremendously, but tried hard not to impose our presence upon him too much (we can be a bit of a shock). He gave the boys a tour of the police department, which they could not wait to tell Zorak about this morning. The biggest hits being the scale in the processing room, the license plate cover on his cruiser (it's on the back and says, "Smile... I could be behind you.") and the Chief's office (he has a box of goodies and lets the kids pick something out when they visit). Mr. James graciously agreed to join us on the dolphin cruise when I was informed that they had a 2:1 child-adult restriction, but we let him off the hook when the amenities lady realized she'd called the wrong boating place and yes, I can, if I am odd enough to want to, take all four children aboard all by myself.

The dolphin cruise was amazing. John saw a jellyfish cruising along (glad I didn't think about that before we hit the beach!) James saw a crab swimming alongside the boat (had no clue they did that, and I thought he must have been mistaken, but the cute young lady beside him confirmed that that's what it was - how cool!) The dolphins came and swam by the bow of the boat, showing off for the crowd. Miss Emily got loved on and serenaded by a delightful couple from Georgia - in Ukranian, no less. James got his "sea legs" (translation: he quit slamming into the rails). John fell in love with the sea, in general. Smidge hung with the big kids pretty darned well, but slept like a rock once his head hit the pillow. Or the floor.

After we checked out of the hotel on Friday, we had the chance to visit with Anniesue and her adorable little chunk of toddler, T. Willy. He and Smidge made fast friends, playing in the sand, eating grapes. The bigger boys got in more beach time, and Anniesue and I had a very nice time visiting. She's so sweet! And she is funny - she made me smile a lot, so don't let her tell you otherwise. I was glad she took the time to come and meet up with us, but was sad that I'd left her number at home on the counter and didn't get to get together earlier in the visit. You know, before my brain was fried. However, hopefully we'll be able to see them again the next time we go down.

And yes, in spite of muttering under my breath at six in the morning on Wednesday that I was never. doing. this. again (I really hate packing and planning), we have got to do this again. It was really fun! But next time, we need to stay a full week, and we need to take Zorak, too.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

T-minus two hours, fifty-eight minutes

You'd think I'd be asleep, huh? *snort* It'll be so nice once the boys can drive.

Ahhh. That is the sigh of accomplishment. The alarm is set. The laundry is done. The kitchen, while not clean, at least will not attract feral hogs while we're gone. And, the bags are loaded and waiting by the door.

The boys are packed in their very own, brand new backpacks! Are they ever excited about it, too. I'm talking Price Is Right, excited. James' bag has enough pockets and gadget holders to keep him happy well into his early teens. John's has Superman on the front and TWO cup holders. What more could a boy ask for? Smidge inherited John's old backpack (the one the wooden blocks came in...) and James has requested that his old pack be set aside for Miss Emily. So, we should be set for a number of years, now. We'll see how this foray into the realm of personal responsibility goes. Ideally, each boy will guard his pack with all his wee might, and I will be unencumbered by the earthly belongings of our entourage. Experience has proven, however, that, at least for a little while, I will now be responsible for not one bag, but four. Sometimes I'm still amazed that Someone thought me capable of being The Mom.

Ooooo! Big splurge today: I bought a messenger bag! It's been a long time coming, as my diaper bag (a backpack) has served me well through four children. Prior to that, it served Zorak through three years of college. Can't complain, but it's clear the poor thing would like a rest. It would also like not to carry small things, as it's begun spitting them out through holes in the bottom. Anyhow, I've had some pretty graphic dreams about having a bag large enough to handle all my stuff without squashing anything, and without hanging awkwardly off one shoulder. The messenger bag seems to fit the bill. This thing is LOADED: sketch pads, colored pencils, pens, teething tablets, a change of clothes, wallet, brain candy (for Mom and Kids!), sunscreen, phone, diapers, wipes, envelopes and paper (not that I actually expect to write letters, but I could if I wanted to - and we know it's all about the ambiance). I think it weighs about the same as Miss Emily, so the theory I'm going with is that if she's on one side, in the sling, and the bag is on the other, I may walk upright for the first time in a long time! Or, people will mistake me for a pack mule and try to hire me out.

Aside from my idiotic decision to leave at o'dark hundred Wednesday morning, I'm pleased with the plans and the overall feel of the trip.

And Miss Emily is up, which is my cue to head off to bed!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Going On Vacation

I don't think we've vacationed somewhere other than the homes of friends or relatives in... in... um... well, ever. This is foreign ground for me, and I'm certain the places I called thought they were being cranked by Mel Tillis, for all the stuttering and stammering I did on the phone. Conversations went something like this:

Operator: "Welcome to ReallyLongNameOfRandomResort, where your comfort is our concern (or some such slogan)."

Me: Yeah, hi... um, honey I'm on the phone. Please wait.

Operator: *confused pause* Okay...

Me: Oh, no, not you. Sorry. Children. Have them. I do.

Operator: *sigh* No problem, ma'am. How can I help you.

Me: Well, I need a room. Er, suite. Or, uhhhh... (trying to remember where it is I just called) lodging. Yeah, lodging.

Operator: For how many adults?

Me: One.

Operator: How many children?

Me: Four.

Operator: What?

Me: What?

Operator: How many children?

Me: Four... please don't do that.

Operator: Ma'am?

Me: Um, sorry, children.

Operator: Okay, so you'll be wanting a three bedroom condo...

Me: NO! I mean, not you. Well, yes. No, I wouldn't like a three bedroom condo. But the emphasis. Hang on. *trying to muffle the phone* If you want to sleep somewhere other than the Suburban while we are there, I suggest you find something to do other than stand right here, arguing with your brother. I will take the bench seat, I swear I will, and you will be left with the floor. Now, GO! *ahem* Yes, anyway, a one bedroom would be fine. They're small.

Operator: Our one bedrooms are about 800 square feet...

Me: Oh, *nervous titter* I meant the children. They're small. Well, two of 'em are, anyway. One bedroom would be fine.

Operator: How long will you need accomodations, and what is your arrival date?

Me: *I give her the dates.*

Operator: *pause* Two days? You're coming for two days?

Me: Yes... *awkward pause* *more awkward pausing - dead silence on the other end, and I'm wondering what further information I could possibly add to that* ...It's a short trip.

Operator: *wondering just how large the deposit on this place ought to be* OK, Ma'am, I have a one bedroom with a pullout sofa, pullout kitchen table and sheets for the ironing board. Would you like beach front or *muffled something I could never quite catch*

Me: Water. I want to see the water. Easily. Without having to stand on the railing.

Operator: *chuckling* (Although I'm not sure if it's good-naturedly, or just hoping to get through this without yelling "FIRE! FIRE!" and hanging up the phone.) Alright, we have you set with a one-bedroom unit with free beach umbrella for *insert random price, here*

And, Voila! It took only two hours of phone calls and web surfing and we have a place to stay. I hope it's a wonderful place. One we will return to time and again so that I never have to have those conversations again.

So, condo is reserved. Lest you think I'm getting all uppity, let me say that beachfront condos are about 20% LESS expensive than your average Best Western (not that I'm naming names or anything... *ahem*) So, I can save 20%, AND I get a kitchen, so we don't have to eat out all the time (thus saving even more money), AND I get a bedroom in which to tuck the wee burnt darlings at the end of the day, AND a beach front balcony, with unlimited hot coffee at my disposal? Oh, my, word. I may never want to leave.

And I so need to hit the library for a little brain candy to take on this trip!

Sadly, that's about as far as I've made it. Total lock up. I can't think what else to bring. Obviously, clothing, sun screen, snorkels, um... what do people take on vacation?!? Hit me with your best short-but-sweet vacation list. (The trip is short, but the list probably ought to be, also, since I won't have another responsible adult for backup.) Remember, I'm a minimalist. Before having children, I traveled with an internal frame backpack, no matter how long I was going to be gone. If I could fit diapers and socks for all of us in my backpack, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

The boys have the map spread out in the dining room, and have marked off our route (James), inquired about fishing (John), and shouted "Wango beee! Wango beee!" (Um, that would be Smidge, yes. Translation: Want to go to the beach!) I think they're excited about the trip.

I'll get to touch base with a friend I haven't seen in 16 years. Egads, that's a long time. But I am so excited, and it'll be nice to visit and enjoy a legal beer together. :-)

Oh, and I did find one completely goof-nut tourist thing we simply must do: Dolphin Cruise!

Now, to locate a Crunchy Market, something that will make me look decent in a swimsuit in less than 48 hours, and a black market source for gas and I'm good!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Really Be There

The biggest challenge, for me, of the part-time single parenting gig is just how much work it takes to balance all the needs of all the people, when there is only one of me. Er, of us. He's not another "me", but he sure is handy! For the most part, we handle the separation well by focusing on the positive things: the living room stays tidied, the laundry is easier to manage; meals are a bit less formal, but still nutritious; evenings don't have the same feel to them, but we do get through them. In general. The boys know Dad will return, and all will be well. I know it's temporary, and so, it's fine.

Smidge, however, has been hit the hardest this week. You see, in his two year old vision, there is no next week or last week. There is here, and now. There is the immediate and the impending, although the latter is pretty vague and manifests itself as more of a sensation than an upcoming event. And at bedtime, it hits him the hardest.

Bedtime itself hits me the hardest. Unless you could be billed as a double-jointed singing, juggling wonder (which, I couldn't), it's difficult to floss someone's teeth while the wailing infant is dangling precariously over your knee, her head coming uncomfortably close to both the tile floor and her brother's flailing feet. Why does he have to do an Irish jig while brushing his teeth, anyway?

Someone is always running around, clad in only skivvies, singing songs through his nose. Someone else is always leaping, gazelle-fashion, down the hallway, then slamming, mosh pit-fashion, into the door jamb. The boys seem to love bedtime, although I'm pretty sure we don't have the same goal in mind. Miss Emily seems to loathe bedtime, and I can't say I blame her. But Smidge, well, it's hard to be two.

What he wants and needs, come bedtime, is far from what I usually have left to give him. He needs a soft, gentle round of "I love you, a bushel and a peck..." He needs Tommy Tinkers and the Granny treatment. He needs "fife stories", at least. And he gets those, but somehow, they aren't enough.

Because those are the trappings, the decorative wrappers around what he really desires: he needs me to look directly into his eyes, with my whole body telling him that he is special, and that this time is for him. He needs that song to be sung with all of the attention my heart can give. He needs me to show him that all this craziness means something, and that it will be okay. He needs to have ten minutes where he is the center of my heart's attention.

And yet, every night I tell myself that I need to rush through bedtime and get these kids to BED. NOW. Hut, hut, chop, chop, let's Go, People! And they go. And we rush. And then, when it's all said and done, there are tears. I'm frazzled. I'm done. What? What's the problem? Didn't we sing? Didn't we read? Didn't I fluff your blanket enough to make that stupid fabric softening bear envious?

I'm ashamed to admit that even the tears aren't always enough to pull me back to reality. It's so easy, in the middle of the day, with the sun shining, and a full tank of energy, to smile at strangers as they pass us and say, "Pardon us, we move on toddler time." It's not so easy to keep moving on toddler time, especially when there is the promise of rest, quiet, and a chance to sit, quivering on the couch, and recover from the day. Perhaps even get up and walk around the living room in complete strides, rather than the short-legged shuffle at which I usually pace myself. But then there are the tears, and the what's-wrong-now, and the fleeting thought that if I toss enough stuffed dogs in there with him, he'll calm down and be okay.

And then I click. Because I'm slow sometimes. And I put the baby in the swing with whatever is on hand (probably some completely inappropriate toy, like Daddy's glasses, or my car remote), give the big boys an extra ten minutes to read in bed, and just sit with Smidge. Hold his little face in my hands and kiss all over him. Pull him into my lap on the floor and whisper with him. Ten minutes to be all his. And in return, he is all mine. And it's wonderful. The day's stresses recede, the week's worries melt off our shoulders, and we taste, however briefly, the sweetness that is this life.

And I'm an idiot for not remembering that. It's like Groundhog Day around here, you'd think I would clue in! ARGH. But even though I am nowhere near the mother this child deserves, he keeps reminding me that I am his, and that this is now, and that it's always going to be busy and hectic, but that it's no excuse for ignoring the important things.

I love you,
a bushel and a peck,
a bushel and a peck,
and a hug around the neck.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Welcome to the USSA

Maybe we should have kept the KGB foyer...

National ID Cards

I'm just sick. Absolutely sick.

I'm going to go kiss my babies, and mull.

Dy