Tonight, after a particularly grueling day flogging the meadow into shape, wrangling the children into some semblance of an educational position, off-kilter napping schedules (mainly mine, but BabyGirl helped), baseball practice, and... did I mention it was a particularly tough day? We came home, and I managed to have supper on the table in less than an hour.
While I cooked, Smidge and John sidled over to the dining table for some horribly mangled game of chess-meets-dragonlore. Zorak and James played a riveting, and rather loud, game of chess at the breakfast bar. (James may one day be a mean chess player, but the kid will get beaten consistently if he ever tries to play poker.) Emily screeched protests against the injustice that everybody got to touch the chess pieces except her. You know, in my daydreams about the idyllic family evening routine, it's much quieter...
No idea how we managed it, but we sat down to eat before seven o'clock! We said our prayer (Smidge has stopped screaming while we pray, always appreciated!) and enjoyed a hot meal after a long day. But, that's not the SCORE! The SCORE! came when Zorak said, "Wow, you're getting really good at this. Just being able to walk in and whip up something good."
Angels sang, folks. They sang. They danced. I think a couple of them even waved lighters. It was beautiful.
And that's it. That is the summit of my felicity today. It may not seem like much to those of you who are culinarily gifted. Or have husbands who are thus blessed, (or will eat anything and not quietly decide to cook all the meals from here on in). But for me, this is huge. I have, after a mere thirty-three and a half years on this earth (admittedly, only about the last ten spent actually trying) achieved a major goal as a wife and mother. I can whip up something that my husband actually likes and doesn't sniff, poke, and then add Tabasco to before eating.
Sometimes, it's the small things.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, March 6
Monday, March 5
A Rose, By Any Other Name
Would be just as difficult to pick.
She-who-must-not-be-named (well, she could be named, but refuses to pick one), has, ironically enough, blogged about naming her children. Her story is great. She asked me to blog about it, too. My story? Well, they're named James, John, Jacob. And Emily. It's a pretty sure bet my story isn't that creative. And we don't have a cat named Smidge or Jimmy or even... well, we don't even have a cat.
So, here's how the basic scenario played out the first time around:
Z: How about Roland?
D: No.
Z: Creighton?
D: No.
Z: Roland?
D: No.
Z: Fine. You pick one.
D: *squeal* OK, how about Christian?
Z: *snort* How about B'hai?
*glare*
*silence*
D: You can't make me say okay to Roland, you know.
Z: Muslim? Unitarian? Agnostic?
Thomas. We both liked Thomas. But you can't pair Thomas with our last name. It invariably comes out "Thomas Edison". Hmmm. No good. In the end, we picked James. We both like James. We both have positive connotations of the name. He has a buddy, James, who he thinks the world of; I have an Uncle Jim and a buddy from high school who I think highly of, and so, it was done.
The girl name-picking session took a bit longer. It seems between the two of us, we either knew a thousand children with the names we liked, or could think of horrible things kids can do to the other names we liked. A few, we tossed because they would have condemned a girl to life on the second barstool from the end. A few more, we weeded out due to the somewhat restrictive nature of the names. The list of those rejected by only one or the other of us is enormous. We just couldn't come to a consensus. It was rough. Honestly, if we'd had James, then Emily, we'd have had to stop there, because we'd run out of girl names we could agree on.
Here comes child number two. The conversation(s) went something like this:
D: If it's a girl, Emily, right?
Z: ...right... and if it's a boy, Roland.
D: *hairy eyeball*
Z: Do you like Martin?
D: You know, I do.
Z: *pause* That was almost too easy. Do you really?
D: I really do -- wait. No. We can't do Martin.
Z: Why...?
D: My buddy, James? Yeah, Martin is his other name. That might seem creepy at high school reunions. I'm sorry.
Z: No. I totally get that.
D: Well... wanna try Thomas again?
Z: I really like Roland.
D: Chester.
Z: What?
D: If you can put Roland on the table, then I want Chester. Chester Christian. Or possibly Christian Chester. You can pick.
Z: Can we talk about this later? (And then, in his head...) Like when you aren't pumped full of growth hormones and kind of scary and irrational...
D: I heard that.
Z: I didn't say anything.
D: You thought it.
Z: And I was right. But you can't get me on a technicality. Even if we'd been taping this conversation, there's no evidence to convict me. Want a foot rub?
I don't remember how we came to John for a name. I do remember that we'd had it picked for a while before we realized we'd then have two children with the same first initial. My mother did that with her first batch of kids, only it was intentional. They all had the same initials, first-middle-last. Monogrammed gifts were a nightmare in that family. I thought it was kind of creepy, personally, and have always been glad I came later, thus dodging that bullet. So, we made sure his middle name did not begin with the same letter, and called it good.
There. We were done. Two kids. Only one slight snafu on the whole initial thing. Zorak liked the combination. As he pointed out, I could tell folks from church we'd named them after the Sons of Thunder from the Bible, and he could say they were named after the Belushi brothers. Everyone wins.
But, wait! There's more!
MORE? We can't have any more! We're out of names, and we're not having a girl. So. So, we're done. Remember? Two children? D-o-n-e. *chuckle* Ah, okay. But if we DO have a girl? (both, in unison) Emily. Ok. Cool.
Now we were in a pickle. We couldn't have James, John, and The Spare Kid. Or possibly, James, John and The One We Didn't Plan For. We felt compelled to use a J name. Do you have any idea how many bizarre J names are out there? Wow. Three months of wading through those, including a brief, yet enthusiastic, courting of Jedidiah (Zorak went to school with a Jed. He was twitchy, but brilliant, down-to-earth, and didn't seem terribly scarred by his name, but we couldn't come up with a middle name that could pull it together, you know, like a rug), and we emerged with Jacob. Again, I don't know how, exactly. We weren't even 100% certain the day he was born. I think poor Smidge spent the most time nameless of the four.
And then, Number Four.
D: Emily?
Z: Emily.
D: But, what about her middle name?
(*editorial note: no backstory to the boys' middle names. The combinations had to offer plenty of variations, enough nicknames to fit whatever they might like in the future, work well when yelled in full from the front porch, and not be difficult to pronounce or spell to strangers. That last one is my personal issue. Enough years being called "Dylan" or "Dion" and you get pretty fanatical about plain-Jane spellings.*)
We picked the boys' middle names by how they sounded with the first and last names. I'd like to do something special for Emily's middle name. You know, since her first name is a hand-me-down to the fourth generation. She needs a really special name.
Z: Yeah.
D: Would your Mom mind if we named her after her?
Z: *blank stare* Mind? No.
D: Ok. We should do that, then. Emily Radna. I really like that.
We toyed again with Jed. Wrangled over Roland (that doesn't even BEGIN with a J - I don't know how it kept coming up.) If she'd have been a he, we'd have probably gone with Joshua. It has a J. It's easy to spell, difficult to mispronounce, and we were out of ideas. Thankfully, though, we had our Sweet Miss Emily.
And now, we're done. I think. No guarantees, but I'm relatively sure. We're out of names.
She-who-must-not-be-named (well, she could be named, but refuses to pick one), has, ironically enough, blogged about naming her children. Her story is great. She asked me to blog about it, too. My story? Well, they're named James, John, Jacob. And Emily. It's a pretty sure bet my story isn't that creative. And we don't have a cat named Smidge or Jimmy or even... well, we don't even have a cat.
So, here's how the basic scenario played out the first time around:
Z: How about Roland?
D: No.
Z: Creighton?
D: No.
Z: Roland?
D: No.
Z: Fine. You pick one.
D: *squeal* OK, how about Christian?
Z: *snort* How about B'hai?
*glare*
*silence*
D: You can't make me say okay to Roland, you know.
Z: Muslim? Unitarian? Agnostic?
Thomas. We both liked Thomas. But you can't pair Thomas with our last name. It invariably comes out "Thomas Edison". Hmmm. No good. In the end, we picked James. We both like James. We both have positive connotations of the name. He has a buddy, James, who he thinks the world of; I have an Uncle Jim and a buddy from high school who I think highly of, and so, it was done.
The girl name-picking session took a bit longer. It seems between the two of us, we either knew a thousand children with the names we liked, or could think of horrible things kids can do to the other names we liked. A few, we tossed because they would have condemned a girl to life on the second barstool from the end. A few more, we weeded out due to the somewhat restrictive nature of the names. The list of those rejected by only one or the other of us is enormous. We just couldn't come to a consensus. It was rough. Honestly, if we'd had James, then Emily, we'd have had to stop there, because we'd run out of girl names we could agree on.
Here comes child number two. The conversation(s) went something like this:
D: If it's a girl, Emily, right?
Z: ...right... and if it's a boy, Roland.
D: *hairy eyeball*
Z: Do you like Martin?
D: You know, I do.
Z: *pause* That was almost too easy. Do you really?
D: I really do -- wait. No. We can't do Martin.
Z: Why...?
D: My buddy, James? Yeah, Martin is his other name. That might seem creepy at high school reunions. I'm sorry.
Z: No. I totally get that.
D: Well... wanna try Thomas again?
Z: I really like Roland.
D: Chester.
Z: What?
D: If you can put Roland on the table, then I want Chester. Chester Christian. Or possibly Christian Chester. You can pick.
Z: Can we talk about this later? (And then, in his head...) Like when you aren't pumped full of growth hormones and kind of scary and irrational...
D: I heard that.
Z: I didn't say anything.
D: You thought it.
Z: And I was right. But you can't get me on a technicality. Even if we'd been taping this conversation, there's no evidence to convict me. Want a foot rub?
I don't remember how we came to John for a name. I do remember that we'd had it picked for a while before we realized we'd then have two children with the same first initial. My mother did that with her first batch of kids, only it was intentional. They all had the same initials, first-middle-last. Monogrammed gifts were a nightmare in that family. I thought it was kind of creepy, personally, and have always been glad I came later, thus dodging that bullet. So, we made sure his middle name did not begin with the same letter, and called it good.
There. We were done. Two kids. Only one slight snafu on the whole initial thing. Zorak liked the combination. As he pointed out, I could tell folks from church we'd named them after the Sons of Thunder from the Bible, and he could say they were named after the Belushi brothers. Everyone wins.
But, wait! There's more!
MORE? We can't have any more! We're out of names, and we're not having a girl. So. So, we're done. Remember? Two children? D-o-n-e. *chuckle* Ah, okay. But if we DO have a girl? (both, in unison) Emily. Ok. Cool.
Now we were in a pickle. We couldn't have James, John, and The Spare Kid. Or possibly, James, John and The One We Didn't Plan For. We felt compelled to use a J name. Do you have any idea how many bizarre J names are out there? Wow. Three months of wading through those, including a brief, yet enthusiastic, courting of Jedidiah (Zorak went to school with a Jed. He was twitchy, but brilliant, down-to-earth, and didn't seem terribly scarred by his name, but we couldn't come up with a middle name that could pull it together, you know, like a rug), and we emerged with Jacob. Again, I don't know how, exactly. We weren't even 100% certain the day he was born. I think poor Smidge spent the most time nameless of the four.
And then, Number Four.
D: Emily?
Z: Emily.
D: But, what about her middle name?
(*editorial note: no backstory to the boys' middle names. The combinations had to offer plenty of variations, enough nicknames to fit whatever they might like in the future, work well when yelled in full from the front porch, and not be difficult to pronounce or spell to strangers. That last one is my personal issue. Enough years being called "Dylan" or "Dion" and you get pretty fanatical about plain-Jane spellings.*)
We picked the boys' middle names by how they sounded with the first and last names. I'd like to do something special for Emily's middle name. You know, since her first name is a hand-me-down to the fourth generation. She needs a really special name.
Z: Yeah.
D: Would your Mom mind if we named her after her?
Z: *blank stare* Mind? No.
D: Ok. We should do that, then. Emily Radna. I really like that.
We toyed again with Jed. Wrangled over Roland (that doesn't even BEGIN with a J - I don't know how it kept coming up.) If she'd have been a he, we'd have probably gone with Joshua. It has a J. It's easy to spell, difficult to mispronounce, and we were out of ideas. Thankfully, though, we had our Sweet Miss Emily.
And now, we're done. I think. No guarantees, but I'm relatively sure. We're out of names.
Sunday, March 4
Unearthing the Mysteries
We're learning. We've been inhaling, on a much smaller scale, I'm sure, the intoxicating fumes of history that archaeologists must feel when they begin a dig. We knew when we began working on the Forever Home that this place was once much-loved, and very well-cared for. In spite of the years of neglect, the signs were still there...
Now, as we venture deeper into the land, we're seeing remnants of 30-year old landscaping, long neglected. In a place where full trenches will grow over and become invisible in one year, you can imagine how rapidly the rest of the work vanished. Last week we began pulling "weeds" in the upper meadow that led us to a core "weed" that looks like a tree, but upon closer inspection looks like it was, at one time, a shrub. A decorative shrub. Hey... wait a minnit! (Back up, to take in a broader view of the area.) WHOA!! Check that out! Big tree, flanked by two "shrubs" here, and over there, Big Dead Tree (Magic Castle) flanked by two "shrubs"... so they aren't trees? And they're not supposed to be twenty feet tall? And the design made this little indentation (which we've thought was begging for a gazebo or a greenhouse) - a perfect little hidey spot. Wow, I'll bet that was really pretty...
Today, we worked around the barn (pictured in the header). See the mass of growth there, right in front of it? There's a fence-like thing at the back of that growth that I've imagined would make a lovely arbor for muscadines. Today, we got up close and personal with that mass of growth. There's terracing in there. Landscape timbers. Monkey grass, and ornamental "shrubs" (yes, the tall things), as well as some type of creeping vine thing (probably more poison ivy, and possibly a little Virginia creeper). WOW. Thirty years ago, this little lower meadow was absolutely inviting. The skeletal structure is there for an English garden style landscape. We've been down there a time or two, but never stayed long because of the snakes and wasps. This is the summer, however, for reclaiming the land, and it looks like it will be quite the adventure.
I doubt we'll ever restore it to it's former grandeur, but that's okay. It looks like it was much more high-maintenance than we'd be capable of maintaining; it's also just not practical for what we'd like to do with the land. In the meantime, it's exciting to walk in the shadows of years past, to see what others saw and loved in this place long before we came and loved it.
And the boys are not quite yet convinced our barn will ever be a place to play or hang out. Ever. But they said that about the house, too, once upon a time. *grin*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Now, as we venture deeper into the land, we're seeing remnants of 30-year old landscaping, long neglected. In a place where full trenches will grow over and become invisible in one year, you can imagine how rapidly the rest of the work vanished. Last week we began pulling "weeds" in the upper meadow that led us to a core "weed" that looks like a tree, but upon closer inspection looks like it was, at one time, a shrub. A decorative shrub. Hey... wait a minnit! (Back up, to take in a broader view of the area.) WHOA!! Check that out! Big tree, flanked by two "shrubs" here, and over there, Big Dead Tree (Magic Castle) flanked by two "shrubs"... so they aren't trees? And they're not supposed to be twenty feet tall? And the design made this little indentation (which we've thought was begging for a gazebo or a greenhouse) - a perfect little hidey spot. Wow, I'll bet that was really pretty...
Today, we worked around the barn (pictured in the header). See the mass of growth there, right in front of it? There's a fence-like thing at the back of that growth that I've imagined would make a lovely arbor for muscadines. Today, we got up close and personal with that mass of growth. There's terracing in there. Landscape timbers. Monkey grass, and ornamental "shrubs" (yes, the tall things), as well as some type of creeping vine thing (probably more poison ivy, and possibly a little Virginia creeper). WOW. Thirty years ago, this little lower meadow was absolutely inviting. The skeletal structure is there for an English garden style landscape. We've been down there a time or two, but never stayed long because of the snakes and wasps. This is the summer, however, for reclaiming the land, and it looks like it will be quite the adventure.
I doubt we'll ever restore it to it's former grandeur, but that's okay. It looks like it was much more high-maintenance than we'd be capable of maintaining; it's also just not practical for what we'd like to do with the land. In the meantime, it's exciting to walk in the shadows of years past, to see what others saw and loved in this place long before we came and loved it.
And the boys are not quite yet convinced our barn will ever be a place to play or hang out. Ever. But they said that about the house, too, once upon a time. *grin*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Saturday, March 3
Great Days
Friday, we enjoyed a tour of the WHNT TV station with our homeschool support group. What a delightful outing! John-Paul Dice led the tour, and he was wonderful with the children (and the mommies!) He started out with general descriptions, and geared his responses to the children's levels of interest. Southern hospitality at its best, truly.
Then, since we were in town, and the boys might mutiny if they didn't get to see Ward and/or Terry, we wrangled Terry (Me-Tay) into joining us for a trip to the crunchy market and lunch. It was so pretty that we played in the gazebo at the market while we waited for Me-Tay.
Zorak joined us at the restaurant, which is always a bonus for the kids. We couldn't find Me-Wah, though, so he couldn't join us. Smidge has yet to let us forget that, either. ;-) It was so nice, and the weather was absolutely beautiful, but since we'd all been up since six in the morning, we decided to come home rather than run any more errands in town.
We came home and worked-worked-worked. Thank you all, SO much for the discussion on the foliage. Turns out, I've been yanking poison ivy off many of the trees all week, and didn't realize it. Just sort of waiting for the rash to kick in now... eeek. Thankfully, the boys were relegated to the pulling of the tree-like things that definitely aren't poison anything. Yay!! The boys found quite a few earthworms in the process, which is an encouraging sign for the overall health of the land. Each worm has been lovingly fondled, oogled, and then placed gently back in the ground. I guess when you're six and three, it's important to mark your worms.
John had his second ball practice this morning. It was cold and windy. John had a blast. Baby Girl is one tough toddler. James and Smidge may forego the play area entirely in favor of the snack shack next time. Come to think of it, I love my son very much, but I may forego the bleachers and join them in the relative warmth of the snack shack if we have another cold morning like that!
John really found his stride today. They worked with the pitching machine, and he started out so timid, obviously nervous. He missed the first one, then cracked a few out there, and you could watch the transformation take place.
Next time he was up, he sauntered up to the plate, grinning like a cheshire cat, squared up, and tapped the plate with the bat. I have no idea what gave him the idea (we don't even watch ball on tv), but the coach who was catching chuckled and said, "That's right, look like a baseball player! You got it!" We do have *one of those* adults in the group. I'll have to blog about that one separately, but my-oh-my, it will be difficult not to slip a little valium into that person's coffee. Oy. Thankfully, it's just one.
We came back, prepared to work on the property a bit more, but we talked with some friends who just moved back and figured they could use a little help getting their place cleaned out and ready to move in. So we packed up lunch, yard tools, plumbing tools, and a picnic bench (thank you, Aunt B - those things are SO handy!) and headed over for the day. I'm glad we went. The kids played (as kids are wont to do, eh?), and we were able to lend a hand and enjoy the company of good friends.
At the end of the day, we are tired. Happy. Glad to live here, and to have the life and friends and opportunities we do. Impending itchy blisters and all. *grin*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Then, since we were in town, and the boys might mutiny if they didn't get to see Ward and/or Terry, we wrangled Terry (Me-Tay) into joining us for a trip to the crunchy market and lunch. It was so pretty that we played in the gazebo at the market while we waited for Me-Tay.
Zorak joined us at the restaurant, which is always a bonus for the kids. We couldn't find Me-Wah, though, so he couldn't join us. Smidge has yet to let us forget that, either. ;-) It was so nice, and the weather was absolutely beautiful, but since we'd all been up since six in the morning, we decided to come home rather than run any more errands in town.
We came home and worked-worked-worked. Thank you all, SO much for the discussion on the foliage. Turns out, I've been yanking poison ivy off many of the trees all week, and didn't realize it. Just sort of waiting for the rash to kick in now... eeek. Thankfully, the boys were relegated to the pulling of the tree-like things that definitely aren't poison anything. Yay!! The boys found quite a few earthworms in the process, which is an encouraging sign for the overall health of the land. Each worm has been lovingly fondled, oogled, and then placed gently back in the ground. I guess when you're six and three, it's important to mark your worms.
John had his second ball practice this morning. It was cold and windy. John had a blast. Baby Girl is one tough toddler. James and Smidge may forego the play area entirely in favor of the snack shack next time. Come to think of it, I love my son very much, but I may forego the bleachers and join them in the relative warmth of the snack shack if we have another cold morning like that!
John really found his stride today. They worked with the pitching machine, and he started out so timid, obviously nervous. He missed the first one, then cracked a few out there, and you could watch the transformation take place.
Next time he was up, he sauntered up to the plate, grinning like a cheshire cat, squared up, and tapped the plate with the bat. I have no idea what gave him the idea (we don't even watch ball on tv), but the coach who was catching chuckled and said, "That's right, look like a baseball player! You got it!" We do have *one of those* adults in the group. I'll have to blog about that one separately, but my-oh-my, it will be difficult not to slip a little valium into that person's coffee. Oy. Thankfully, it's just one.
We came back, prepared to work on the property a bit more, but we talked with some friends who just moved back and figured they could use a little help getting their place cleaned out and ready to move in. So we packed up lunch, yard tools, plumbing tools, and a picnic bench (thank you, Aunt B - those things are SO handy!) and headed over for the day. I'm glad we went. The kids played (as kids are wont to do, eh?), and we were able to lend a hand and enjoy the company of good friends.
At the end of the day, we are tired. Happy. Glad to live here, and to have the life and friends and opportunities we do. Impending itchy blisters and all. *grin*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, March 2
Hint #2: leaves, (also vines and bark)
We dug around beneath that tree. There were quite a few other leaves, but some of them we could recognize as belonging to other trees nearby. These are the ones there were the most of. Does this help any?
Also, this is from the tree behind it, but I'm wondering if it's vines that did this to the bark, or something else? I know this poor tree probably isn't healthy, but isn't the detail fascinating? (Click on the image to view the MONGO detail.)
Zorak asked me today if we are assuming that all vines on the trees are poison ivy. I have no idea. I'm just assuming that all vines on the trees ought not be there and must come off. Probably ought to check on that at some point, huh?
There's a lot I have put off, for the simple reason that this whole landscaping thing falls into one of those "painful ironies" categories. I've got two pretty big fears embedded in my imagination. One is of a vampire-werewolf cross - horrible creature, really. The other is vines that have malicious intent and will grow clear across the meadow, up the side of the house, through the window, and kill me in my sleep. Rent Watcher in the Woods. It could happen.
So today's three hours of yanking vines off trees and out of the ground? It's like shock therapy for the overly imaginative.
Kiss those babies (and keep the vines away from the windows!)
~Dy
Also, this is from the tree behind it, but I'm wondering if it's vines that did this to the bark, or something else? I know this poor tree probably isn't healthy, but isn't the detail fascinating? (Click on the image to view the MONGO detail.)
Zorak asked me today if we are assuming that all vines on the trees are poison ivy. I have no idea. I'm just assuming that all vines on the trees ought not be there and must come off. Probably ought to check on that at some point, huh?
There's a lot I have put off, for the simple reason that this whole landscaping thing falls into one of those "painful ironies" categories. I've got two pretty big fears embedded in my imagination. One is of a vampire-werewolf cross - horrible creature, really. The other is vines that have malicious intent and will grow clear across the meadow, up the side of the house, through the window, and kill me in my sleep. Rent Watcher in the Woods. It could happen.
So today's three hours of yanking vines off trees and out of the ground? It's like shock therapy for the overly imaginative.
Kiss those babies (and keep the vines away from the windows!)
~Dy
Thursday, March 1
What is this?
We're going to play a little game. (Don't run away! No, come back! I have coffee!)
I'll post a picture of something, and you guess what it is. This is like "animal, mineral or vegetable", except they're all going to be plants. More specifically, they're all going to be plants I cannot identify and have no idea how to go about identifying. So, you get to play AND do something altruistic for a friend. (Please come back.)
Let's start with the tool grabbing tree. The full shot is in the previous post. And here, we have a closer shot of the bark (bonus points if anyone can identify the tree in the background, too - no idea what that is)...
Here's a shot of a branch with buds (and the other tree limb mugging in the background - we've got a wild bunch of party foliage, here!):
And, to show off my inept photography skills, a blurry picture of a bud:
Fun, huh? (And yes, I really do love my youngest son. He was in no danger of being konked on the head by the trimmer. It was thoroughly lodged in there when this picture was taken.)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
I'll post a picture of something, and you guess what it is. This is like "animal, mineral or vegetable", except they're all going to be plants. More specifically, they're all going to be plants I cannot identify and have no idea how to go about identifying. So, you get to play AND do something altruistic for a friend. (Please come back.)
Let's start with the tool grabbing tree. The full shot is in the previous post. And here, we have a closer shot of the bark (bonus points if anyone can identify the tree in the background, too - no idea what that is)...
Here's a shot of a branch with buds (and the other tree limb mugging in the background - we've got a wild bunch of party foliage, here!):
And, to show off my inept photography skills, a blurry picture of a bud:
Fun, huh? (And yes, I really do love my youngest son. He was in no danger of being konked on the head by the trimmer. It was thoroughly lodged in there when this picture was taken.)
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, February 27
That Went Well...
No, that's not an enormous bird feeder. Yes, it is a telescoping tree pruner dangling from a tree. Would you all believe me if I told you the tree grabbed the trimmer and tore it from my hands, then told me to get back or the dog would get it? No? That's too bad. Would've made a great story.
And to think, this was the high spot of the day. The rest of our projects today for the Forever Home phase something-or-other did include what I thought would be an exciting and enticing foray into the world of *Secret Forts*.
Me: *whispering* Boys, check this out. Won't this make a great secret fort?
*crickets* Yes, in broad daylight. Stone. Cold. Silence as they surveyed the scene before them:
Me: See the magic castle back there?
John: You mean the dead tree?
James: Yeah, I think she's talking about the dead tree. Mom, are we going to build the secret fort behind the dead tree?
Smidge: MAGIC CASTLE!
(OK, at least he saw it.)
I laid out the plan to prune and clear out that clump of foliage in front of the "dead tree" (or, as some of us more imaginative types prefer to call it, The Magic Castle) so that they'll have a cool cave-like spot there when the leaves have filled in. For the record, when I was six, I'd have killed for something like that.
The boys worked hard, and they were diligent. But I don't know if "enthused" would be a good way to describe their view of the process. We hauled out a lot of dead limbs from the once-lively tree, and James wondered whether it'd be this gross when we were done. We made it into the inner sanctum of the someday-fort, and John began pondering just how many types of poisonous spiders dwell in there. They both ran for it the second I told them they could go. Ah, well, Balto and I thought it was pretty cool.
EmBaby fell asleep in the swing, so she missed a lot of the excitement. And Smidge? Well, he's still young enough that if we say it'll be magical, then it'll be magical. He worked the hardest of all of us.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Play Ball!
Or, more appropriately, "Run in circles and laugh until you trip and fall over!"
Baseball Season has begun. Yesterday was the first practice (moved from Saturday for some unknown reason). John is one of the older children on the team, which is good. It'll help balance out the fact that he hasn't been raised in a culture of sports and knows next to nothing about... any of it.
The coach is a doll, and his wife has more enthusiasm than any one person should be permitted. She's really great. And so organized. (I'll admit it, I sat and just stared at her - how can she DO so much with a manilla folder? How does she make that work? Don't things fall out and get coffee spilled on them, and don't her children *rearrange* them for her all the time? Ohhhhh, could she possibly have a Special Place for her paperwork? Mmmmmm. I must get to know this woman!)
But back to the children... They are so stinkin' cute! It's like being at the zoo, watching the Cute and Fuzzy Display. (The chain link fence may have added to that sensation a bit.) One little boy just danced and danced while he was in line. There was no music, but that didn't stop him. He was so much fun to watch. There's a little guy who reminds me of Ron Weasley, with his red hair and sweet nature. He was so enthusiastic, but couldn't run ten feet without flipping over. He'll be a tad bruised by the first game, but with his go-get-em attitude, he'll probably be running marathons in five years.
The kids were a bit shy with one another. Most of them look to the stands for their support and encouragement. As they get to know each other, they'll be more willing to shout encouragement to one another. But in the meantime, John and a couple of others flashed the "I love you," sign to their parents in the stands. And after each catch or toss or running stint, the little face attached to the action would turn our way, seek out his people and absolutely BEAM. That was good to see.
Actually, the whole afternoon was encouraging. There were three dads out on the field, helping the coach. The benches were filled with moms and siblings. No swearing. No fighting. No nastiness. We were in heaven. If you're ever feeling a little down on how our society is going, let me know and I'll bring you by the ballfield. Like a little shot of hope, really. But without the puckering fear of the needle, or the little cotton ball/bandaid thing.
We're sized for his uniform (oh. my. word. - those are just the cutest little things!!) and Zorak and I have the requisite parental support garments ordered (cap for him and t-shirt for me). I've got to find a small duffle bag for John to keep his things in. Practice comes three times a week, plus games on weekends, so it looks like I'm going to have to master the art of the stock pot, and make-ahead meals. But did I mention how absolutely adorable the little ones out on the field are? Oh.
And the coffee is good. Zorak put it well. It's not gourmet coffee good. It's not Circle K coffee good. It's, "We're sitting here, on a bench, watching our child play ball" good. Very good, indeed.
There were going to be pictures, but the upload cord has completely disappeared. Without a trace. Weird.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Baseball Season has begun. Yesterday was the first practice (moved from Saturday for some unknown reason). John is one of the older children on the team, which is good. It'll help balance out the fact that he hasn't been raised in a culture of sports and knows next to nothing about... any of it.
The coach is a doll, and his wife has more enthusiasm than any one person should be permitted. She's really great. And so organized. (I'll admit it, I sat and just stared at her - how can she DO so much with a manilla folder? How does she make that work? Don't things fall out and get coffee spilled on them, and don't her children *rearrange* them for her all the time? Ohhhhh, could she possibly have a Special Place for her paperwork? Mmmmmm. I must get to know this woman!)
But back to the children... They are so stinkin' cute! It's like being at the zoo, watching the Cute and Fuzzy Display. (The chain link fence may have added to that sensation a bit.) One little boy just danced and danced while he was in line. There was no music, but that didn't stop him. He was so much fun to watch. There's a little guy who reminds me of Ron Weasley, with his red hair and sweet nature. He was so enthusiastic, but couldn't run ten feet without flipping over. He'll be a tad bruised by the first game, but with his go-get-em attitude, he'll probably be running marathons in five years.
The kids were a bit shy with one another. Most of them look to the stands for their support and encouragement. As they get to know each other, they'll be more willing to shout encouragement to one another. But in the meantime, John and a couple of others flashed the "I love you," sign to their parents in the stands. And after each catch or toss or running stint, the little face attached to the action would turn our way, seek out his people and absolutely BEAM. That was good to see.
Actually, the whole afternoon was encouraging. There were three dads out on the field, helping the coach. The benches were filled with moms and siblings. No swearing. No fighting. No nastiness. We were in heaven. If you're ever feeling a little down on how our society is going, let me know and I'll bring you by the ballfield. Like a little shot of hope, really. But without the puckering fear of the needle, or the little cotton ball/bandaid thing.
We're sized for his uniform (oh. my. word. - those are just the cutest little things!!) and Zorak and I have the requisite parental support garments ordered (cap for him and t-shirt for me). I've got to find a small duffle bag for John to keep his things in. Practice comes three times a week, plus games on weekends, so it looks like I'm going to have to master the art of the stock pot, and make-ahead meals. But did I mention how absolutely adorable the little ones out on the field are? Oh.
And the coffee is good. Zorak put it well. It's not gourmet coffee good. It's not Circle K coffee good. It's, "We're sitting here, on a bench, watching our child play ball" good. Very good, indeed.
There were going to be pictures, but the upload cord has completely disappeared. Without a trace. Weird.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, February 26
Sometimes...
Sometimes you want to ask...
Sometimes you're not sure if you want to...
And sometimes you're pretty sure you wouldn't be able to make sense, even if you did...
That turtle has been up that tree for a month, now.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sometimes you're not sure if you want to...
And sometimes you're pretty sure you wouldn't be able to make sense, even if you did...
That turtle has been up that tree for a month, now.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
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