Monday, June 18

From Our Visit With Verena

As promised, here are a couple of pictures from our visit with Verena and her crew when they came through. Her husband kindly took the photos with both their camera and ours, so we could get the moms and all the kids in, but then we didn't get any with him in there!

I don't think any of our children are this red, naturally, but by the time we both said, "Oh! Wait! The camera's in the car!" Well, they'd been playing hard for quite a while.



Isn't she just lovely? She exudes grace and gentle strength, folks. She's just very neat. And so pretty!

And since the boys were all so good about posing nicely for the group shot, we just had to take a silly one, too. That's a fun bunch of kids, there!



And now, I must go. I've been so good about getting to bed before midnight, and it's starting to help!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Sunday, June 17

Happy Father's Day!



The cake tasted delicious. Fortunately, you cannot taste "concave".

The carrots, while wholly experimental, were a big hit, too.


Mostly with the boys. But that's good. Happy is the Daddy who knows his children are loved as well as he is.

Kiss those babies, and Daddies, and anybody else who needs a little extra love today!
~Dy

Man, I am on a roll!

First, the Nightmare on Elm Street Team Cake.

New, for Father's Day: Give the man in your life something that says You Must Really Love Me!

Erm, no. How about, Look, Ma! No Skills!

Nah.

The sales blurb for this particular gem (you know, in my imaginary baked goods store) would be something along the lines of, "two hollowed-out cake layers, filled to the brim with delicious cream cheese icing, held together with three or four tons of additional cream cheese icing, and topped with rolled buttercream carrots."

Ah. Well, the icing tastes good. The cake does, too. (What's left of it.) It just... exploded... in the oven. I'm not... entirely sure... what happened.

We'll see what miracles can be performed with the adhesive properties of grease and sugar!

Happy Father's Day!
Kiss those Daddies!
~Dy

Saturday, June 16

Who's On First?

Communication has been called an art. Words, the most common form of communication in society, have been called "the most powerful drug used by mankind." (Kipling)

So why do we speak? Write? Read? What is the goal of our communication? If we are not understood, is it we who have not done our job properly? Or is it our audience who must hash it out until understanding is reached?

In our home, we take a clear and simple stance: your goal, when you speak or write, is to convey your thoughts, ideas, and questions in such a way that others are capable of comprehending you.

It's why we tell Smidge, "Use your words."

It's why we told the older two the same thing.

It's why Emily will hear the same. exact. phrase.

It's why we read, read, read. Talk, think, discuss. We want them to have the vocabulary and thought processes to communicate well, and not have to rely on the flippant, rude, and useless, "whatever."

Let's illustrate.

If you feel I've called you a toad, (perhaps, because I've said, "Your amphibian roots are showing,") you would most likely question me about it. And if I said I was only thinking aloud, or that I was only attempting to have an honest dialogue, but meant absolutely no harm at all... we could probably move on with the discussion. But, if my references continually pointed toward an implication that I believed you to be a toad (caught any flies today? is that a wart? don't lick her, kids, you know how she is!) It's probably a fair assumption that I'm not being entirely honest with you when you call me on the carpet for being a bit of an ass, and I deny it. It would behoove me to

a) admit that I think you're actually a toad, and be willing to discuss my reasons for coming to this position,
b) admit that I'm busted, I'm being a jerk, and knock it off,
c) just shut up, already.

There is no real option d) continue to berate you for jumping to wild conclusions, as I simply happen to *adore* toads.

At least, not with any intellectual honesty, there isn't.

On the flip side, if you speak to me in German, beyond words such as "strudel" or "schnitzel" or possibly "guten tag" (but with all the proper decorative punctuation that I don't know how to type in Blogger), I will have no idea what you are saying. You can say it more slowly. You can say it more loudly. You can even s-p-e-l-l it out for me. It won't help, because I do not speak German. Yes, I could learn it. (If I ever go to Germany, I'll give it my best shot.) However, if you'd like to communicate a thought, an idea, an opinion, (not just to me, but to anyone) you are the one responsible for putting it in such a way that I am (we are) capable of gleaning your meaning. Don't move closer and cover us in angry spittle in the hope that we will somehow "get" what you mean. Oddly enough, that does not work.

We tell the children that if they would like to be understood, it is their job to make themselves understood. We hold ourselves to the same standard. That does not mean we do not occasionally say something confusing. (For instance, if I were to say, "This is stupid," Zorak might want clarification. Is this whole plan stupid? Is this part of the plan stupid? Is this specific detail stupid? Or am I just being a jerk about it and can't think of anything articulate to say? If I get angry with him for asking for clarification, it's pretty obvious at that point that I was just being a jerk.)

That, right there, is a matter of personal responsibility. It means that when we do convey something that makes our audience look askance at us, we take it as our responsibility to re-phrase what we've tried to convey. We wouldn't allow our children to shout at their friends, "Oh! You plebes! Whatever!" We wouldn't allow ourselves to do that to one another in a dialogue, a discourse, a discussion. We. Simply. Wouldn't.

No more would we accept an out-of-left-field, unrelated comment from one of our children as a legitimate portion of our discussion. (At least not without pointing it out.) For example,
This is a difficult task. I could use help,
would not be answered appropriately with,

The human head weighs eight pounds and emits carbon dioxide from the nostrils.

In fact, the next thing you would most likely hear is something along the lines of,

What? That was just weird. Please don't do that. If you're going to join the discussion, then your contribution needs to have something to do with the discussion.

We do guide our children away from behaving like that. Why? So they learn how to communicate appropriately. They learn that it's their job to communicate appropriately.

When people behave inappropriately in their communications, discussions devolve quickly into one-sided conversations that leave the rest of the group fairly uncertain. Those who don't know the meter of that verse are accused of choosing not to hear it. Or of being too stoopid to understand it, too thin-skinned to be worthy of responding with any rationale, too antagonistic to be reasonable.

Or maybe, just maybe, they aren't *not getting it*. They've seen enough, and are smart enough to know that, sometimes, it is what it is. That does happen, from time to time. If they're wrong, they might ask the speaker, "Please, clarify."

It is, after all, the speaker's responsibility to make themselves understood. Isn't it?

So please, if I'm unclear, help me uphold my end of the communication deal and let me know I've been unclear. I'll do the same for you.

Dy
People can only hear you when they are moving toward you, and they are not likely to when your words are pursuing them. Even the choicest words lose their power when they are used to overpower. Attitudes are the real figures of speech.
~Edwin Friedman

A Quiet Saturday Afternoon

Too beautiful this morning to stay in. So we went outside. And worked. And read. And talked. We laughed. Commiserated. Thought. It was good.

Too warm this afternoon to stay out for long. For us. So we came inside. And played. And read. And ate. I hung some wash. He played with the boys. The baby napped. Again, we laughed, we thought, we did. It was also good.

Makes me wonder what delights this evening will hold. Whatever it is, it will be good. That much I know.

And I'm thankful.

Kiss those babies.
Dy

The Twelve Tasks of Hercules

It's a good thing neither of the boys has ever been called upon to perform such duties. This afternoon, I kicked them outside to go play, dig in the dirt, do something different. They went outside happily.

And in five minutes, they were back inside.

"*phew* Man, is it HOT out there! Can we come in?"

*raised eyebrow* "And you want to play football? Football, which begins in August. August, which makes mid-June look like February. Really?"

John considered and said, "You know, I don't think I would."

James said, "I think I can do it."

Zorak chimed in, "I know you *can* do it. The question is, do you *want* to?"

*long, drawn out pause*

James, "Yes. Yes, I want to do it. And I will do it with a good attitude."

WHY??? What has this child decided football is going to be? It's going to be hot, sticky, mosquito-infested hell! That's what it's going to be! *whiiiine*

OK, it's probably a good thing I've never been called upon to perform the tasks of Hercules. James might pull it off. But personally, I suspect John's the smart one of the bunch.

Oh, and summer ball begins in July. So we have some recovery time. Yay.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

US Stuff

If you've ever wondered, "Is anything still made in the USA?" Evidently, yes. Check this out.

US Stuff

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The views of the above linked website do not necessarily reflect those of the moderators of this blog, or our subsidiaries. This link is provided for the sole purpose of saying, "Hey, look, I found a place that has a conglomeration of businesses that manufacture things in the United States of America!" Any attempt to find proselytization and or pandering will be mocked on sight. I am not a doctor, I just play one at home. As with any diet or exercise program, please consult a physician before you begin. Not eligible in Hawaii, Puerto Rico, the Virgin Islands, or small towns in Ohio. Please try this at home, but know that you do so at your own risk. Oh, and don't run with scissors.

Friday, June 15

So Where Was I Last Night?

I went to the Carnival! The Carnival of Principled Government, which I found at Consent of the Governed.

There are some interesting and thought-provoking articles from the left, the right, the middle, and the lone anarchist.

Zorak let me read articles aloud to him for a while, then he gave up and went to bed. I couldn't get my IM to work, and that's probably a good thing or I'd have stayed up until four o'clock reading and talking and sharing links.

One blog that kept me going for quite a while is Tales of Modernity. Saul presents a thought-provoking dialogue of philosophy, mathematics, science, and politics. I'll blog more about some of the thoughts that gained a little momentum last night, but that'll have to be done at another time.

For now, the Small Ones need direction and affection, and we need to prepare to spend the afternoon on the water with friends. Yeah, this is the good stuff.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Thursday, June 14

Forever Home Update. Sorta.

The front of the house is now fully cleaned.

And it's still ugly.

But now it's clean and ugly, and has a lot less green on it.

Thank you, and good night.

Dy