Well, EmBaby was really mad. But John had a great practice. Almost three hours long. Thank God for DEET, man, that's all I'm going to say on that subject.
James suffered from some sort of mental palsy at the field that caused him no end of clumsiness - he knocked EmBaby off the bleachers several times, kicked over a box of animal crackers, cracked Smidge in the head with his knee, dropped his book untold times, and then sent my coffee flying when he tried to get out of the way after sending EmBaby down between the steps on the bleachers. Poor kid was so exasperated. He said, "Wow, I guess I'm having a bit of a klutz day, aren't I?" Well, yeah, but like I told him, we all have days like that on occasion. It's okay. Then I directed him to sit, on his butt, yes - both cheeks, over there, a good two body-lengths away from the small ones, while I cleaned up the coffee.
And yet, the kid recovered well. I sent him to the Suburban to look for paper towels, asking him specifically not to lock the keys in the car because Daddy won't be home until after they've rolled up the sidewalks. He returned and I could see he didn't have paper towels. Nor did I see any keys. I froze. I think I whispered, "You don't, by chance, still have the keys, do you?" HE froze. A look of horror-stricken panic spread across his face. I might have thrown up a little bit. Then he burst into laughter and produced the keys from his back pocket, whole and unscathed (but most importantly, NOT still in the car!) "Did you really think I'd locked them in?" Um, yeah. I thought it was a distinct possibility. "*cackle* *chuckle* *guffaw* That's why I thought it would be so funny!" Keep laughing, Kid. I have pictures from the year you thought it was kosher to wear your underwear on the outside of your pants...
And speaking of underwear... I think I got peed on by one of the little siblings. Not one of mine. Mine don't pee on people. But I'm pretty sure the Little Red-Haired Girl who plays with Smidge and EmBaby peed on my lap while we were playing. (If I didn't come with my own children, you'd think I was some kind of Child Catcher - while all the Moms Who Know Each Other hang out and talk salons and bbq plans, their younger children, left to fend for themselves, end up with me and my crew at the other end of the bench. I look like the woman with eighteen kids all disturbingly close in age, and all with different fathers.) Anyway, when she got off my lap, the tops of my pantlegs were soaked. So where her britches. Her mother left shortly thereafter. Ew. So, um, I think Thursday I'll bring extra clothes - some for her, and some for me.
And it's over. And we lived. And I still have four children. And nobody got left at the park. And Zorak is on his way home! YAY!!!!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, July 3
We Made It, But It Hurt
You know, really, our kids are pretty obedient. If James disobeys, it's usually because he either forgot what he was doing, or forgot that it was/wasn't in the rule book. Very, very seldom is it ever intentional. When John disobeys, it's usually because he didn't understand or got conflicting directions from each parent and he panics. He would gladly oblige, IF he could tell what he was supposed to do. Smidge - eh, he's three. And EmBaby may or may not inadvertently off herself by diving from the rooftop well before she gets the whole obedience thing down.
That said, there is one directive that will inevitably cause all four of my children to turn to plaster. Hollow, unthinking, unmoving plaster. The deadly directions? Seemingly simple:
SO.
We got there on time. 8:30. We left from Smidge's appointment after 11:00. He did so much work on that child, I could not believe it. I've never, ever seen a more productive dentist. Again, we left with all the promised work completed, and this time a little more, as well. Smidge has deep crevices in his molars (I was so relieved when the assistant heard me sigh as she started scraping and said, "Oh, no, these aren't your fault. There's nothing you can do about this." I could have cried!) So the dentist cleaned them out and sealed them up. Yay! Insurance won't pay for sealants on baby teeth, but if that'll save him from going through what John and James are going through, I'll pay for it in chickens and homemade moccasins, if I have to. WOOHOO! He did the first half of fixing Smidge's poor front teeth (which have the same problem John's did), and applied a gluey substance to them to keep them until his next appointment. He also filled two cavities. That's a lot of work for a little guy, but Smidge was so happy to be there, seeing Dr. Beitel, getting his teeth fixed, that he never uttered a sound.
We left, ate lunch, spent 30 minutes at one of those hideous "community sponsored projects" - you know, the wooden outdoor playgrounds that, judging from the utter lack of visual contact a parent has once her child disappears into the labrynth, were obviously designed by angry pedophiles. I hate those things. But the kids love them, and this one is fenced in with only one option for egress. (God help us if the thing catches fire - we'll all roast at the bottleneck in the gate.) And then, straight back to the dentist's office!
This time for John, who was not so enthusiastic. He's a bit cynical. He's heard all the feel-good rhetoric before. "This will get you all fixed up." (Yeah, any more fixing and he's going to need dentures.) "Just a little longer." (What is this, a road trip?) He was good, and patient, and didn't say any of the things he was thinking. We were there from 1:00 until 3:30. Three teeth. Seven surfaces. On one of the teeth, the dentist muttered that this was "herodontics". I guess my RCA puppy look tipped him off that this would be a somewhat *new* term to me (and not a comforting one). He said in 99 out of 100 cases, he'd have put a crown on that one, but that John's been through so much already that he thinks he can make this work without putting him through more than absolutely necessary.
Of course, he also said since John's four front teeth are next in the queue to come out, our best bet is to leave them be and encourage him to ride his bike a lot this summer. You know, downhill. (I kid you not. He said if ever there's a time to live dangerously, speaking from a dental perspective, John's in the sweet spot.) I thought that was pretty cool. John wasn't as receptive to the idea of living dangerously for the summer.
And we headed home. All I wanted was to brew a pot of coffee, pee in a non-public toilet, and have a quiet evening at home.
But no. Ball practice tonight. I did sort of hope John wouldn't be up for it, but for some reason, God saw fit to give the child a whole lot of fortitude. I know he didn't get it from me. Anyway, Zorak's out of town today, and EmBaby is going to be SO mad when I have to wake her up to get to the field.
At least it's all a Good Productivity. Right?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
That said, there is one directive that will inevitably cause all four of my children to turn to plaster. Hollow, unthinking, unmoving plaster. The deadly directions? Seemingly simple:
"Eat up, kids. We have to go soon."You can hear the brakes screeching all along their central nervous systems, and watch some little man pull down the shutters in their eyes. It doesn't matter HOW early we get them started, that phrase will guarantee that we complete a meal (or at least have to leave it partially-eaten because it's Time. To. Go.) amid a non-stop stream of panic and mayhem, with them moving in bad-dream-slow-motion and me bounding about shedding like I'm three months post-partum and suffering mange. Someday I will learn not to tell them to hurry. I'll just serve smaller portions and remain conspicuously quiet. By the door. With the keys and a stack of wet wipes.
SO.
We got there on time. 8:30. We left from Smidge's appointment after 11:00. He did so much work on that child, I could not believe it. I've never, ever seen a more productive dentist. Again, we left with all the promised work completed, and this time a little more, as well. Smidge has deep crevices in his molars (I was so relieved when the assistant heard me sigh as she started scraping and said, "Oh, no, these aren't your fault. There's nothing you can do about this." I could have cried!) So the dentist cleaned them out and sealed them up. Yay! Insurance won't pay for sealants on baby teeth, but if that'll save him from going through what John and James are going through, I'll pay for it in chickens and homemade moccasins, if I have to. WOOHOO! He did the first half of fixing Smidge's poor front teeth (which have the same problem John's did), and applied a gluey substance to them to keep them until his next appointment. He also filled two cavities. That's a lot of work for a little guy, but Smidge was so happy to be there, seeing Dr. Beitel, getting his teeth fixed, that he never uttered a sound.
We left, ate lunch, spent 30 minutes at one of those hideous "community sponsored projects" - you know, the wooden outdoor playgrounds that, judging from the utter lack of visual contact a parent has once her child disappears into the labrynth, were obviously designed by angry pedophiles. I hate those things. But the kids love them, and this one is fenced in with only one option for egress. (God help us if the thing catches fire - we'll all roast at the bottleneck in the gate.) And then, straight back to the dentist's office!
This time for John, who was not so enthusiastic. He's a bit cynical. He's heard all the feel-good rhetoric before. "This will get you all fixed up." (Yeah, any more fixing and he's going to need dentures.) "Just a little longer." (What is this, a road trip?) He was good, and patient, and didn't say any of the things he was thinking. We were there from 1:00 until 3:30. Three teeth. Seven surfaces. On one of the teeth, the dentist muttered that this was "herodontics". I guess my RCA puppy look tipped him off that this would be a somewhat *new* term to me (and not a comforting one). He said in 99 out of 100 cases, he'd have put a crown on that one, but that John's been through so much already that he thinks he can make this work without putting him through more than absolutely necessary.
Of course, he also said since John's four front teeth are next in the queue to come out, our best bet is to leave them be and encourage him to ride his bike a lot this summer. You know, downhill. (I kid you not. He said if ever there's a time to live dangerously, speaking from a dental perspective, John's in the sweet spot.) I thought that was pretty cool. John wasn't as receptive to the idea of living dangerously for the summer.
And we headed home. All I wanted was to brew a pot of coffee, pee in a non-public toilet, and have a quiet evening at home.
But no. Ball practice tonight. I did sort of hope John wouldn't be up for it, but for some reason, God saw fit to give the child a whole lot of fortitude. I know he didn't get it from me. Anyway, Zorak's out of town today, and EmBaby is going to be SO mad when I have to wake her up to get to the field.
At least it's all a Good Productivity. Right?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Six O'Clock and All's Well. I think.
I know beggars can't be choosers, but really, why did I agree to an 8:30 in-town appointment and a 1:00 in-town appointment on the same day, two days before payday? In the middle of the hot'n'sticky summer? Oh. That's right, because the children need to see the dentist, and this was the soonest we could get them in. Right, then.
So, it's six o'clock, and I'm up. Dressed. Slowly feeling the caffeine drip kick in. Staring at the kitchen, thinking I should have made bread last night, and wondering how bad the mid-day meltdown would be if the boys didn't get protein with their breakfast... Stoopid birds have been up and at it for two hours already. This might be why they don't live long.
OK, so I'm no longer a morning person. I might be, if I got to bed earlier last night, but I had paperwork to shred and finances to fuss over. It's probably a good thing we don't have a cow or a goat yet because I'm afraid it'd explode before we got down to the barn to milk in the mornings. It's going to take a lot of work to get into a more agrarian-friendly schedule. A. Lot. Of. Work.
And while I'm sitting here, looking suspiciously around at My Life, I've got to ask, "How can it be July 3 already? Where'd that come from?" It seemed such a long time away when I made the appointments. Really it did. But, here it is again, that time warp thing. OK, we have books, paper, diapers, snacks, water. Packed and good to go.
I guess all that's left to do is rally the troops. That'll be fun. James came out last night around ten with his eyes wide open and a tortured look on his face as he said, "Mom, I get what you mean now about the tooth grinding driving you nuts. It's bad in there!" Heh. I know, kiddo. I know. So I let him lay down in our room to fall asleep. We waited and waited. He popped out at eleven with a bottle of calamine lotion - the Missing Bottle of Calamine Lotion. He found it "behind the nightstand"... (Um, sweetie, I hate to point this out in such a short manner, but why, exactly, were you behind the nightstand at eleven o'clock at night? Do you like being miserable or did you think I was joking about waking you up three hours before you normally arise in the morning?) Judging by the look on his face, that never dawned on him. He went straight to bed, and to sleep. But I still don't relish waking that one up this morning.
Well, perhaps the smell of sausage will lure them out... or I could just set fire to something in the hallway and hope the smoke alarms do the trick? Hmm. This could be fun. Ok, I'm off!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
So, it's six o'clock, and I'm up. Dressed. Slowly feeling the caffeine drip kick in. Staring at the kitchen, thinking I should have made bread last night, and wondering how bad the mid-day meltdown would be if the boys didn't get protein with their breakfast... Stoopid birds have been up and at it for two hours already. This might be why they don't live long.
OK, so I'm no longer a morning person. I might be, if I got to bed earlier last night, but I had paperwork to shred and finances to fuss over. It's probably a good thing we don't have a cow or a goat yet because I'm afraid it'd explode before we got down to the barn to milk in the mornings. It's going to take a lot of work to get into a more agrarian-friendly schedule. A. Lot. Of. Work.
And while I'm sitting here, looking suspiciously around at My Life, I've got to ask, "How can it be July 3 already? Where'd that come from?" It seemed such a long time away when I made the appointments. Really it did. But, here it is again, that time warp thing. OK, we have books, paper, diapers, snacks, water. Packed and good to go.
I guess all that's left to do is rally the troops. That'll be fun. James came out last night around ten with his eyes wide open and a tortured look on his face as he said, "Mom, I get what you mean now about the tooth grinding driving you nuts. It's bad in there!" Heh. I know, kiddo. I know. So I let him lay down in our room to fall asleep. We waited and waited. He popped out at eleven with a bottle of calamine lotion - the Missing Bottle of Calamine Lotion. He found it "behind the nightstand"... (Um, sweetie, I hate to point this out in such a short manner, but why, exactly, were you behind the nightstand at eleven o'clock at night? Do you like being miserable or did you think I was joking about waking you up three hours before you normally arise in the morning?) Judging by the look on his face, that never dawned on him. He went straight to bed, and to sleep. But I still don't relish waking that one up this morning.
Well, perhaps the smell of sausage will lure them out... or I could just set fire to something in the hallway and hope the smoke alarms do the trick? Hmm. This could be fun. Ok, I'm off!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, July 2
Oh fun!
Got this in my email.
Yeah, that was nice to know.
This is downright euphoric.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We thought you'd like to know that we shipped your items, and that this completes your order.
Yeah, that was nice to know.
This is downright euphoric.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
This 'n That
We had such a productive weekend. We hit a fire sale at the nursery and bought three flats of vegetable plants for .25 per plant. WOOHOO. They were a bit root bound, but we figured that's okay. Better to try than to just let them get thrown into a compost heap somewhere. Of course, it would've worked better if we'd researched just *how* to transplant root bound plants properly before we dove right in... still. You know. We never said the learning curve isn't steep, right?
We finally put the watermelons and pumpkins in the melon patch down by the barn! That felt good. It'll probably feel even better if we can get anything to come up, flower, and then actually produce fruit.
We played ball, walked in circles, read great stories, played video games, and ate well. It was a great weekend. I even cleaned, but without having to neglect the children, since they were outside playing ball with Zorak. Talk about guilt-free time alone! Yeah, that's good stuff.
Tonight, Zorak and I went through all the paperwork, sorted, purged, sifted, purged, and then purged a little more. Oh, I can breathe again! (I hate paper clutter, and yet, that's the sort I seem to collect. Terribly self-defeating. Superman didn't mine kryptonite. Pffttt.) And then, just as I sat down to set up my notebook (July through September - I've actually been keeping this thing up-to-date and good to go, with budgeting, scheduling, lesson plans, book lists, and hometending information!)... the printer no printy. What the--
*sigh*
Toner light is on.
And when this thing says it needs toner, it means now.
So, in a fit of desperation, fighting the sense of utter isolation in knowing I don't have toner and I can't print books, and NOTHING IS OPEN AT MIDNIGHT HERE IN THE COUNTRY (yes, at which point, even I whispered, "um, der!" *sigh* I know...) I signed up for the free trial of Amazon Prime. Because they had my toner cartridge. And it made perfect sense to do that for the free two-day shipping. Yes, things will be open in the morning, but by morning, my panic will have subsided. And the children will be up and expecting food and attention. And... I just don't leave the house unless I have to. Now, I don't have to!
So, no lesson plans or Baldwin reading until Wednesday. But that's okay, we have plenty of other things to enjoy in the meantime. (Right, like math and Latin, you say? hee hee)
No, we have a lot to keep us busy. We've got work in the garden, and soil samples to finish gathering and test. We have the hummingbird feeder up (yes, finally - one flew by yesterday, stopped and looked right at us, as if to say, "What? You think we can't see that feeder sitting in there on the counter? Where's our FOOD, people?!?" Guilt can be quite the motivator.) We have another bird feeder to finish cleaning (who knew you could get that much grime on such a small surface area? Ew.) A birdhouse to hang. Birds to watch, and things to draw.
There's so much to be done, no matter how much or how little we have to do it with, we will always have plenty. And plenty to do, as well. So exciting!
Here's to a fantastic week! Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We finally put the watermelons and pumpkins in the melon patch down by the barn! That felt good. It'll probably feel even better if we can get anything to come up, flower, and then actually produce fruit.
We played ball, walked in circles, read great stories, played video games, and ate well. It was a great weekend. I even cleaned, but without having to neglect the children, since they were outside playing ball with Zorak. Talk about guilt-free time alone! Yeah, that's good stuff.
Tonight, Zorak and I went through all the paperwork, sorted, purged, sifted, purged, and then purged a little more. Oh, I can breathe again! (I hate paper clutter, and yet, that's the sort I seem to collect. Terribly self-defeating. Superman didn't mine kryptonite. Pffttt.) And then, just as I sat down to set up my notebook (July through September - I've actually been keeping this thing up-to-date and good to go, with budgeting, scheduling, lesson plans, book lists, and hometending information!)... the printer no printy. What the--
*sigh*
Toner light is on.
And when this thing says it needs toner, it means now.
So, in a fit of desperation, fighting the sense of utter isolation in knowing I don't have toner and I can't print books, and NOTHING IS OPEN AT MIDNIGHT HERE IN THE COUNTRY (yes, at which point, even I whispered, "um, der!" *sigh* I know...) I signed up for the free trial of Amazon Prime. Because they had my toner cartridge. And it made perfect sense to do that for the free two-day shipping. Yes, things will be open in the morning, but by morning, my panic will have subsided. And the children will be up and expecting food and attention. And... I just don't leave the house unless I have to. Now, I don't have to!
So, no lesson plans or Baldwin reading until Wednesday. But that's okay, we have plenty of other things to enjoy in the meantime. (Right, like math and Latin, you say? hee hee)
No, we have a lot to keep us busy. We've got work in the garden, and soil samples to finish gathering and test. We have the hummingbird feeder up (yes, finally - one flew by yesterday, stopped and looked right at us, as if to say, "What? You think we can't see that feeder sitting in there on the counter? Where's our FOOD, people?!?" Guilt can be quite the motivator.) We have another bird feeder to finish cleaning (who knew you could get that much grime on such a small surface area? Ew.) A birdhouse to hang. Birds to watch, and things to draw.
There's so much to be done, no matter how much or how little we have to do it with, we will always have plenty. And plenty to do, as well. So exciting!
Here's to a fantastic week! Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Saturday, June 30
New Reading
Arousing from the most profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet in a second afterward (so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed.
(Poe. How delightful. Who knew?)
I think I have discovered a new (to me) delight in this season of my life: the short story. OK, OK, I'll admit it: I've been a bit of a snob about the short story. It is useful for guiding writing classes, for draining the life from high school English Lit classes, perhaps for filling the gaps in an anthology. Too short to be a novel, too long to be an essay, the short story seemed to lack purpose. It never fed a portion of my reading heart in a way that merited remark, either good or bad.
Now, before you *tut-tut* and begin making disdainful clucking noises, hear me out. (I still remember the collective gasp when I admitted I was never a big fan of fiction. We all learn. I'm learning. Growing. Bear with me.) It's not that I hadn't read Poe, Conrad, or Chesterton (although, ok, Chesterton is new to me -- within the last few years -- and it is to him I owe my latest foray into short stories). I think it's that I hadn't quite understood how best to approach a short story. By it's very name, I suppose, I always expected it to be, well, shorter. And so, I hadn't the attention to last much beyond the first page or two. Yet, to gear up for the seminar-length of a novel seemed a bit of overkill, really. So I developed my pace for reading through a short story - I'd sprint. Sprint through it, suck it up, get it over, and try very hard not peek at the last paragraph becuse honestly, is is THAT difficult to show some self-composure? Truly, when you must grasp your reading moments in the quiet lulls between needs and demands, who wants to sprint? Not I!
Children get it. Children get the thrill of a short story. They understand, almost intuitively, that the master of a short story can make his readers wonder, follow, care... all of the things a well-written novel will do, but with far fewer words and far less time to accomplish those things. How did I forget that part? It's a pretty big part. However, due to my love affair with GK Chesterton (it's okay, Zorak knows - I'm only after his words), I picked up a book of *sigh* short stories. Because one of his stories was in there. And it's one I love. Enough to read it over and over again. Enough to buy a book I'm not otherwise interested in owning.
And I began to read the other stories. I read, for the first time in my life, The Pit and the Pendulum. With a bit of context thrown in. And... and... I may not stop making adolescent "quoth the raven" jokes because of it. But I did enjoy it. Not in an uplifting-let's-read-Poe-daily sort of way. But moreso than ever before.
Did you know he wrote of hope?
In so many ways, I am thankful that I can continue my own education. I cannot imagine being in ten years the same as I am today. I am not now what, ten years ago, I thought I'd be. Yet this isn't (really, it isn't) about the journey of self-discovery so much as it is about my utter joy that I've found something I can read, and savor, and enjoy. Before they find me. (I'm running out of hiding spots.)
So, aside from Joyce Carol Oates (who I refuse to subject my soul or mind to ever again, as long as I live - I simply cannot. take. her), who are some of your favorite short stories written by? What are some of your favorite short stories?
And which do you look forward most to sharing with your children?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
More Surprises
Me-Tae says these are Tiger Lilies. I'm glad she knew, because I had no idea. Just looked out the back window one day to find a huge orange pouf on the end of a tall, tall stalk. There are a dozen or so in the front yard, too. They're wider than my hand. And they're much more vibrant than the picture lets on.
I wish they had a scent. Don't they look like they ought to smell delicious? Yeah. But there's nothing.Am I supposed to deadhead these things to keep them flowering? (And yeah, she suggested watering them. Said hers just glowed after she gave them a little water.)
You know, I am *never* going to be able to find all these bulbs to pull up this fall. The house, the meadows, the woods, even the rock hole that's filled with trash - none of it overwhelms me quite so much as this little patch of earth between the upper and lower drives.
Kiss those babies! And take time to smell the... well, not the lilies. But we give everything a quick sniff. You never know when you'll be pleasantly surprised, right?
~Dy
Friday, June 29
Rain! Rain!
YIPPEE, rain! It's still a bit odd to look out at acre upon acre of lush, green land and think, "THIS is a drought?" We don't water anything. We haven't watered anything since we moved here. Gah! That'll make it grow! And then we'd have to mow it, or risk losing the smaller children in the underbrush. But still, it grows. Residentially, the drought hasn't affected the way we run our home or tend to our land. (Mentally, we still live like we are in the desert with a nearly dry well.) But it's been hard, very hard, on the farmers in the area. And just today we noticed (well, Danger Girl noticed) that the grass is awfully crunchy and pokey in the upper meadow. (The rest of us mere mortal were wearing shoes and didn't notice so much.)
But yesterday, it rained. Oh, how it rained. And today, again, it rained. And we all sat out on the porch, reading books, eating otter pops, enjoying the smell of rain. (Not so much the smell of wet dog, but sometimes it's a package deal.) It's beautiful, and although it delayed the painting of the eaves for us, I hope it keeps up for a while. The area really needs the rain.
All is well here. It's simply been too hot 'n sticky to do anything worth blogging about. Somehow, "Got up too late to catch the cool morning. Dang. Moved slowly. Ate otter pops. Did lessons. Laid in bed, reading quietly. Ate Supper..." that's, well, that's difficult to dress up, then, isn't it?
John's summerball league is going well. A little sticky on the town politics, but we're trying fervently not to make eye contact and if anyone approaches us directly about it, we both plan to spout off entirely in Spanish. LOUD Spanish. With lots of hand movement and facial action. Hopefully, if nothing else, they will leave us be. (We would go for a less well-known language, but Spanish is the only other thing we're fluent enough in to be able to respond without accidentally saying something embarrassing.)
We're reading some good stuff right now. That deserves its own post. Right now, though, Zorak is insisting he hasn't seen Radio yet. (But we have. Or, at least, I have. I don't know where he was, though, if he didn't see it, too. Weird.) So I'm going to go kiss those babies one more time, grab my book and my cup, and score some snuggle time while he watches a movie.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
But yesterday, it rained. Oh, how it rained. And today, again, it rained. And we all sat out on the porch, reading books, eating otter pops, enjoying the smell of rain. (Not so much the smell of wet dog, but sometimes it's a package deal.) It's beautiful, and although it delayed the painting of the eaves for us, I hope it keeps up for a while. The area really needs the rain.
All is well here. It's simply been too hot 'n sticky to do anything worth blogging about. Somehow, "Got up too late to catch the cool morning. Dang. Moved slowly. Ate otter pops. Did lessons. Laid in bed, reading quietly. Ate Supper..." that's, well, that's difficult to dress up, then, isn't it?
John's summerball league is going well. A little sticky on the town politics, but we're trying fervently not to make eye contact and if anyone approaches us directly about it, we both plan to spout off entirely in Spanish. LOUD Spanish. With lots of hand movement and facial action. Hopefully, if nothing else, they will leave us be. (We would go for a less well-known language, but Spanish is the only other thing we're fluent enough in to be able to respond without accidentally saying something embarrassing.)
We're reading some good stuff right now. That deserves its own post. Right now, though, Zorak is insisting he hasn't seen Radio yet. (But we have. Or, at least, I have. I don't know where he was, though, if he didn't see it, too. Weird.) So I'm going to go kiss those babies one more time, grab my book and my cup, and score some snuggle time while he watches a movie.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, June 27
Mid-Week Hump
Not much scares me, really. I may get creeped out by quite a few things, but they haven't been enough to make me move yet, so I think we're okay there. But there is one thing, one phrase, which I live in total fear of every waking moment:
The boys finished all their work today with very little oversight on my part. John had a mild panic-attack when he didn't recognize his review from last week, but once he recognized it, he sucked it up and was good to go. James, slow and steady, is getting the hang of "housekeeping" in math. WOOHOO! Aside from a quick re-introduction, and the occasional reminder to stay on task, though, they worked independently today. And that worked out well, as Smidge for some reason decided today would be a Very Good Day to dump every bin from the toy shelf (six large bins and eight little ones, to be precise - plus two dorm boxes from beneath the beds, and the play clothes chest) into one large pile in the bedroom. MegaBlocks Fire & Ice Dragon set, and all. Oh. My. Word.
Me: Uh.. what happened here?
Smidge: *smiling charmingly* I did it!
Me: Yes, *breathe* *breathe* I figured this was your work. *breathe*...*breathe* *breathe* This... this... *breathe* this was your idea?
Smidge: *smile kinda starting to droop a bit* It's not a good idea?
Me: *exhale* *breathe* No, this was not a good idea.
Smidge: Huh. *looking around a bit* It seemed like a good idea--
And this is proof that I'm getting better at this parenting gig - I did not yell. I wanted to. Oh, yes, I wanted to kick toys and throw bins and use up all the bad words I hear on the playground. But by the grace of God, I didn't. And I'm so glad. Partly because Nocturnal Parenting Regret really stinks, to be honest. You already feel bad, so you slink into their room only to find that the demons who'd inhabited your children that afternoon have left and those wee beds now cradle angelic beings. Sometimes they even seem to have a faint glow. (Though that could just be the nightlight beside the bed, so don't quote me. But still, the overall effect is pretty powerful.) And the guilt, the often well-deserved guilt, over what a total jackass you were earlier that day, just gnaws its way right through your liver. Yeah, that stinks. And tonight, I don't have any. Yay!
But I did breathe deeply enough to come close to passing out. And when I muttered quietly, in a Tired and Resigned Voice, "Oh, Honey, you even pulled all the labels off the bins," Smidge helpfully picked up one bin that still had a label, and said, "Not all, Mommy." And he smiled a hopeful smile. And even then, ankle deep in sharp plastic rectangles and small model cars, I was glad I hadn't yelled. You don't ever regret the times you didn't lose it, you know that?
So we started with that bin. And we managed to put the whole room back together. And we ended up having, if not a good time, at least a not-bad time. Smidge got to help sort. Always a plus for the OCD-stage. I got to declutter without detection. Always a plus for, well, for me. At any stage.
The boys popped in when they'd finished with one task, took a quick look at the work going on, and disappeared with lightning speed to start on the next task. I think they were terrified I'd beg for help. Come to think of it, I may owe Smidge a Thank You tomorrow, if that was the cause of their self-directed learning for the day! (Well, probably not. He doesn't ever need to know. Not until he has children of his own, and he's tempted to yell. Yeah, I'll tuck this one away for later.)
And partly because Zorak, in spite of his years of adventures that seemed like a good idea at the time, turned out okay. More than okay. His good ideas now, really are good ideas. Maybe that'll be a genetic pre-disposition, as well? Wouldn't that be nice!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME.This is Zorak's Spicoli-like response to most of the less-than-solid decisions he made in the mid-to-late 80's, and I have to admit I'm terrified it's a genetic pre-disposition the boys may have inherited.
The boys finished all their work today with very little oversight on my part. John had a mild panic-attack when he didn't recognize his review from last week, but once he recognized it, he sucked it up and was good to go. James, slow and steady, is getting the hang of "housekeeping" in math. WOOHOO! Aside from a quick re-introduction, and the occasional reminder to stay on task, though, they worked independently today. And that worked out well, as Smidge for some reason decided today would be a Very Good Day to dump every bin from the toy shelf (six large bins and eight little ones, to be precise - plus two dorm boxes from beneath the beds, and the play clothes chest) into one large pile in the bedroom. MegaBlocks Fire & Ice Dragon set, and all. Oh. My. Word.
Me: Uh.. what happened here?
Smidge: *smiling charmingly* I did it!
Me: Yes, *breathe* *breathe* I figured this was your work. *breathe*...*breathe* *breathe* This... this... *breathe* this was your idea?
Smidge: *smile kinda starting to droop a bit* It's not a good idea?
Me: *exhale* *breathe* No, this was not a good idea.
Smidge: Huh. *looking around a bit* It seemed like a good idea--
And this is proof that I'm getting better at this parenting gig - I did not yell. I wanted to. Oh, yes, I wanted to kick toys and throw bins and use up all the bad words I hear on the playground. But by the grace of God, I didn't. And I'm so glad. Partly because Nocturnal Parenting Regret really stinks, to be honest. You already feel bad, so you slink into their room only to find that the demons who'd inhabited your children that afternoon have left and those wee beds now cradle angelic beings. Sometimes they even seem to have a faint glow. (Though that could just be the nightlight beside the bed, so don't quote me. But still, the overall effect is pretty powerful.) And the guilt, the often well-deserved guilt, over what a total jackass you were earlier that day, just gnaws its way right through your liver. Yeah, that stinks. And tonight, I don't have any. Yay!
But I did breathe deeply enough to come close to passing out. And when I muttered quietly, in a Tired and Resigned Voice, "Oh, Honey, you even pulled all the labels off the bins," Smidge helpfully picked up one bin that still had a label, and said, "Not all, Mommy." And he smiled a hopeful smile. And even then, ankle deep in sharp plastic rectangles and small model cars, I was glad I hadn't yelled. You don't ever regret the times you didn't lose it, you know that?
So we started with that bin. And we managed to put the whole room back together. And we ended up having, if not a good time, at least a not-bad time. Smidge got to help sort. Always a plus for the OCD-stage. I got to declutter without detection. Always a plus for, well, for me. At any stage.
The boys popped in when they'd finished with one task, took a quick look at the work going on, and disappeared with lightning speed to start on the next task. I think they were terrified I'd beg for help. Come to think of it, I may owe Smidge a Thank You tomorrow, if that was the cause of their self-directed learning for the day! (Well, probably not. He doesn't ever need to know. Not until he has children of his own, and he's tempted to yell. Yeah, I'll tuck this one away for later.)
And partly because Zorak, in spite of his years of adventures that seemed like a good idea at the time, turned out okay. More than okay. His good ideas now, really are good ideas. Maybe that'll be a genetic pre-disposition, as well? Wouldn't that be nice!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
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