Small Town Parades

I grew up in a small town, and, so, I get a special kick out of small town parades. We could have opted for the Huntsville parade, or even the Decatur parade, but those aren't our communities. We wouldn't recognize anybody in the floats. We'd have to wriggle our way through the throngs who've been parked there two hours before the parade began (and who are, as a result, cranky, cold, and unwilling to acknowledge you when you say, "Excuse me, pardon us, just need to get by.") We don't know the route, and would have no idea where to park to avoid a three-mile trek, uphill both ways. There'd still be large crowds, and, my biggest pet peeve with parades: grown people who must be in the Very Front and don't have the decency to let small children sit on the curbside for the candy. We might as well trek into NYC for the Macy's Day parade, for all that.

Nah, that's no fun. What's fun is to stroll to an empty spot along the parade route (because small town parades have empty spots along the parade routes), smile and get to know the folks on either side of you. What's fun is to laugh with them as their children or grandchildren asphalt dive for candy, just as they laugh with you while your children dive, as well. Granted, there's no curb to sit upon, but that doesn't seem to phase the children. Curbs are overrated, anyhow, I'm sure.

Do you see the look of concentration on each little face? They were like that the whole parade. Tensed. Poised. Ready for the pounce. I don't ever remember being ready for anything, and most of the candy I acquired at parades was the stuff that konked me on the head while I sat on the curb. (But then, for me, it was all about the bands. I love marching band music, and where else can you get a total fix of all the bands in the area? I still love that part.) These kids, though... they're ready, man. You can even see EmBaby's taking off to forage for more, just in case they missed some.

Obviously, Smidge wasn't ready for the field. He had a pocketful, and was ready to talk about it. But the other four? No way, man. There's a shiny black car with a red bow, and somebody hanging out of the window, winging candy at bystanders. Get ready... this is going to be good!

Did you SEE that? There must be enough for... for ALL OF US, there! WOW! (And see the nice folks in the background, laughing? Very cool people. We really enjoyed visiting with them.) The lady in the white hoodie offered to keep EmBaby, and I don't think EmBaby would have minded. But the boys were more efficient with the candy gathering than any of us slackin' adults, and so they kept her stocked up enough to prevent a full-on migration.

And even better? The boys shared their candy with the old and infirmed (AKA - those of us who stood, sat, or leaned our way through the parade and didn't get any candy.) How sweet is that?

Yesiree, I do love small town parades.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Afternoon Fun

 

You can't *quite* tell by this collage, but we went to the Christmas Parade this Saturday. We met Claudia and her kids there. Everybody had an absolute blast. It was so much fun that I'm thisclose to being forgiven for the library fiasco, which is quite encouraging.

I did take other pictures. I did. I like my other children, too. But the little ones are so much fun to photograph. They don't hold still for squat, but they also don't grimace or growl, don't make Frankenstein poses, and don't try to add sound effects to still photography.

And I swore I'd be in bed, um, an hour ago. So, uh, here ya go. I'll write more in the morning!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Random Injuries

Ah, the not-quite-coveted "Bad Mother Award". Most of us feel the shameful glory of needing it from time to time. It's part of the learning curve of parenthood, I'm convinced of it. And once in a while, I meet a kindred soul who knows *exactly* what I'm talking about when I have to admit to something like this (taken, in part, from an email I sent recently)...

...at least twice a week at supper, Zorak will look at one of the boys and say, "What happened to you?" And it's not until right. at. that. moment. that we all look at said child and realize he's got some gaping wound, or enormous goose-egg, or some other obvious bodily damage (my favorite was a series of scabs up his arm that looked like something with razored feet scampered up his arm - wth is that???) -- that I *never* noticed at all, all day, not once. Gah. I hate that.

Then Zorak looks at me, and I know his look says, "Wow, weird, huh? What is that?" But, filtered through my writhing guilt, it looks like a look that says, "What kind of mother doesn't notice that?"

Thankfully, I know my translation box is broken, so I'm usually able to refrain from leaping up and shouting, "Well, there are SO MANY of them! And they scatter! And I'm only a MERE MORTAL, Damn You! What do you want from me!"

I think it's good to know your limitations and boundaries...

And to marry a man who remembers what it was like to be a little boy. That is also a significant help. Yep.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Slackers

Well, not slackers. I prefer the term, "Creatures of Inertia".

It may not be a Physics problem, at all, actually. The best way to explain it is that when a day develops the equivalent of that "funky meat smell" (you know the one, where you think the meat is good, but you aren't sure, and you don't trust your nose, so you do what any rational human being would do -- you shove the potential biohazzard under the noses of everyone you care most about in this world and ask them to smell it), it's best to make a quick decision: turn up the heat and cook the snot out of it, or scrap it. Don't leave it on the counter and try again in a couple of hours.

Inertia determined I'd leave it on the counter. Yes, I know, probably not the best call.

However, we got our lessons done. We made it to a Cub Scouts pack meeting to check it out. And... well, that was about all we accomplished. The rest of the day just pretty much sat on the counter.

I realized yesterday that I need to make some changes to what we're doing in school. James needs more one-on-one, *gentle* guidance with his problem solving skills, and with learning to step back from an issue to take in the overall picture. A little work on retention wouldn't hurt, either, but right now shock therapy is the only thing that comes to mind, so I'm shelving that particular point until I have a better view of the big picture, myself. Someday, he will appreciate that. For now, though, it's my job to make sure he doesn't hear that inner dialogue.

John needs to get back to a more Spalding-based structure on his spelling and writing. (I know. I know. I love it. I just haven't been using it as I should.) He's also got to learn that when your brother is making Mommy pull her hair out, your sitting there actively trying to emit, Look at me! I'm being soooo good. I'm your favorite son! vibes... Well, that's probably not going to have a positive impact on the general dynamic of the day. If he was eight years older, I'd have likely thumped him on the back of the head and told him to quit being a suck-up. As it was, though, I just filed this away as a note to self to pull my hair out after they're in bed, thus avoiding the whole issue.

I've got to find Smidge's secret caffeine stash. He's got to have one. Nobody can be that squirrelly unless he's... ohhhh, yeah, four. Well, okay, so he probably just needs more outside time.

So, this weekend's planning will be all about integrating a new structure that will meet all our needs. Or attempt to. Or perhaps, even if I miss the mark, I can muddy the waters enough that they'll be forced into finding a new direction out of sheer self-preservation. (I jest. You know this. Or at least I hope you do. You should, anyway.)

This life, it's an exercise in attention to detail, stamina, and fortitude, isn't it? Oddly enough, I wouldn't have actually applied for a job that required any of these traits, and yet, here I am, absolutely convinced that I wouldn't want to be doing anything else, anywhere else, for any amount of money. I guess that's a good thing, and so, even if the meat is bad, eh, it's just a day here or there. The big picture truly is absolutely beautiful. And so, to kill off the rest of the mixed and mangled metaphors for the day, it's lovely to be able to change the composition of the frame when we find it's simply not working so well. A little higher. Focus a little deeper. Improve the lighting. Ah, yes, that will work for now. Beautiful.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Day, Part 2

I never did get around to writing up the afternoon portion of my Day in the Life post. That's probably a deep mental block, on my part. Afternoons haven't been my most active portion of the day for, oh, perhaps a decade. Admittedly, it's worse when I'm pregnant. Which, I've also been, off and on, for, oh, nearly a decade. So. There ya go.

School's going well. The boys are doing well. It's difficult, sometimes, to really recap what's taking place, and what's being learned. I forget that what we do seems so foreign to so many people -- for us, it's just homeschooling. It's not a radical shift in any cosmic alignment. Perhaps it was, at first, a radical shift in our internal processing of "how things are done", but that time is long since past. Now, it's our lifestyle, where what we do is just... what we do. The fact that I forget this is actually funny, considering we live in an area where the second question strangers hit your children with (after whether they're rooting for 'Bama or Auburn) is, "What school do you go to?"

But, this is our "school", in the deepest sense of the word. Home is where we learn. It's where we prepare for all the Tomorrows. It's where we teach and share and grow. This is what we do. We get up, we eat, we read, we talk. We think. We play. We read. We work. We haggle. We take a break. Other than the fact that the vast majority of our learning and daily activity takes place here, at home, we're just like most normal people. (Insert all appropriate caveats, here.)

And so, where were we? Oh, yes, the children are outside burning off energy they'll wish they could have back when they're in their 30's. I gather my wits and get the kitchen ready for lunch. Gather some things to read, try for the umpteenth time that day to find EmBaby's sippy cup. Someday I will learn not to put milk in those things. Or I'll get a dishwasher-safe homing device for them. Something's gotta give in that department. When all is set, I sit down to read my own stuff until they begin straggling in, begging for food.

Afternoons are reserved for History, Science, and Random Other Things I Decide They Need To Learn *Right Now*. Occasionally, we have a fantastically productive morning and get History/Science done in the AM. That doesn't happen frequently enough for me to post what it looks like, though, so you'll just have to use your imagination.

We're using Story of the World, Vol. II for History. I read it over lunch. Then we talk about tangential issues until we've finished eating and cleared the table.

I put EmBaby down for a nap if she hasn't given up and passed out at the table. Yes, I know, routine and all that. The boys have an hour to read whatever their wee hearts desire while she settles into a really good sleep, and I get my prized "Quiet Time". I don't remember who first informed me that all mothers need naps, but God bless her, for this has saved my sanity in numerous ways. Even if I don't nap. Even if I lie in bed with a book and a cup of coffee and loosen my bra. It doesn't really matter what you do, as long as it's rejuvenating.

Sometimes, Smidge falls asleep during this time. It's like a special gift, just for me. Sometimes, (ok, most of the time) he doesn't. And that's okay, too, because he's at least had an hour where nobody's touching him and making him irritable. That, too, is a special gift.

Science this term (and probably next) is the Periodic Table of the Elements study from How To Teach Science. We supplement with James' Usborne Illustrated Encyclopedia of Chemistry, and more discussions about things-connected-with-chemicals. The boys really want to set things on fire and do more lab work. My brain translates that to "let's do something crafty and messy and chaotic" and, well, I veto it. When the basement is no longer a hazmat zone, we'll set up the lab down there and spend a glorious summer avoiding the heat by blowing things up in the basement. For now, though, I tow the "theory first" line, and they still seem to buy it.

Have you noticed I don't have time stamps on any of this? That's because time is rather fluid for us. I've tried sticking to specific time slots, and perhaps when the boys are older -- or, more accurately, when the littles are older -- that will work. For now, however, we must work within the whims and fantasies of a preschooler and a toddler, and soon, another infant. That's a lot of fantastical whimming, there, and flexibility is my creed.

We read some more. Some of it aloud. Some of it quietly. We fill in the afternoons with chores, writing, drawing, playing. Most of the time, the kids do go back outside. I go out with them when EmBaby awakes, and we sit and play some more.

If Zorak calls before he leaves work (and he usually does, which I appreciate deeply and tremendously, as it helps us recalibrate that whole fluid-time thing), I know to get supper started. We do a quick tidy, "for Daddy, because we missed him". And by the time he pulls into the driveway, the kids are happily engaged. The sentries announce his arrival (Paul Revere style - Daddy is coming! Daddy is coming! DAD'S HOME!), and I've almost got the kitchen cleaned up.

From here on in, our home looks like any poorly organized home. Zorak gets pounced on and loved on. Sometimes he's brought home a little treat for the kids. Sometimes he plays with them a bit and makes plans for the evening (movie? snap-circuits? pictionary? video games?) We talk and catch up on the day, the plans for the week, the general glue that binds each day to the next.

We eat. We do our thing. We get ready for bed, usually later than I think we should. We tidy the bedrooms, and then finish out the day with more reading. Right now, we have three read-alouds going: Treasure Island (the original - it's a riot!), On The Banks of Plum Creek (one of the Little House books), and a new series - The Young Jack Sparrow (we're near the end of book eight... but wait! there's more! *sigh*).

Zorak reads to EmBaby while I read to the boys. Smidge is torn between the two worlds, so he hangs with Dad until he sees me head into the boys' room and then he follows me in there. When it's quiet, and the last of the bathroom trips, water breaks, and "have you seen my *completely not bedtime related item*" inquiries, we grab some coffee and sit down to talk, play, read, or just watch a movie.

And tomorrow, we get to do it over again! Good stuff, really. I certainly can't complain.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Not the Crocs!

Noooooooooooooooo!

I have some ugly shoes. I love my ugly shoes. They're so ugly, they're cute. Sort of like E.T. But, well, uglier. Still, I wear them, and love them. With a few exceptions, where they'd have been wholly and inexcusably inappropriate, they're all I've worn since I bought them. And now, I think they're trying to kill me.

For the last week or so, it's become increasingly painful to walk. Move. Sit. Stand. Lean. Breathe. I'm average-for-gestation in size, but because of the pain in my hip and tailbone, I walk like I'm eleven months along. With triplets. Probably elephants.

Both of my arms have taken to going pins-and-needles numb at random times, from the shoulders to the finger tips. Five or six times a day, this happens. Once I realized I was most likely not suffering from roaming gangs of blood clots, I figured I just needed to find a chiropractor and have a little adjustment.

Not that I've done that, mind you. It's all about identifying the problem. Solving it goes onto another list, entirely.

The boys tried to help yesterday. Their efforts made me smile, but they just don't have the body mass to fight this kind of inertia. Smidge almost fixed it, inadvertently, when he pounced on my back. I thought I would die. If he'd been just two inches farther down, and a little to the right, I think he'd have done it. But I couldn't stay relaxed enough for it to work when he did it again (he caught me off guard the first time - let's face it, if you know you've got a 50# cannonball careening toward your back, you won't be relaxed, either). That hurt. I took a Motrin and called it good. I also begged one of the boys to become a chiropractor, even if just for a hobby. I'll pay for it, and you can pay me back with adjustments. How can you beat a student loan deal like that, eh?

So last night, unable to so much as sit without contorting in pain, I put on my sexiest voice ("sexy", being relative, in this situation. Obviously.) and asked Zorak if he wanted to play Gumby and Pokey.

I'll be Gumby. You just start pulling on things until something pops into place.

He wrestled me into all sorts of hideous positions. Lots of popping. Just a little screaming. It helped. And I'm 5'8", now.

This morning, I awoke almost pain-free. yay! Until I put on my Crocs to go make coffee. I only made it out of the bedroom before the grinding sounds and the clicking pain kicked in. Crap. It's these shoes! I'll bet it's these shoes!

Well, my only defense for wearing them was that they're comfortable, and I think it's safe to say they've betrayed me on that level. So, it's probably time to ship them off to Valhalla of the Shoes, buy me some good orthopedics with arch support, and maybe find a good chiropractor. Yep. But man, I'll miss those shoes!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey, Look! It's a girl!

 

Thanks for all the tips on EmBaby's hair. We bought some little bands. We propped her up on the counter. We basked in how incredibly patient she is. In the end, Smidge looked at her and said, "She looks like a little doll." Zorak and I looked at her and laughed when we both said, "Look, we made a girl."

Thanksgiving's 'do didn't hold up too well, but yesterday's (pictured here) fared quite better. And best of all, she loves it!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Children's Song

I seldom do this, because it's right up there with forwarding emails, but I laughed - quite literally aloud - until I cried. There is a little language, so just a heads up. This is the same guy who had every WTM reader in stitches over the Pachelbel Rant a few months back. This time, he tackles kids' videos.

What got me about this one is that sometimes there's just nothing that's going to make Embaby happy other than watching the *one* Dora video we own. Again. Even the boys mock Dora, now. But there are times when I hear James whispering to her, "Do you want Dora? Dora, Emily? Want me to put Dora in?" and I know they've had it, too. So we pop in Dora, sit at the breakfast bar, and watch her watch Dora. It's quiet, if only for fifteen minutes. And we can regroup. If only for fifteen minutes. But when it's over, we're all refreshed and ready to tackle the rest of the day. The chorus is my favorite.



I want a brother like Rob Paravonian.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy
(*Edited to fix the spelling of his last name. I should know better than to botch something like that. Apologies to Rob.)

Domesticity

Do you know why I don't oil my cabinets regularly?

I do. Now.

I spent a multitude of hours today, cleaning and oiling each and every cabinet door, drawer face, and all the frames. HOURS.

In the end, I do have clean, glowing cabinets. And they are completely overshadowed by the butt-print track on the floor around the perimeter of my kitchen.

That's NOT what I was shooting for with this whole thing.

Thankfully, Orange-Glo wood oil smells fairly nice, because I may never get this stuff out of my hair.

But you should see those cabinets!

I may not get much else done tomorrow, but I'm guessing if I do the floor, it'll be a drastic improvement.

God bless the children. They stayed outside most of the day, playing, reading, biking. They let me clean in peace. I appreciate that more than I can say, but it was nice to repay the effort with extra reading tonight at bedtime.

Yup, it's good to be a family.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy