Miscellany: stuff, wedding attire, stories

Hot dogs for supper, with the wf hot dog buns, which, incidentally, John refused to eat, because, "Mom! They taste like wheat buns!" That cracked us up. Evidently there is such a thing as being "too good" at something. Go Ener-G!

It has now been a full week since our old realtor was going to "get this straightened out", and also "track down a really great tip"... Uh-huh. And people wonder why I'm cynical? On the other hand, the couple that showed us the property where James' head exploded - they called the next morning to see if he was ok. Now that goes a long way! We're still not any closer to having any clue what's going to happen next, but that's ok. We've got our lifetime to get it straight, and in the meantime, well, this is life. We live it, even if it is among boxes and plans and changes and uncertainty. The important things are not uncertain, so it's all good.

We are (finally) getting ready to finish plans to travel out for Zorak's younger brother's wedding. (I would say "little brother", but he's 6'9"...) What in the world constitutes "semi-formal" attire for someone over (significantly over) 20? Can I get away with a nice broomstick skirt, blouse, vest and lace up ropers? Zorak is set: Wranglers, dress shirt, jacket and "the good boots". I, however, stood in the closet for all of ten seconds today before realizing I own three categories of clothing: "casual", "church", and the pre-child era "extremely formal". Yup, I'm stumped.

And did you know that Zorak descends from a noble and talented race of story-tellers? He does. It's amazing. At night, before I go in to read some canned material to the boys, he sits and tells them "Daddy Stories". These are stories from his childhood, and each night the boys howl with laughter, gasp with surprise, and squeal with delight. It's amazing. Sadly, I descend from a tribe of stuttering mimes and out-of-work gypsies. Seriously, my ancestors were thrown from the caravan because, other than a deep willingness to move a lot, they could not engage in money-making gypsy-like activity.

The boys ask for "Mommy Stories" now when I come in to read. I freeze. I don't have any cute stories from my childhood. I certainly don't have any that are appropriate for the under-drinking-age crowd. Heck, I'm still struggling with some of the stories myself and have not yet decided whether to repress them, let alone subject my children to them! But still, they ask. I tried to convince them that when I was a little girl, I bribed a guy named Paris to give me a golden apple... they didn't bite. So tonight I stumbled through a story. (Parents will do anything to please their children - I should have instead insisted that my mother's name was Rapunzel and offered to tell the story of how she met my father.) They listened politely, didn't interrupt, and were very careful not to make any noise while I spun my tale. I think John fell asleep. In other words, it didn't go well. But on the upside, I don't think they'll ask for anymore "Mommy Stories". They might even go ahead and pretend they believe me when I tell them all about how I helped Daddy find his way through the labyrinth... Ugh.

Ah, well, fortunately, they love me anyway!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Quiet Night, A Southern Lady, A New Life

We did no schooling today. Well, no, we did discuss black holes and James did math in his head while we ran errands. (I'm glad he can do it, but I wish he wouldn't ask me if he got the right answer. I have to write the numbers in the air with my finger and physically work it out - that gets hairy over, say 30 mph.) We did, however, have a great day getting ducks in rows and stuff in one sock, so to speak. (I can't remember the phrases my mother used to use for getting your things in order... she had some great phrases, though!) We dropped a wad on honey and John is in awe that James gets to suck down an entire Tablespoon at a time! I suppose when you're four and you have a retentive mother who will put jam on your toast with breakfast, but won't let you have a "jelly sandwich" for lunch, that's got to look pretty astounding.

James' eyes are back to normal size. They look pretty beat up, but they've been through a lot. Thank you for your prayers and well-wishes and information. It helps tremendously knowing y'all are out there. He's optimistic about beating this thing, and once he sets his mind to something, get on the boat or get out of the way! (We hope to keep this particular talent focused on positive things as the years progress...)

Renee, Hi! *waving* Thanks for the tip. We've been to the little place on Pratt. It's got an excellent bulk section, doesn't it? I love it. But we have to go to Food For Life, over in the Oakwood Center, for bread. Ener-G has the most "normal" wheat-free breads we've found, and the place on Pratt doesn't carry that brand. Today was a hard-core bonus day, too; they have wf hot dog buns and hamburger buns, wf donuts, and pizza crust (nobody west of Vermont carries Gillians Foods pizza crust, which ROCKS, so we tried a new brand). The folks there said it's "to die for". I'll report back on that later in the week. And I've gotta say, Santa himself couldn't have outdone me today when John saw those items in the basket.

We finally changed the oil in the Suburban, too. I know, not thrilling, but we were rapidly approaching the point of doing it ourselves. rather than having a public record of the actual mileage between changes. It's not like going to the shop that a friend from high school manages, where he just writes in "six months or nine thousand miles" on the sticky note that goes in the window... then rolls his eyes at me when I feign astonishment at such affrontery.

The afternoons have a very good feel to them, and we are so very thankful to be here. I think I've put my finger on why I feel so "at home" here, even though I haven't ever really lived in the South. My mother was a Southerner. She didn't have an accent, but she was, through and through, a Southern Lady. Living here now, I can really see the common threads...

Our dinner table always had room for one more. We always had enough food - it might not be fancy, but it was good and there was enough to share. If you came to the house more than once, you were no longer a guest; you were family. If you left hungry, it was your fault. There is no shame in being poor, only in acting like it. Dignity was huge and so was respect. Hard work meant a lot more than good intentions, but a kind word could also go a long way.

She was born in FL, then lived the majority of her childhood on a farm in TN. This all clicked with me the other day, as we drove past TN farms and I remembered going to Grandma's... suddenly my heart and head were flooded with great memories. And I realized why I feel so at home here - this is the kind of home my mother strove to create when I was a child. She would be tickled to know it worked. *happy grin* I wonder how she would feel about us living here now?

Well, the boys are down and I am going to curl up with my favorite mantis and enjoy the gorgeous evening outside!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Change in Plans

I truly believe that in order to be happy, you have to remain focused on the goals, on what's important and what really matters. You have to be flexible to meet those needs and be willing to change direction to keep the important things together. Today revealed a pretty interesting twist in the plot, and it looks like we will need to sit down and rethink our entire plan for the future.

The property we looked at today is beautiful. The view is breathtaking, and the house is actually the most beautiful thing we've seen in a long, long time. The boys loved the hilly yard, the play area, the swimming pool. John and Smidge played the entire time we were there.

James also ran about, climbing and playing and laughing... for about five minutes. Then his eyes began to water and he said he'd like to wait in the Suburban. I got him settled into the Suburban, gave him some Benadryl and a book, then went back to keep an eye on the other two boys. I checked on him a few minutes later and his eyes were doing that thing again. We knew he had developed allergies, but nothing this drastic has happened since the one incident in New Mexico nearly two years ago. The ER doctor at the time had called it "an incredibly violent reaction to something". Today made incident number two, only it was a bit more violent; this time it was both eyes. The whites of his eyes swelled up and had that translucent, gelatinous texture again. They both had swelled up over the cornea; the left eyeball had begun to overlap the lower lid, and his eyelids were so puffy they had no crease at all. He could still breathe, but said his throat itched down inside. I swooped him out of the Suburban and headed into the house to wash him off, yelling up the hill for Zorak, "His eye is doing that thing again. We need to leave immediately!" We're both very thankful today wasn't the first time it ever happened! We'd have thrown the Suburban in 4LO and hit the hospital trailing fences and cattle parts from cutting straight across fields.

Bless his heart, on the way into the house James said, "Mom, if we move here, I will feel like this all the time." I know, Baby. We won't move here. We aren't doing this to make anybody suffer, and we'll find the right place for all of us. He told the realtor, "This isn't what I normally look like. I generally look much better than this." *my heart broke*

That was at three. It's 9:14 now. His left eye is still mostly swollen shut, and he's been asleep since six. We gave him as much Benadryl as we could, checked with a pharmacist, and that's about all we can do.

Obviously, it doesn't seem this boy is cut out for the pastoral life in the country. I don't know what we need to do. Neither of us wants to make him live the rest of his days ingesting antihistamines just so he can go about his work. Like every parent, we want as few obstacles in our children's way as possible. But obstacles will come. Some minor, some enormous. Our job isn't to try to keep them all out of the way, but to teach the boys how to leap each hurdle; they need to be able to gauge the ones they see coming, and react quickly to the ones they don't see coming. Therein lies our only power, and we hope the boys will learn from this that life is good, no matter what direction you're heading, as long as you can keep in sight the things that are important. (Those things will change course with you, too, when you work together.)

I hate this. Zorak hates this. We hate seeing our baby - no matter how big he is now, he still seems so small when something like this happens - suffering and know we can't make it go away. We can't "fix it" - right now. He's so patient and has such fortitude about the whole endeavor.

Tomorrow I'll call Dr. Jarvis (the NMD here) and see if we can get in earlier than the appointments we have. We will also track down a local honey source and get him taking that, as well as increase our water intake. It's going to be OK - better than OK. I do have to say, though, that it's much easier to say that when my baby is tucked safely into our bed, sleeping peacefully (and breathing rhythmically!), and showing improvement. I worry about the boys' eyes so much, and this strikes at the heart of many of our fears. But it will be ok.

Anyhow, we're off to look at alternatives, ideas and options!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh, The Places You'll Go

This is probably not what Dr. Seuss meant, but we did have quite the galloping adventure today. The boys have become rather adept at house hunting. They seem to have developed an intuitive sense of what they can touch and what they cannot while we're viewing a property. They have (finally) figured out that whining in the car truly will not get us anywhere any faster (or in a better mood). They have even begun to remember details they liked or didn't like from different properties. By Jove, I think they've got it!

Today we drove many hundreds of miles (ok, almost 200, but that feels like "many"). We saw many towns with the small population marker (under 5,000 people) on the map - and a few that are nowhere to be found on the map. Thanks to my amazing navigational skills, we were afforded a view repeated views of the wildlife refuge... from a number of angles. It was beautiful. But the big excitement today is that we actually set foot on (and in) three different properties. It would have been four, but I could not understand what the listing agent was saying. He was very nice and very helpful, but I don't know how many curves in the road constitute "a few". Three counties later, we figured we'd passed it and moved on to the next property. It's ok, though, as we can always try again.

Tomorrow, after church, we venture to Tennessee to look at property there. Then Monday will bring us back to the realm of the flightless for another week of daily livin'. It's all good. I am also most likely going to start a separate blog for the homesteading posts. There are a few good reasons for this: it may be unsuitable to a homeschooling blog (pertinent parts can be shared here); as a journal for the boys, some of the tone may be inappropriate to a journal of their childhood, at least until they're older; I don't have categories and that's starting to bother me.

Wrote a letter to the editor of the Huntsville Times tonight and got that sent off. I don't know if it'll be published, but I can say it is phenomenally difficult to make any sort of a well-reasoned argument in 250 words or less, particularly when you must quote a rather wordy individual who has column inches to spare. (Incidentally, 250 words will get you through the first two paragraphs of this entry, and the first sentence following that.) But it had to be done. This week's plan is to write a letter to the City Council, as well. Whether we're on the same side of the board or not, I really love to know people get involved. Government of the people, by the people just won't work if the people won't work. Then it's no longer for the people, either - it's over the people, and that wasn't what the Founding Fathers had in mind. They wanted us to care. They wanted us to think. They wanted us to roll up our sleeves and be a living part of the process. Are you doing your part? (Not a lecture, just feeling particularly perky tonight - it's a good thing. Right up there with "Have you hugged your kids today?" and "Have you flirted with your husband lately?")

Oh, and an one other thing I wanted to say - I cannot recall hearing a single swear word in National Treasure. Wow. I need to go through it with subtitles on to be certain, but if there truly is not one single swear word, that deserves a letter of appreciation to the producers, I think. I love living in a free market, where we truly can decide what goods are of value. I just wish we took advantage of that more often. So, enough wishing, time to put my money where my mouth is, eh?

OK, I'm pretty baked and it's way past even my bedtime, so I am heading to bed. Sunday School comes awfully early in the morning, although thankfully they do have coffee. I'll fill y'all in next time on the things we found and our utter lack of imagination when it comes to "vision". It's scary.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

But it's more than just that. So much more!

Lest you think my days are filled with flipping through the Yellow Pages, searching for a Haitian Church to help with the realtor issues, I thought I'd share a bit about the rest of it.

James, AKA "The Earthworm Midwife", attended a twin birth today. When he came to the door to announce that "it happened again, Mom!" I was stunned and went searching for the camera. By the time I found it, he was happy to report, "It's twins! And they're beautiful!" We did get some cute pictures of James and his patients. We also spent about an hour watching them, and were impressed with the behavior of the mama worm. I'm not sure what I expected, but something akin to attentiveness wasn't on the list.

John rides his bike now with the training wheels seldom touching the pavement. He also goes frighteningly fast for having training wheels on there at all. Have you ever run too fast with a regular old stroller and hit that point where it becomes molecularly unstable? It's scary, and we're worried he's going to have one heck of a crash soon. So we talked with him about how well he's doing and how he balances so well and is really a great biker - general pep talk stuff. "So," I say, in my most enthusiastic voice, "It looks like you're about ready to take off those training wheels, eh?" He pursed his lips and shook his head ever so slightly. "Nope. You see, when I start to tip, it's the training wheels that catch me. If they come off, there will be nothing to catch me, and I don't even want to think about that." Oh. Well, that talk backfired.

Smidge is chunking up, and although I know it's preparation for another growth spurt, it's just so darned cute! His skinny little arms have fat rolls and his other chin reappeared this week. He's got the Buddah Belly going big-time, too. And it is just the kind of cute that makes you sick if you don't have children.

Zorak has found several things here that lead him to believe he's hit Eccentric Engineer's Mecca. (Aunt B, make sure Uncle Fred isn't in the room when you read this!) There is a Harbor Freight Tools - right here in town. The arsenal has some magnificent (just look at the gleam in Zorak's eye) auctions going on right now. And they have a farm-like equivalent to the Dandy Dime or the Thrifty Nickel, which is filled with building supplies, overstocks, weird remnants, tractors, welders... whatever you could want if you're so inclined to make stuff out of other stuff. Zorak can't wait to close on a place and start bidding. I am afraid. Very afraid. (But there is a lot of neat stuff... *shhhh*)

This morning we awoke to the most magnificent thunderstorm. The rain came down in torrents and the breeze was heavenly. The boys and I sat on the patio watching the birds hide in the trees and waiting for the lightning to subside so we could go play in it. (The lightning kept up until the rain stopped, so we didn't venture out, but we did have a lovely time of it.) We look forward to a great weekend together, exploring our new Home Town! Hope you guys enjoy yours, as well.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

AL Realtor Rant, 5/20

Realtor Rant, AL 5/21

Curiouser and curiouser. After the white rabbit donned her capri pants and heeled slip-ons, she ducked behind her righteous indignation, claiming she never told the Queen of Hearts not to...

No. Wait. I am so confused. Oh well, OFF with her head! (You can never be too careful with these things.)

"Our" realtor called yesterday to see how it went up north. She made the observation that my response seemed "not thrilled" - for why? So I explained that we, once again, could not see the house, and explained why. Of course, according to her, she never said such a thing. The listing agent doesn't know what she's talking about. The same thing with the occupant of the property. That listing agent has no idea what's going on or who lives where! (Hmmm, yet the listing agent was sitting with the family in the yard when we'd pulled up... and she hopped in their old, 4x4 pickup to drive us around the property... but perhaps she has a tendency to sit in strangers' yards when she has nothing better to do and take off with their vehicles when she tires of that?) Then she dove right into personal attacks on the other realtor. Yup, ya just lost me. That was, quite honestly, even less professonal than the Ducati guy in Richmond. At least he just ignores his customers and doesn't go off badmouthing other Ducati dealers while refusing to do his job. *sigh*

So we took the good advice we've received and today I called listing agents to see their homes. Every single one of them wanted to know if I wanted them to "look around" and send other things our way. Many were very good about it when I reminded them that we're taking a break from "working with" a realtor. Others were quite pushy and irritating about it. "Why not? Are you sure? We could just pull these up for you and we can help..." Ok, in a word: no. Unless you have an exclusive listing that's not in the MLS database, you really aren't going to do anything we haven't been doing for three months already. Not only do I have zero desire to go through the whole flow chart of our priorities with every. single. person. I speak with today, but did you not catch that nifty little phrase in my introduction? Let me go over that again, "Hi. My name is Dy. We are looking for property and have been working with a realtor, but it's not going well at all, so we would like to look independently for a while. We would like to see your listing *insert MLS number here*. When can you show that to us?"

One gal's voice cracked when she said, "You mean you don't want me to send you any listings if they aren't from my office?" Yes, that's correct. She barely whispered, "I'm just trying to help." I thought she was going to cry, and I'm on the other end thinking, "No! There's no crying in real estate!" Ugh. I'm not trying to be a meanie. I just want a house.

We'll see what the weekend turns up. There are eight properties which we've told the ex-realtor we'd like to see. We have told her repeatedly that we would like to see them. I've asked for appointments three times just since we've been back, and we have yet to see any of them, nor have more information on them. She's been too busy finding thoroughly useless listings to press on us. So we'll do it ourselves and let the whole of the commission go to whoever can do his job without being a weenie.

Oh, and for the record, Amy really didn't do this to us. She's a scapegoat. It's realtor-gate and we needed somebody to pin this on, because the idea that this may be Karmic is, well, terrifying.

Hopefully the next Realtor Rant will be a Realtor Rave! :-)
Here's hoping,
Dy

What a Wonderful World

Zorak and I used that song for our wedding processional (it went well with the bagpipes for the recessional), and to this day, I get weepy when I hear it. It means more now, because when I look around I see not only Zorak, but a house filled with a family - my family. There are children scattered all over the floor and remnants of their presence evidenced in every room of the house. Whether it's the latest Lego creation on display or a drawing left on the kitchen table, I see that we are fully, unquestionably, and definitely a family. What A Wonderful World, indeed.

We watched National Treasure earlier this week and decided to let the boys watch it with us later in the week. They fell in love with it, with the codes and the sheer adventure. James thinks Riley is the best character in the whole movie. And John's reaction to the scene (trying hard not to spoil the movie if you haven't seen it) where Nicholas Cage's character breaks out the pipe was priceless. He gasped aloud and said, "THAT man is a GENIUS!" Zorak and I cracked up. It's become a key phrase in the house this week.

The week ended nicely (house hunting aside) with a family trip to the park, plenty of bike rides (I am going to have monstrous Popeye-style forearms from pulling that wagon - Smidge needs to learn to ride a bike soon) and plenty of stories and things to learn and do. When, at the end of the day, we can look back and bring more smiles than sighs, it has been a good day, indeed. That there are more good days than bad is a gift I never dreamed possible.

Enjoy your Friday, and kiss those babies!
~Dy

Realtor Rant: The Alabama Chapters

Oh, for the love of all things chocolate! What is wrong with these people? Do you have to submit to - and fail - some kind of psychological exam to get your realtor's license? OK, I know that's not true because we've had friends and family who had their real estate licenses and they were perfectly functional and downright pleasant. No, it's something about the magnetic field Zorak and I emit that draws the wonky ones to us, like bugs to a zapper.

So, allow me to fill you in a bit. We came to Alabama. We asked around. We received glowing recommendations on this one realtor. Zorak and I both left his office with her name from three different folks. They LOVED HER! We called her and spoke about our plans. We gave her our parameters: over twenty acres, under $X amount, we plan to do organic agriculture on the place, and we do not like new construction at all - it's not a good thing for us. She clicked, she got it. She was in the game, maaaannn! She even showed us one property that I'd have probably bought on the spot (it was so mountainous and lovely!), but which she pointed out wasn't quite what we wanted unless we planned to raise lopsided cattle with tremendous balancing skills. But it fit all the other criteria, and we really thought we had a winner. We headed back over the wall with great anticipation over the place she would help us find.

She called and said, "I have the place you are going to buy. It is perfect!" This was what I call "the first" - it was the first indication that we'd somehow failed to communicate our desires to this woman. It had less acreage than we wanted. It cost more than the limit we'd set. And the house was built in 2004. I gently explained the, erm, "drawbacks" to this property and how it really isn't what we want - at all. We thought she'd been recalibrated. Evidently you cannot undo a lobotomy.

So she emailed me a listing: even smaller than the first (so we're down to half the acreage)! Even newer than the first (have to work hard to do that)! And about $60 grand more expensive than the first (so now we're at double our original ceiling)!

No, no, nooooo. (And, speaking very slowly, I spelled it out.) How about this one? You know, with this MLS number, in this county, on this road. Can we see this one? It took her fifteen minutes to find the property, even with that information and a computer, but she finally found it and agreed to show us.

Sunday afternoon she picked us up in her shiny 2wd Yukon and drove us an hour north of here to look at a property. 85 acres of land, crappy old house, and in our price range. Perfect! We went with the full intention of being sold on the place. We called her the day before to request she bring a plat and a topo map and to make sure we had access into the house so we could see what condition it's in. That all seems so eerily straightforward, doesn't it? You'd think...

No. There's no lockbox on the house and it's in the middle of nowhere in Alabama, so naturally it was unlocked. But the tenant wasn't home, so we couldn't go in. Well, I'd have gone in, since she swore they knew we'd be there to see the place, but she wouldn't let me in.

Ok, let's look at the property. Oh. You have no topo map? You have no plat? You don't know where the property lines are? Well, here's a pond by the house. Is this part of the property? You don't know... huh. Ok. Barn? No. Pasture? No. Is there anything at all about this place you can tell us?

"YES! There's a back entrance to the property!" So we all hop into the shiny 2wd Yukon (I want you to remember this part) and drive down the road "a ways" (which is a legal definition in the really cool counties to live in!), make a turn and... she doesn't know which gate is the one to the property. And with no plat, no map, and no idea what she's doing... we weren't going to find it, either. We did see a neglected field with tracks running through it. The land was flat pasture. The land was dry, flat pasture. But she can't go down that road, because, "Oh, this is only a two wheel-drive." Good heck, woman! I'd take a Yugo down that road! No no. Let's go home. Would you like to make an offer on that place this afternoon or later this week?

Are. You. Kidding. Me. (No, I'm not joking. She honestly started in with the high-pressure sales pitch. On a property we haven't technically seen. At all. Riiiiight. Sign us up!)

Fast forward to today. Zorak gets off work, we load up in the Suburban (because I had insisted that we drive ourselves, you know, in our 4-wheel-drive vehicle) to go look at the property with the listing agent. Our realtor bailed on us this afternoon, claiming she had "fires to put out". OK, that's fine. The last time we went to walk the property she'd showed up in heels and capri pants. Zorak, the boys and I had jeans and boots, but she made a point of telling me, "And this time, you really need to dress appropriately for getting out and walking around." So, truthfully, I'm not terribly bummed that she isn't going to be there today.

We arrive. We get out there and drive the property. We climb out and walk the property. This lady seems to be a bit more on the ball (but they all seem that way at first, so we're leery). She showed us the barn, the ponds, and... she couldn't show us the house. Oh no. Our agent had told her specifically that we have no interest in the house and not to show it to us. She thought that was a little odd, and double checked, but claims "our" realtor was insistent. So. Um, yeah. We didn't get to see the house again. Like my going from door to door, trying each of them last time wasn't an indicator that I'd like to get in there? As if my nose prints on the grime of each and every window didn't tip her off? What the...??? The listing agent laughed and said, "Well, yeah, I thought it was weird, too, but she was so adamant about it I let it drop."

*sigh*

We need a new realtor. No, what we really need is a cattle prod and a bottle of muscle relaxants. But since that would probably not serve us well when the police confiscated the contents of the Suburban, I am going to have to just get another bottle of Rescue Remedy (I've sucked the last one dry, licking the dropper like a starving kitten) and find something funny in all this.

I wish we knew the secret code of Realtorese that would land us somebody who could help us. It really chaps my hide to think somebody is going to make more off the sale of whatever we buy than Zorak makes in a month - for doing pretty much nothing but irritate me and make me question my sanity. I have sisters who would do that for f-r-e-e, darnit.

There's more, but this is too long already. Now that you're mostly caught up, future Realtor Rants (Alabama Chapters) will be significantly shorter. I'll end tonight with a song, and apologies to Waylon and Willie...

Mamas, don't let yer babies grow up to be realtors.
Realtors ain't easy to like and they're harder to know.
They'd rather string you along to get that place sold,
New berber carpet and fresh painted kitchens
Add to that commission each day.
If you don't like this one, and you won't just buy it,
They'd rather you just go away.

Chorus:
Mamas don't let yer babies grow up to be realtors.
Don't let 'em quote prices and push all them features,
Let 'em be ruthless old lawyers and such.
Mamas don't let yer babies grow up to be realtors.
They're never at home and they're always alone.
Even with interest rates low....

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Good morning, all!

Well, it's Wednesday. I can't believe our week is half-over. And I have no idea what we'll do for the weekend. The boys and I cleaned the Suburban yesterday. We worked for two hours to get all the peripherals of moving removed from inside. Then we vacuumed. It was well worth it! Funny how something so simple can make such a big difference.

The boys and I are heading out this morning to explore a bit, hit the market (I feel like we're hitting the market a little too often, but then I remember we're restocking an entire home with food... and three boys eat a lot of food. Ahh, yes, that's better.) Then we'll go hiking or to the park.

I cannot tell you how absolutely gorgeous the weather has been this week! I may wait until after September, but I just might get a weather pixie. (Gotta wait because the humidity information is something I just don't need to be reminded of every time I sit down at the computer.) At any rate, I'd planned to take the boys swimming this week, but it simply hasn't been hot enough to warm the pools. Yes, a heated pool is a waste of energy, but it's oh-so-nice!

I think we're meeting the Realtor this afternoon at the property we've been looking at. Supposedly, she's now found someone who knows where the property boundaries are and has the legal survey on hand to prove it. (It's 84 acres. No, it's 95. I don't think that pond next to the house geso with the house. I have no idea where the eastern boundary ends...) Yeah, that'd be nice, considering the Realtor is already pushing us to put in an offer on the property (b/c, don't ya know, "someone else is also looking at the property" - isn't there always someone else looking at property in real estate? *groan*). Um, well, you see, we would like to know what we're buying, specifically, before we agree to a 30-year serfdom on the place.

The Mistress has been earning her keep, but now she's developed a hole in her diaphragm. We have a few sets of those on order. Zorak rebuilt the carburetor last night in the kitchen so he could get to work this morning. That's when he found the offending parts. Spiffy new o-rings and all manner of non-gooky new parts later and she started up this morning, but he thinks the diaphragms may be what's causing her to idle high when she gets warm. I found last night I didn't resent her need for attention nearly as much as before. Perhaps that's because the ratio of effort:results has shifted since we've been here? At any rate, Zorak was very happily getting into the Zen of his Motorcycle Maintenance. And I enjoyed watching him work. That's a rhythm I've missed terribly over the last year and a half. It's one we hope to recapture and this time, keep.

Lessons are going well, and we're enjoying the newfound pace and feel of that, as well. Everything, actually, just feels very "right". It's not perfect, but it's headed that way. Or rather, it's headed toward the point we'd like to reach - not perfection, but contentment - contentment in it's happiest form. It feels good to be headed that way.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Learning Curve

For me, it's huge. I have just finished reading Eleanor of Aquitaine by Alison Weir, which I've been reading in tandem with The Medieval Machine - The Industrial Revolution of the Middle Ages (hey Sarah, has Rainer read that one? Thoughts?)

I have to say right off the bat that I'm not enthralled with the Middle Ages. I don't have a "thing" for the chivalric code or knights or ladies and castles. I have no desire to be swept back in time to an era where I could be abducted, violated, tossed aside, and then held accountable for no longer retaining my purity. (The more I read, the more I'm thinkin' "Well, no WONDER so many women were barren by the time they hit 25! GOSH!") I enjoy, appreciate, and truly value the rights, priviledges, and freedoms bestowed upon me as a woman in the 21st Century. Ew.

However, that said, reading these two books together was fascinating. It was nice to get a glimpse into that period which looked deeper than the stereotypes of the age. I enjoyed reading in detail the activities of the people and the economic and industrial development of the region in context with the political climate and the social systems in place at that time. The experience was far more fascinating than I'd given the Middle Ages credit for, I'll tell you that.

So this got me thinking, and I have some truly exciting ideas stuck in my head and completely incapable of making it out in one piece just before midnight. Sorry. But anyway, if you get the niggling to try something like this (combining two facets of history in a tandem reading session), please share with us what you read and what you thought! I think a reading list along these lines has the potential to make one phenomenal logic or rhetoric stage history/economics/sociology study!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Cake and Coffee

Hi guys. The cyber cake was much appreciated. Thanks, from clear across the internet.

Today we worked on attaining "normalcy" once more. The boys worked on their math skills, because girls only like guys with skills**.

We read the story of the Olmecs Heads and looked up pictures of them online. 20 tons of something that actually exists in one chunk is mighty impressive when you are six and four! As always, thank you, Susan Wise Bauer!

Latin today was a preposition review and intro to pronouns. We did the lessons, then ran about doing situational things (Look! I'm under the table! Hee hee! I'm beside the couch. Smidge is under the shelves!)

And now, for a PSA:
Take time today to discuss with your children the dangers of Pronoun Abuse. It's a serious malady, and the cause of many confusing conversations. Scientists speculate that boats have run aground and Kingdoms have fallen due to Pronoun Abuse. Pronoun Abuse is defined as,

"the act of omitting from speech all nouns to which a pronoun may refer, thus rendering the entire task of identifying 'who, what, where' solely on the shoulders of the pronoun itself".

Those poor pronouns simply cannot do their job as well as the extra work of the nouns themselves. The pronouns are small and inadequately prepared. It's too much for them, and suddenly, the whole sentence structure breaks under the strain. Conversations go awry. Entendres are lost forever. Directions are rendered useless.

On a personal note, the boys are at risk for developing this problem, as their father is a notorious abuser of pronouns. I love him, and almost always, sort of, mostly understand him. But this isn't about us. It's about the future. While studies have not ascertained with certainty whether Pronoun Abuse is hereditary, we do feel early intervention is the only hope. Speak to your children about pronoun abuse. Do it early. Do it often. God bless.
:: End PSA ::

Oh, and we had a birth here! I need some information on this, because it came as a bit of a surprise - mostly to James, in whose hand the birth occurred. We saw an earthworm flying across the dirt yesterday. Now, when I say "flying", I don't mean "fast for a worm," I mean, "this thing was hauling". The boys, naturally, touched it, and the thing turned on them, flinging and thrashing. It was incredibly strange. I have never, in my life, seen an aggressive earthworm. Finally, James "tamed" it. (Scared it into submission, pick your phrase.) And the boys enjoyed examining it, trying to feed it, and drawing pictures of it. Suddenly, James screamed:

James: MOM! The worm *speaking far to fast for me to understand this part, mumble, mumble* ...IN MY HAND!!!
Me: It what?
James: The worm just gave birth in my hand!
Me: No it didn't honey. I don't know how worms give birth, but...
James: Seriously, Mom. LOOK! (John is hopping around us, singing Happy Birthday)

I looked and, sure enough, there was the original worm, and a very, very tiny second worm. OK. That's just weird. James described what happened as follows:

The worm just started getting bigger and thicker and then suddenly, that little one just popped right out of it. Right there, in my hand!

John stopped singing long enough to confirm that yes, that's how it happened.
I can't find any information on "live" worm births. Google results (for the google-impaired) returned only photos of births from little cocoons or worm-pods, but no from-the-worm births. Anybody ever seen this before? I felt bad for doubting his sincerity, but did get to share the Dorky Parental Response Award when the boys ran inside to tell Zorak and Zorak's knee-jerk reaction was, "Oh Wow! That is disgusting!" Heh, heh.

So, in all, another good day. It was gorgeous outside, but trying to get John outside to play was like trying to get someone to invite Carrie to the prom just one more time, ya know. I don't know what's up with that.

Here's to a lovely week for everyone!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

** (*sigh* I really did not like that movie, but the lines have infiltrated my home and we can't make them stop!)

This is the wall that Mommy hit...

With apologies to... whomever.

This is the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the mess that covered the dress
in front of the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the meal, left out, not sealed
approaching the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the heat that spoiled the meat
in the car near the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the child who's gone slightly wild
atop the wall that Mommy hit.

These are the miles sans markers and stiles
which pass the wall that Mommy hit.

These are the sites for chiggers and mites
around the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the clock, thrown like a rock,
too early to see the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the day she ran away
but there...

there was the wall that Mommy hit.

****

Doing great, but covered insane distances of land with small children, bad maps, Titan-inspired rain storms, missing snack containers, and a pinched sciatic nerve. Zorak is settling in at work, and it is good. The boys are making their niches, and it is good. Really, it is all good, it's just exhausting. And I?

I am dying for coffee, cake, and conversation with another adult. Wouldn't that be loverly? I mean, first I'll have to back up and dust myself off a bit. These walls can make quite a mess when you're not paying attention and smack right into them, but it would be so nice.

Kiss those babies! (And then somebody put on a pot of coffee and call me!)
~Dy

Friday Night Fundown!

Today went quickly. James is surprisingly healthy and on-the-go. I'm so thankful for that. Not a word of complaint out of him today, and this evening he wrestled with Zorak. I'm thinkin' I really like the arnica cream/dermoplast combo!

We took the day off to build forts in the living room, run amok like small tribal cheiftains, read like librarians gone mad, and just enjoy each other. It was a great day with the kids.

Tomorrow we're heading out to explore. Sunday we'll check out the new church and then go peek at a property that shows some promise. Funny how the mention of a property that's "for-sale-by-owner" will yank a wayward realtor back into line rather quickly. Here's hoping!

It's good, guys. It's really good. Zorak is a happy dragon-slaying mantis. Critters one, two and three are happy and active. I am very thankful for all of it, including air conditioning. Especially air conditioning. It's hard to believe we've just been here a week.

Anyhow, tonight Zorak and I are going to kick back with a movie and some peace and quiet, reflect on the new digs, and pass out before the movie is over.

As always, kiss those babies!
Dy

Specto bike wreck, art and family. Wee!

Look! Blogging before midnight! What an odd sensation...

Latin was great today. The boys made their first "sentence": Specto septem lunae. Ok, so we don't technically have seven moons to look at. But it's a J-Brothers Original, and they took the initiative. Oh, and Smidge joined in with us today, uttering "dom-ae, nos" every once in a while. Zorak may never admit in public that he knows me if this child speaks Latin before he speaks English...

OK. The skinny on the Art Museum is simple: we are in love. The displays are great, there is plenty of room to back up, walk forward, back up again. They have a wonderful setting for the Audubon birds, an interactive selection of books to accompany William Joyce's art, and docents to die for. So there goes one membership slot!

The boys reactions were funny. James put his hands on his hips, looked around the Audubon gallery, and said, "So, these are the ones he didn't destroy, huh?" We read a biography of James John Audubon earlier in the year and evidenly James was impressed (either positively, or he was dismayed, either way it made an impression) that for many years, Audubon would save his sketches for an entire year and then, deeming them unfit to be seen, he would burn each and every one at the end of that year.

John fell in love with the modern art display, particularly the sculptures. Smidge even handled it well, considering... well, just considering. He's one and can't touch anything. How fun can that be? Plus, I was a bit high-strung today in general, which probably didn't help.

We came home for lunch and our first major bike wreck. So much for my master plan to enjoy giving them more space and freedom. Now I plan to ensconce them in bubble wrap and keep them chilled for the next 20 or 30 years. Oh, alright, not really. But it is tempting. We are way in the back of the complex, and there is a parking nook between two buildings. We have three windows that open directly into the nook, and at its most packed there are three cars parked in it, one of which is ours. So when the boys asked if they could ride on the black (meaning the asphalt) while I put Smidge down for his nap, I wrangled and wrestled with my inner control freak and finally decided that by opening ALL the windows so I can hear what's going on, giving both boys whistles to blow if they need help, reminding them that "no adult will ever need the help of a child when Mommy isn't right there", making them recite the safety rules, the behavior rules, and the Code of Hammurabi, it would be ok.

I peeked in on them and they were fine. I heard no fighting, no cars, and no tears. Twenty minutes after they went out, James came in through the patio door. He was slathered in blood. I'm talking B-rate movie special effects quantity of blood. His chin looked like it was off-center by about half an inch (turned out to be swelling and his chin is still where God intended it to be). He said to me, very calmly, "Mom, I lost my balance. And, um, I think I'm bleeding pretty bad." I honestly do not know how he managed to do this much damage to his body by simply tipping over on his bike. It's a short bike! He has scrapes on the right side of his face, his chin is torn up something fierce, both forearms, a quarter-sized gouge out of his right thigh, gashes on the inside of his left ankle, and when I helped him switch out his shirt for a fresh one, his upper body looks like that of a prize fighter! Good heck, child! Thankfully, nothing is broken or chipped or gaping. It's mostly superficial, although that chin is gonna hurt for a while. *shudder*

He has been a trooper about the whole thing, and even joked with Zorak that he lost his balance but thinks he can find it again. I'm glad he's getting back on that horse - he's far more daring and self-confident than I was at his age, I can tell you that. Zorak, of coure, knew just how to handle it when he got home, and showed James all the cool scars he has from bike wrecks he had as a little boy. It helps to know Dad survived childhood, too.

I called churches this morning and found one we will try on Sunday. The secretary is wonderfully friendly, although her math is a bit off. She said they have about 100 members, probably 50 families in all. And tons of children. Huh. That's weird. Maybe the aren't counting the children? She did say they have only two teens in their "youth group" right now, but have a large brood of children in the boys' ages. At any rate, aside from the quantitative confusion, the qualitative results of the initial visit were encouraging. I'll let you know how it goes.

And that, my friends, is about all the news I can handle today. I'm going to bed.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hi

I am so not filled with clever titles today. It happens.

So I goofed, big time. Zorak took the Suburban this morning since he had a meeting and... well, I don't know why that necessitated the Suburban, but it did, and that's ok. We were going to the Huntsville Museum of Art today, and he was going to bring us the Suburban after the meeting so we could go. Meeting was at eight. Around noon, I gave him a jingle on his cell phone, thinking he'd gone to lunch with his boss or something and had forgotten. He whispered, "No. It's still going on." Oh! I am SO so so sooo sorry, honey. I felt like such a nerd for interrupting his meeting. Well, come to find out it wasn't a normal meeting kind of meeting, it was an all-day affair. It still wasn't over at five, but he gave up and came home anyway. He doesn't really know what the meeting was about, either. I'm guessing his day was worse than ours, even with the postponed museum trip.

Twenty guesses what we're doing tomorrow. *grin*

John has begun planning his birthday party. He remembers James' fifth birthday party (but doesn't remember his own fourth birthday, which was a year later, go figure) and wants it to be good. Tonight he filled me in on some of the details. The cake should say, "To: John", and the candle needs to be the numeral five, not five individual candles. He would really like ballons, too. I can't believe he's so excited to turn five. This is the first year. Ever. Normally there are tears and protests and pleas not to make him change his age. Not this year, though. He is ready to be FIVE.

Smidge has become quite vocal this week. He roams about talking animatedly to anyone, even himself. He's actually trying to communicate verbally, which is handy, to be honest. It's still mostly elvish, but I think he may tackle English before summer's out.

James has eased up on John (hallelujah!) and is enjoying life quite a bit more now. He's taking on more along the lines of problem-solving and creative adjustment, as well. For all the worry I expend on that child, thinking we ruined him in our parenthood learning curve, when I watch him as he goes about his days I am assured that he's going to be just fine.

Both the older boys have taken to their sketch pads with a passion. They've been out daily, drawing tree bark, flowers, grass, weeds and bugs. I have no idea what John draws. It's still wholly indecipherable and we spend a lot of time having the, "Oh, this is lovely! Tell me all about it!" discussions. But when I consider this is the child who did not color, did not so much as doodle - would not use a crayon or draw w/ a marker - until he was nearly four, I'm really quite happy with his progress. At this point, his enthusiasm will more than make up for his lack of experience. He loves doing it now, and that's what we're after. James is learning the arts of observation and recreation. He's getting the hang of it, and I can usually figure out what he's drawn. Today he was thrilled to discover he can really do this well (always an exciting thing for him). I think I'll throw the sketch pads into the bag before we leave tomorrow, just in case the muse strikes.

Oh, I also put my foot in my mouth today. Mid-morning, I ushered everyone outside to play. Two and a half minutes later, John headed inside. He didn't want to be outside. It's hot. I laughed and reminded him, while herding him back out the screen door, that summer is coming and it's only going to get hotter, so we'd better acclimate to it now. So he turned to me and said, "I want you to come outside and play with me." WHAT? Are you kidding? It's hot out there! *awkward silence* Shall we read a story and have a snack, kids?

That's about it. No news from the Realtor on the one property we asked to see. Hmmm, do you see a Rant gathering on the horizon? If I thought changing realtors would help, I would, but I'm not feeling optimistic about that. It may be a very good thing that the apartment is so nicely appointed...

Anyhow, kiss those babies!
~Dy

Evil Amy, Personal Space, and Math

Alright, Amy, it's not funny anymore! You just may get more of the Realtor Rants you so enjoyed from before. Our realtor, it seems, in spite of my fairly clear-cut (and, dare I say, articulate?) email explaining the mojo/ghost/glamor bath thing (I didn't mention your bizarre bathroom experience, though), has seen fit to send me a link today with the caption, "Take a look at this!" So. I looked. And I growled and said a few things I seriously hope the boys don't repeat. Less than half the acreage we told her was our "minimum", for TWICE the amount of money we set as the ceiling!! Wow, is somebody bad in math or what?

Speaking of math, the boys are having a great time diving into lessons, but the math lessons in particular are just plain wonderful. John's skip counting and addition skills are taking off. James danced gleefully around the table today because I "let" him do an extra page of math. Ah. May it always be this easy, right? Don't covet, our bad days will come. It's cyclical, but I've learned to really roll around in the good parts like a dog let loose in a field.

And now, for a note on our personal space. There isn't any, you see, and I'm starting to feel the effects of it. This problem is due to no fault of my great children or of my wonderful Zorak. It's just that, wherever you turn, there's someone. Right there. In your face (or, in Smidge's case, in your kneecaps). I have decided to start walking (I don't run unless I'm followed by malicious creatures with teeth) in the mornings, but that will entail getting to bed before the morning to begin with. So as you can see, we do have some adjustment left to make. It's all good, though, and will come together soon.

Oh, and a little geography tidbit for ya: I cannot gauge altitude. When asked to take a stab at the elevation of Huntsville, I thought, I speculated, and I came up with the reasonable (or so I thought) guess of 3500 feet. *snort* WRONG! 600 feet. I forget that things aren't as tall this side of Texas. When you live ON the ocean, it's pretty easy to guess the elevation of your backyard (ours was something like three feet below sea level). But this totally blew me away. It's so pretty and seems so textured with mountains and valleys. Huh. You can do a lot with just a thousand feet or so of leeway!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

I don't want to do that again!

The amorphous blob that is everything we own, strewn in boxes here and there, I can handle. The dust on everything from being boxed and moved, I can handle. The total upheaval and chaos that has been the last two weeks, I can handle. But I never want to be without internet access again! Here's an excerpt from conversations in our home:

John- Mommy, has anyone taken pictures of the Nazca drawings?
Me- Oh, yes, Sweetheart, I'm sure there are pictures of them.
John- Can we see them?
Me- Sure! Let's look them up on the computer... um, when we get it reconnected.

James- Mommy, when surgeons amputate an arm, how do they reconnect the arteries so the blood doesn't pool at the bottom of the stump?
Me- Wow, great question! I don't know, but why don't we see if we can look it up?
James- *uncertainly* On the computer???
Me- Uh, yeah. *pause* You know, when it's hooked up again.

*phone rings*
Me- Hello?
Relative- Hey! Did you see the pictures of Bobby I sent you?
Me- No. Where did you mail them?
Relative- I emailed them.
Me- Oh. Then no, I haven't seen them. But I'm sure he's adorable.

Zorak- Honey, did you pay the insurance bill?
Me- Erm... um...
Zorak- Let me guess, you pay that online?
Me- Yes... but that one didn't get paid before we left.

Zorak- Sweetheart, when is your next article due?
Me- *blank stare* I have no idea.

All-in-all, I can't complain. Life is great and the move has gone exceedingly well. But man, oh man, do I miss the internet! We have a lot to look up and do this week!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey, Hey, Hey!

We made it! Zorak went into super-psycho-unloading mode when we arrived, and although we pulled into the complex after four on Tuesday afternoon, that Budget truck was e-m-p-t-y before we went to bed. It's taken me until yesterday evening to undo the transfer to the apartment. *grin*

All is well here. The boys went fishing with Daddy while I slipped off to the library. Funny story about finding the library... this is the first place I've ever lived where "the library" is treated as an urban legend rather than an actual place. I can't tell you how many people respond to the question, "Hey, where's the library from here?" with, "Oh, I have no idea. I don't know if we have one... um, I think there's one in downtown Huntsville..." OK, this is funny because there are six, yes, SIX libraries in the area. Not one of 'em is easy to find, but I think a lot of that on my part is that I start oogling the horizon and the pastures and suddenly *poof* I'm in Decatur or closing in on the TN border. (Hey, I have never claimed to have superior navigational skills!) However, this branch, which is supposedly a small one, is absolutely lovely. The people are friendly, there are close on a gazillion books, and it's internet speed is rockin'! Wow!

So, um, what's up here? Well, lots of stuff, and nothing much. I'm sure nobody wants to hear about sifting through the kitchen boxes, making trade-offs on what to keep boxed and what to leave out... but, well, that's pretty much been it.

Oh. Guess what? With rabbit ears on the TV, we can get UPN, PBS and FOX. Hee hee. Zorak and I vegged out in our room the other night, eating pecan pies and watching TV: That 70's Show, King of the Hill, Malcom in the Middle. It was fun, but I'm even more certain now that we don't need cable. The brain - ok, our brains - just can't handle the temptation. But, it was fun while it lasted.

Let's see, Smidge developed a honkin' fever on the drive out (didn't have a thermometer on me, but he was hot-hot, as in, scary-hot, and lethargic. Joy.) We pulled over, gave him some 'nuggles and doped him up with fever reducer and kept an eye on him the rest of the trip. Don't know what he had, other than a serious case of "I-CAN'T-TAKE-ANY-MORE-OF-THIS-I'M-LITTLE-YOU-KNOW!" But the fever broke before we stopped for the night and he's been ok since. On the plus side, he slept for most of the two day trip, as well as reverting back to a mongo three-hour nap each day this week. He's also stopped nursing down for the night. He just heads to bed with his usual enthusiasm, blows good-night kisses and snuggles in. That's it. G'nite!

James and John. Um. Threads. Seams. Popping. Sedation. I am quite thankful I am not a single parent right now. I love my children and will love them through this, this is one of those shining examples of how two-parent child-rearing can really pay off. If the boys aren't thankful for Zorak now, they will be one day when they realize all he's done for them during this move.

They are enjoying their newfound freedom with the bikes, exploring the lake, taking off in new directions with their interests and energies. And I am afraid I will have to renegotiate my inner boundaries to reflect more appropriately the changes the boys are going through. Truthfully, I don't wanna! But it's time. I can see that, and while I'd love to keep 'em little forever, I don't want to deprive them of the joy and accomplishment of growing into the fine men they're meant to be. Isn't it our job to encourage that and nurture it? Yes, even when it makes me weepy and grouchy. Even then. They are growing so well, popped stitching and all.

Zorak is happy. Big happy. Joyful. Chipper, even. Occasionally he emits a little "woohoo", which can be somewhat distressing in the middle of the night, or if you don't know he's just come onto the patio. But that's ok. It's a good noise. It's a happy Zorak.

We'll have internet access at the house on Monday. I think. Maybe. We'll see. But now that I know where the library is, I can slip down here and say howdy from time to time until we get set up at the house.

K, that's all I have time for now. Gotta let some other tax-payer enjoy the fruits of pooled resources. Thank you for the well-wishes and traveling mercies. The Suburban behaved, we had clean beds, warm food, and joyful time together. I appreciate the prayers. Will see you shortly!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Blogging on the Floor

So, moving day +2 comes to an end. The big news: we have a truck! We have somebody to clean the carpet for less than the cost of a new kidney! I am sitting on the floor because all our furniture is sitting in the parking lot! WOOHOO!

The move, or rather the ramifications of moving, have begun to hit John. He doesn't want a new church - our church is perfectly fine. He doesn't want new friends - his friends are wonderful. He doesn't want to fish in the pond - he wants to fish in the river. *sigh* Poor little guy. He is adrift. He is, for the first time in his memory, fully experiencing limbo. That has to be hard, and in spite of our strong drive to comfort him and reassure him that all will be well, our efforts fail. He isn't at the stage where he can be comforted. Right now he needs to know that he can be sad and we will still love him. He is learning that there are sad times that come, but with it he will learn that happiness comes again, bolstered by warm memories and new dreams.

These things are easy to know on the upside of 30 years experience. They're not quite so easy to grasp when you're not quite five. So he's up and running and joyful. Then he is tearful and lost. He is boisterous and loving, only to find himself bolting headlong into the brick-hard wall of fear moments later. This requires a lot of love, and the ability to just "be there" and "love him through it". We can't fix it, because nothing is really broken; it's not easy, but it's not wrong at all.

The boys spent the afternoon with the neighbors, playing board games and blowing bubbles. One of the other neighbor families came over a little later in the day with their precious little guy (he's just a few months younger than Smidge). Some of the guys from Zorak's work graciously volunteered their manly back muscles for the less thrilling job of lifting and loading. We ordered Chinese in and had the official BBQ. It was a great evening and all three boys were out cold before their heads hit the pillows. So was Zorak's. He's a tired Daddy.

I've got a few things to tend to on the computer, then I think I'll treat myself to catching up on some favorite blogs before I *gasp* unplug the computer and box it up. We'll most likely leave Monday, after the carpet cleaning guy comes and we finish the walk-through. So, when I blog again, we'll be in Alabama! Be safe, and enjoy your week.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Catatonic Battle

It's hard to fight the good fight when what you really want to do is
just
stop
moving
.

BUT, (ta-da!) today we put on a good show. I started washing walls and taking a toothbrush to the window frames. Um, yuck. But then, just to liven things up a bit, I joined the family downstairs for supper, leaving the washbasin filled with dirty Pine Sol water and a nasty old toothbrush right where Smidge could find it after his bath. Who says moving is all work and no play? Sheesh.

In the past two days, the boys have blown their way through over 100 oz. of bubble soap. I don't mind, as it's kept them outside and happily engaged. Sadly, however, Jacob has actually ingested several of those ounces. When you're only one and a half, it takes a while to realize you should not (A) put the wand directly ON your mouth, or (B) eat soap... So tomorrow's fun is en route as he digests!

Thanks for the humor, guys. I'll have to get Kim's biker jacket so I can do the really cool break. It's just hard to do the Alias-style breakout with the baby in the sling and the boys telling everybody they see, "We're relocating to Alabama!" You know, kinda cramps the whole shtick. But that's ok, humor and faith will get us through this. Yup.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Mistress Lives

Zorak *drum roll, please* got The Mistress working again! (Aw, heck, throw in the Hallelujah Chorus, too, he worked for it.) Yes, Chris, The Mistress is a BMW. She's an eccentric 1980 R65 with random parts issues and a sneaky gremlin. She's been intermittently earning her keep since Charles hooked up with her in August. Well, no, that's not entirely fair. She came with an entire herd of gremlins (what would that be? Gaggle? Flock?) Zorak has steadfastly eradicated them from her person, but just as he'd get two out, a new one would reach maturity and thwart his dreams of Mobility For All. From what I can tell, she has a number of oddities that are fairly specific to the R65 series, and to that year, in particular. (Like the coils, which all the specs say require one X type coil, and yet if you look, she clearly has two Y type coils. When you push enough to get a technician on hand, the tech will happily tell the sales rep that you are not an insane freak trying to drive the entire sales division into despair, and yes, it really does require something like that. It's nice to be able to get that confirmation from someone else who has actually touched the model year you're referring to. She sounds good tonight, and yet, I don't trust her yet. She has shifty eyes... so, can we take you up on a brain-picking session in the future? Charles, he is attached to her, and he has this thing about keeping her around.

The Chevy thang doesn't concern me so much. A 350 is a 350 and disk brakes are disk brakes. Nothing under the hood or the chassis on the Suburban that scares me. (And believe me, the next time the tranny goes out after the warranty is up, I'm rebuilding the thing myself. In my garage, on my time, and it's gonna be done right.)

You know, it's funny. Zorak and I do the good cop/bad cop thing when we need to, and it works well, naturally even. Except that, well, I scare the piss out of them and he's just really nice. I mean it, he is nice on a cellular level. So they hide from me and he can't bring himself to make them deal with me if he feels they've been sufficiently shamed. Meanwhile, I'm foaming at the mouth and just ready to do an Ozzy Osbourne show right there on the sales counter with the first bat, er, salesman who tries to blow smoke in my ear. *shrug* It's good that God gave me Zorak. Otherwise, I'd probably have restraining orders against me with Midas, AAMCO, and that guy in San Middle Of Nada near the AZ/NM border.

So, it looks like we are relatively mobile. If we can wrangle a truck tomorrow (which we've heard, through the rumor mill, is a distinct possibility!), we're set. Yay!

Dy

Don't go back over the Wall...

Zorak knew, on a subconscious level, that this week wouldn't go well. He mentioned on the way back (long before the tranny sputtered out) that in the movies, when the main characters escape, but have to go back over the wall - for papers, or to rescue someone else, or to finish the job - it never goes well. Never.

Don't run. Don't panic. Try to look nonchalant. That's our only hope. If they see you running for the bridge, they'll loose the dogs on you. So just. act. normal. Smile at the guard and keep going...

But something went horribly wrong. Somehow, I think *whisper* They know.

The Suburban is back. It has all the necessary gears, and a shimmy! And when you brake, it shutters. And the alignment is off quite badly (it pulls a hard left when you try to brake). Is there some kind of odd cosmic conspiracy going on? I'm serious... read on.

Our U-haul reservation had to be changed b/c there is a dearth of vans in Maryland. The one we were supposed to get never arrived. They said we could get one from Virginia, so we made arrangements to do that as a backup. The Virginia folks called us and said, "Oh, we are so strapped for vehicles. There isn't one anywhere in Northern Virginia. It may be 48 hours after your pick-up date before a truck is ready." There is no truck.

Zorak's good-bye luncheon is today, but it's at an Italian food restaurant and so we cannot go along. There's nothing wheat-free on the menu. I even called to see if they had desserts, thinking I could feed the boys before hand and then join them for dessert. But no. So I'm a little bummed that we won't be there, but not bummed enough to drag John over to a pizza joint and spend an hour telling him he can't have any. Ah, well. Gotta pick your hills to die on, right?

Carpet cleaning? No. Been calling places for two weeks and it seems that professional carpet cleaners here are doing so well that they no longer need to answer their phones or return phone calls. The Lease says we must have it "professionally cleaned" and provide a receipt. I wonder if I can get Wonderful Neighbor to do it with my machine - I'll pay her and get a receipt...

I'm just wondering how they could tell. Did I panic? Was there something in the way we walked that tipped them off? I know we'll get out, eventually, even if we have to swim the river, but I'm not Alcatraz-Tough, if you know what I mean. That water is cold!

Well, kiss those babies, and whatever you do, act cool!
~Dy

Too Tired To Blog

And yet, here I sit. Ironic, huh?

The day was relatively productive. Plenty of scrapes and scratches from brambles and twigs, so you know the boys had a good time. More things in boxes, several of which are labeled "misc. toys, boys room". *sigh* I forgot to look under the beds when we packed the toys.

Had to shoo the intrusive feral children from the doorstep several times. Nothing like standing at the neighbor's patio, visiting, only to look up and see the very children you just told not to go into your house, setting their grimy little feet IN your house. When I hauled them up short, they all pretended they didn't know that was our house. (And yes, while they definitely knew it is our house, to them, it's also perfectly acceptable to walk right into a stranger's home, uninvited.) I have to say, I will not miss these children. We've done as well by them as we can, welcoming them to our outdoor BBQ's and other outside activities, trying to share some semblance of normalcy (or at least adult supervision) with them, and encouraging their more positive endeavors. But it's exhausting, and we do get tired of keeping them outside.

The Mistress is still not running. Anybody know why BMW now says to use a different coil ignition system? The official suppliers and such all carry one angular coil that won't fit on the bike; the bike has two cylindrical coils. Anyway, we think the end is in sight. I pray so.

Tranny Guy called Zorak today (hmpf) to say that they ordered special heavy-duty whatever parts to replace the ones that keep failing repeatedly. So. Fine. Good on ya, but do you see a running vehicle parked in our driveway this evening? No. You don't. That's why he called Zorak. Zorak won't yell at people. Supposedly tomorrow morning. Zorak has been given direct instructions to tell the man to call ME if he so much as hints at another delay.

On the upside, Zorak's co-worker kindly took him by the market on the way home. He said we were on the edge of a scurvy outbreak, so they brought fruit- wonderful fruit! And creamer for Mommy, who was on the edge of a caffeine-withdrawl outbreak. Life is once again placid and healthy. YESSSSSSSSS.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

And on to more interesting things...

Ready... Aim... FIRE!! *thunk*

FIRE!! *plink*

What are they doing out there? We peek out the door to see that the boys have strung a bungee cord over the top of a Rubbermaid trash can, affixed to the handles. One boy has a pile of small stones and the other is conning the cord. Lay the stone on the lid, pull back and, FIRE!! Targets are on the back gate. What a cool idea. John thought it up, and is quite pleased with the outcome. He also aims exceptionally well. Hey, Melissa, can Race take trainees this young?

Perceptive Boy
I plopped down at the coffee table with the boys for breakfast and after we prayed, James glanced at me with a singularly worried expression. "Mom, you look tired. Are you okay?" I was caught a bit off-guard. "Aren't you sleeping well?" he asked, when I didn't answer. When did my little boy become so perceptive? When did he begin to talk like such a young man? I don't mean talking, per se, but speaking, with such gentle authority and intuitiveness? He is growing and stepping into new grooves, and while we don't notice the changes as markedly as we do in Smidge - who still seems to change daily, they are there and they are profound. It's amazing to me that this once small, pudgy fluff-headed toddler is growing into the man he will be, and he is taking it in such graceful strides. My heart melted.

Making Connections
We are reading our way through the tales of Greek Heroes. Today we read the journey Zeus and Hermes took to determine the wickedness of mankind, and whether to destroy the earth or spare it. The boys got quite a kick out of the story itself, filled with some pretty amazing stuff as it is. They both caught parallels to the Christian stories of Sodom and Gomorrah and of the Flood. But the question that I felt showed their minds the most was far more simple: why didn't Philemon and Baucis ask for children, because that's the greatest gift anyone could be given. They went on that vein for a while before we could finish the story. I had no answer, other than that they were old and near the end of their lives, citing that they had asked to die together at the same moment. This satisfied the boys, until Zeus also granted the old couple renewed youth, which set off a celebration of joy among the boys: now they can have children on their own! YAY!

I had no idea they felt so strongly about family and children. I'm glad they understand their value - to us, to life, and to the world. My heart's greatest hope is that every child could have that understanding, that assurance.

Today was good. It was, for the most part, wholly unproductive, but only in material ways. Emotionally, it was a great, great day.

Kiss those precious, valuable babies!
~Dy

Tuesday, Schmoozeday

Do you see the Suburban parked in it's numbered spot? Yeah, neither do we. And yet, I had hoped. I had honestly hoped that he would come through. And service shops wonder why customers are cynical?

According to Tranny Guy, I "should know it's impossible to do this in one day!" OK. And? According to me, "Well, you've had it two days, and so when you said specifically that it would be back tonight, and I took you at your word, it's sounding an awful lot like you lied to me, knowing full-well you would tell me exactly this come five this afternoon. That's lovely."

But, on the upside, we have unearthed his MO. He's used to being the slick snake-oil salesman. He's used to rushing through his pitch, then bolting to the relative safety of the shop with its OSHA-mandated "employees only" sign. When you corner him with a contradiction in his own words, or point out where he is quite clearly full of, erm, it, he puts you on hold or runs past the OSHA barrier with nary a "just a second", barely audible above the click of the hold button or the door pulling to. That's where he digs through the door-to-door vacuum sales skills he garnered just before he joined the Marines and looks for another script. Something snazzier, whinier, more insistent. Ah! There it is, and he re-emerges, immediately talking 90 miles a minute in the hopes of throwing you off the first trail. If that doesn't work, he bolts again to re-group.

With one breath, he swears that he is "very particular" about the work being done in his shop, and in the very next breath he claims he has "no control" over what happens there. If belittling you and treating you like you don't know a transmission from an ignition doesn't work, he'll put you on hold, and come back flinging so many specifics he can only hope you get lost in the techno-jargon and back away slowly. When that doesn't work, he bolts once again. The only viable response the man offers is a defensive attitude, and unless you are ever-so-thankful that he's there to fix it (again), that's exactly what you're going to get.

Just for the record, don't use AAMCO Transmission in California, Maryland. It's worth whatever it costs to go somewhere you will be treated honestly, you will not have to corner the staff for answers to your questions, and you will know where you stand from the minute you walk in the door until you drive off the property.

Dollars to doughnuts we'll be looking for a tranny shop in H'ville before the year is out.

Ugh.
~Dy

Food Fight! (Seriously...) & The Realtor (Rant?)

James has red speckles all over his eye - the eyelid, brow bone, under the eye. They are the kind of spots you get from smacking into something, like a tree or a lichen-covered rock. There's a shadowy tint below the eye, too. It's not quite a black eye, but something obviously happened. I inquired and he filled me in, "Oh, that? Yeah, that's just from when John hit me with a chicken leg."

I couldn't keep the Mommy Composure. Just couldn't.

The most mature, articulate response I could muster was, "That is the WEIRDEST thing I think I've ever heard!" He laughed. It seems that while I was preparing cheese crisps for lunch, there was some kind of disagreement that culminated in a duel. It was all over when the chicken leg came into play. The boys worked it out and they both laughed about it while they told me the story.

Part of me is glad they worked it out between the two of them, eventually, and enjoyed one another for the rest of the day. Part of me is somewhat mortified that my children ever thought this was an option. A chicken leg to the head? Yet another part of me is quietly whispering to the other two, "These are the threads of your children unravelling! The seams will pop soon and it'll be worse than ripping open a beanbag!" That part also includes a very frightening laugh that echoes to the marrow. I'd like to think our familial stitching is strong enough to get them through the topsy-turvy phase, but my prayer tonight is, "Please let this week pass smoothly."

Tranny Guy was sufficiently mortified that we were back (and still under warranty, which is what bothered him the most, I think) and promised to have the Suburban back to us tomorrow at five. Hmmm. That would help. I was as nice as the situation warrants (perhaps moreso), although I did pointedly make the problem of getting all four of us home without the Suburban "their problem". I figure if they don't want to haul us around, then perhaps they ought to do a better job, eh? If it happens again, I'm going to make them swing us by the market, too, because I'm nearly out of creamer again.

Tomorrow, I need to email our realtor. It's nothing big, but I believe there may be a small *do the quote thing with your fingers* communication issue *okay, you can stop now* that needs to be rectified before it explodes into another series of Realtor Rants. It seems that since we mentioned we'd be willing to buy a trailer on acreage and build our own home, she inferred that we must want a new home. So, being the intuitive creature realtors are known to be, she raised the price ceiling we gave her and sent us the listing for "the house you're going to buy, I just know it!" It would leave us with no money for a chicken (one), let alone cattle or fencing for the cattle, it has far less acreage than we want, and it has a monstrousity of a brand spanking new house w/ oak cabinetry (which we so don't really care about). The thing is, if we can't find a great old house that has stories and ghosts and mojo, we want to build our own home and start right then and there with our own stories and ghosts and mojo. We want to infuse them all the way to the foundation. We don't want somebody else's generally contracted cookie cutter house with glamor bath. There is no mojo in a glamor bath! But how to convey this to the realtor species, I don't know.

Anyhow, tomorrow is a huge packing day. We are pleasantly surprised to find that the drawers and the kitchen are all that's left to pack. Bonus!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Oh, my. I did not expect that!

I'm so sorry to have just disappeared. It seems that Huntsville, while absolutely beautiful and offering anything a body could need, lacks one important feature for cyber-contact: public internet spaces. Heads up to any entrepreneurial souls out there - Huntsville could use an Internet Cafe!!! We thought we saw a Kinko's, but couldn't find it again (not listed in the phone book we had). We didn't get a local addy in time to sign up at the library, and our hotel didn't have a business center. So, I apologize for slipping into the Vortex. We're back!

Here's the week in review:
It was Good.

For more detail, read on.

Day 1
We pulled out Sunday, later than we expected, but y'all knew that, I'm sure. With the trailer and the wind, the eleven hour drive took seventeen hours. Huntsville is lovely at sunrise. We checked into our suite, poured cereal for the boys, handed James the remote, and passed out on the couches.

Days 2,3,4
We searched for a short-term rental. We met the neighbors and enjoyed evenings on the front walk, visiting and getting our bearings. The neighbors - a group of welders in town on a three-month assignment - doted on the boys, shared their beer, and welcomed us in true Southern fashion. We had watermelon on the grass and listened to music from somebody's pickup.

On Day 3... We resorted to bribery for the boys. Miniature air-heads candies make wonderful stalling devices for prolonged drive time. Give the "mystery white" ones to the baby, and there's virtually no mess, either!

Day 5
We found a great short-term rental. We found a realtor. We had supper with Zorak's new boss and his family. They homeschool! They are darling. The children meshed beautifully and had a giggly, squealy, grand ol' time playing after supper.

We found Smidge sleeping face-down in the dining room around midnight. Looks like he was heading somewhere and didn't quite make it. I think this move is, for him, much like the stereotypical Freshman Year In College from a good 80's flick. It's a whirlwind of activity, everything is new, nothing makes sense, he parties like a hound, and wakes up in a strange home surrounded by nothing familiar. So far, he's handled it well, but that's got to be confusing.

James mastered riding his bike without training wheels!! No more Benny Hill escapades around corners. He is so proud, and so excited.

John said he was "friendsick", much like being "homesick". He loves his people, and we'll have to find some new people pretty quickly there in AL.

There is Mexican food (and green chile!!) in Huntsville. We ate little else for the duration of the week.

Day 6
We traveled to Arab to look at a few properties. I caught a fit of the giggles. It is not pronounced "Arab", as in the geographical or cultural reference. It is pronounced /AY-rab/, yes, as in Ray Stevens' "Ahab the Arab". I sat in the back seat, singing to myself and laughing like a lunatic for most of the drive. Don't know if I'll ever be able to say it "properly". Zorak nailed the point quite well: "Saying /AY-rab/ is a lot like saying /MESS-kin/. It's just not right." But you know, if dialect is the biggest stumbling block we encounter, we're good with that.

Day 7
We loaded the Suburban, locked up the new pad, and headed north on I-65 to look at properties on our way out. It'll take another post to tell you about the things we found.

And, you will not believe this! Our transmission gave out on us again, just at we hit Virginia, again. And so, once more, our trip home took an exceptionally long time, since we worked without second gear and an intermittent third gear. One more rebuild on this tranny and we'll have the average cost of it down to a reasonable price for a tranny rebuild. This will be the fourth transmission in this thing, three of which have been in the last 14 months. So guess what we get to do this week, in addition to packing and cleaning? Yee-HAW! Four days without transportation at all while they rebuild the tranny again.

But don't let that bit fool ya- it was a wonderful trip. We are happy to be getting settled in and look forward to reaping the fruits of seven years of hard work. And it is good to be back here (online) again, too. I'll make the rounds and get caught up with y'all, but if you don't hear from me right away, please know I'm just a little buried under.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey now! Y'all be nice! ;-)

I mean, really. Ok, our townhouse includes a washer and dryer, so we haven't thought of ours since we left New Mexico. It was a busy summer. We moved, and the boys were sick with exotic random illnesses (one after another) the whole two months we stayed with family. And I was 18 months pregnant, in the middle of summer, uphill both ways. Then we moved into campus housing (anybody remember the spider hatching episode?) and had the baby a week later. We up 'n moved here two months after that. At some point between the baby and the cross-country trek, we splurged and spent $25 on a washing machine so Zorak didn't have to trek to the laundry once a week. You have to turn the knob with pliers because the knob part is missing. It sat in the kitchen, occupying a full 1/4 of the available floor space, and spent most of its time disguised as a dish rack and countertop.

...it's easy to forget these things when life is happening at full throttle. Really. Could happen to anyone. *grin*

So. *whew* We leave in the morning, at some unholy hour. We're so excited about the voyage. We haven't found our Forever Home yet (trust me, I'd have inundated the blog with images of the place by now!) We do plan to find it, if not immediately, then shortly thereafter. (What comes right after "immediately"?) We know it's there. It's waiting for us. And since we're pretty sure it isn't mobile, we must go to it. *play theme music in the background... no, not Sweet Home Alabama, play the theme from The Right Stuff... yeah, now you're with me.*

I'm not going to shampoo the entire carpet this trip, but that one stain (the one I mentioned earlier in the week) is terribly obvious now that all items are cleared away from the area. To make it worse, the boys found their baptismal crosses today and for whatever reason, left them laying around the stain. Zorak looked at it and said, "What's that, a faith cleaning?" Um. Guess I better get on that before bed.

We bought the boys t-shirts while in DC last time. They say "Future President". I'm thinking, yeah. It's possible. All three of them. These kids are made of some amazing mix of titanium and rubber. The really stretchy, flexible kind of rubber. They're exhausted and uprooted and in a total mire right now, but they're handling it so well! I'm in awe. (I'm also just a tad bit afraid of the nuclear chain reaction we may face at some point when the dust settles, but that's what chocolate an snuggle time is for.)

Melissa said this morning, "Wow, you're so calm." She meant it as a compliment, but I like her too much to let it slide. I had to 'fess up. I'm not calm. I'm borderline catatonic. What I lack in fortitude, I make up for in partial paralysis of my mental function. Zorak probably doesn't appreciate it, but it gets me through. And now we're here. We're at that part! I can't believe it!

I hope to blog from the road, so I'll let you know if we stumble upon our Forever Home anytime soon. :-)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Great Things Are Happening

OK, confession time. I've been working, quietly, amidst all the other stuff, with another project. When the opportunity to be involved in something good comes along, it's an opportunity worth taking. This is a good project, which is why I felt the need to be involved. Thus far, my contribution is small, but it's one I'm excited about. The result of the work of many, from all over, follows. Check it out.

And as always, kiss those babies!
~Dy
*********************************************************

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In turn, readers will appreciate and value Spero News´ closer, "grassroots," touch, while at the same time appreciating the maintaining of high-quality standards, coupled with an online experience for a uniquely knowledgeable community of users through a networked environment that provides answers, analysis, points-of-view and like-minded associates.

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Spero News

Moving Weirdness

The phone woke me this morning. It was the moving company, calling to let me know the truck will be here "any minute". Gee... thanks?

It arrived. The first question the driver asked was, "Where do you want us to put the washing machine?" Huh? What washing machine? We don't have a washing machine.

Zorak came downstairs, looked at the crate, cocked his head to the side and said, "I don't think that's our stuff. We didn't have a washing machine."

Silence.

The seeds of panic beging to set it (oh no! they've brought the wrong crate!), when I recognize the swing set... and the hand dolly... and... oh. Yeah. Um, we do have a washing machine. Well that's what I get for trying to interact with the public before I've had my morning coffee!

In our defense, we haven't seen it in a year and a half. We didn't have it long before we packed it up. And we really weren't all that attached to it. Does that help our case any? *sigh* I hope so.

On the upside, the washing machine and the playground-sized swing set made up a good portion of the 700 pounds of "stuff" we had left in storage. Yay! That translates to "not very much else left", which is a good thing. Also, there are five boxes lost to the depths of storage blackness. Don't know where they are. Can't tell what was in them from the descriptions on the packing sheets. (Who knew doctors filled out those sheets? Or, they might as well, for the legibility factor.)

So we're on track. Things are looking good. Thanks for your prayers and positive thoughts. Keep the humor coming, though. That helps more than you know!

Oh, Fitsy, I was going to say that we'll drink any coffee we can get. We drink too much to afford to be persnickety about it. But I was wrong. We have finally found a coffee we cannot handle: Richfood brand coffee. (It's the Shoppers grocery store brand.) It is b-a-d. Beyond bad. Coming from a woman who has been known to add water to a half pot of coffee and run it back through old grounds because she's out of coffee and the market is closed... this is bad.

Tomorrow we load! *maniacal laugh*
Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Moving Day -whatever's left

See? I told ya NASA wouldn't hire me. :-)

We've hit that point where, unless we can put the boys in the storage closet out back, or box them up and stack them, we really need to get some stuff out of the house before I can make much more headway. Small children emit stuff in their trails. They can even leave a trail of things you thought you'd packed. Honest. It's amazing.

We have more stuff coming in first, though. The Storage Folks are bringing our stuff tomorrow. Yes, this is stuff I have not seen or touched for a year and a half. No, I probably don't need it. I know. How decadent of us. The swingset will be nice, however, and I'm glad we'll have it for the boys to play on in the backyard we will have in AL. That alone is worth the rest of the stuff.

I do think we'll have a full haul, though, and aside from the miscellany of actually living in the place while we pack, it's lookin' good! Woo. Hoo.

I think we have a place to stay for the week. Will have a place to stay for a month by the end of that week. Then, if the Good Lord's willing and the creek don't rise, we'll soon buy the place on which Zorak and I will die happily and peacefully one fall afternoon in the far-far(-far!) future, hot on the trail of a deer. That, my friends, is a wonderful feeling.

****

On other fronts:
* Smidge took a header on the sidewalk this afternoon and is once again wearing "The Mark of the Toddler" smack dab in the middle of his forehead.

* The boys spent the afternoon doting on the neighbor's little ones. It was so cute. It also allowed me to do a little uninterrupted packing. Very nice.

* Oh! Before I forget! I bought The Red Fairy Book (another wonderful unabridged Dover Thrift edition!) the other day at Bay Books and have been reading the stories with the boys in lieu of "school". Now, I grew up on Disney and the incredibly distanced version of stories it perpetuates. I knew nothing. The most unsettling points of contention usually involved the unseen, unexperienced death of a mother (seemingly a fave for the Disney folks- Freud would have a field day with them!) But I digress...

James responded so enthusiastically to the original Pinocchio, though, that I've been sucked in hook, line and sinker. Still, it's a little unsettling to be reading along when suddenly the rescue of the baby involves cutting off one of its little fingers! EGADS! Erk. Ack. Stutter. Stumble. I think the boys paid more attention to my seizure-like attack than they did to the cause of it, though, because they've asked for me to read the "Red Fairies Book" again and again. Once you get past the slightly jarring points (which, really, aren't bad- they lend themselves to good discussions of whether it's a worthwhile trade; a finger for a life - and whether there were any other options at the time... a lot of this is in how you handle it. Like life.) anyway, the stories are wonderful. The boys are entranced. I am tickled. There ya have it - a book review amidst the boxes!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Baby Steps and Backups: Getting Out 'n About

Did I mention we're moving? Yeah, that's nice. Our plans for today changed, for the better, so today was productive! (Er, mostly.)

Hair cuts for the boys. John can grow a lot of hair. No wonder that child is always hot. It was like watching a sheep shearing! I do like the haircut process, though. There's a certain amount of autonomy for the children: I can't be still for them, I can't take the cut for them, and at some point I won't be able to tell them how to get it cut. With each trip to that big chair, a child takes on just a little more responsibility. Rites of passage in bite-sized bits. That's the kind a mama can handle.

All three boys behaved most excellently while we were there. They are generally top-notch on excursions like this, but that does not diminish the quiet joy I get from seeing it happen again. Yes, I do appreciate it. It does offer up a certain amount of vindication for the looks of concern (doubt?) I receive when I enter a room with three small children in tow. Generally, the conversation goes something like this:

*We enter room. Every childless adult in the room turns to stare at us.*
Someone, anyone: He he. You've got your hands full, there, don't ya?
Me: *toussling one of the kids on the head* Oh, I wouldn't know what to do without them!
*this is where I get the stare. It's the stare that says, "You should have been committed two pregnancies ago, Sweetheart." But nobody says anything. Usually it's just the disbelieving eyebrow lift and a pitiful smile.*

So, yes, when we've waited nearly an hour and leave half an hour after that, and the boys receive cheerful, engaging responses from the folks while we're there, it feels kind of nice. When the folks who leave before us take the time to stop and say, "You've got some great kids, there." It's uplifting.

And it's also nice for the boys to see the direct and immediate result of their behavior on the reactions of others. They get to see, consistently, the difference between adults who expect poor behavior and are pleasantly surprised vs. adults who see the poor behavior they're expecting. In a world that seldom offers much to backup the things we teach the boys at home, it's encouraging and refreshing.

Anyhow, Zorak suggested perhaps we could just get Smidge on the grid in AL rather than here. So I checked, and we can. Yippee! (Yes, I just said "yippee" to the suggestion that I will spend time in the gub'ment office in AL... the point being, they have an office IN Huntsville and not a one-hour drive from wherever I'm going to be.)

The rest of the day was just general fare: had the tranny checked out, bought more coffee at the market (can you believe we ran out?), sorted through more stuff, enjoyed supper, and now am ready to do a little more packing.

I packed... nothing today. No, wait, I packed two boxes today. Must make up for it tomorrow, though, but it was worth it.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy