Getting Out Again

After having been pretty much homebound and sick as a dog for the past two weeks, today was refreshing for all of us. The boys scampered and skittered. They felt good and had a great time. Zorak seems to exude a very "happy place" sentiment lately, too, which only helped to brighten today's outing. I was just very, very happy. And it's not hot down in the caverns, which was lovely.

Cathedral Caverns is amazing! If anyone comes to visit us, they must be wholly prepared to be dragged down there. Period. It's exquisite, in so many ways. Visitors only go about 3500+ feet into the caverns, although it's an amazing trek that takes about an hour and a half. You must have a guide in order to enter, but after taking you through the high points, he leaves you on your own to meander back through the maze of limestone and absorb some of what you've witnessed. The path is wide enough for wheelchairs, strollers, and those who just don't want to get too close to the edge. The best part: we're only half an hour away!

I would show you pictures, but we discovered a different feature on our camera: it has no internal memory. I'd popped out the XD card to download pictures to the computer so we could have a clean card on our trip, then either got busy tying shoes or loading stuff in the car. Whatever happened, I spaced the card and left it in the printer. :-( But I can say with all certainty that we'll go back many times. Like a great museum or a truly good book, I think you almost have to go back time and again to soak it all in.

We drove past a few more parcels of land, one of which needs further investigation, then stopped at the Western Sizzlin for supper before heading home. Good call! Two out of three were out cold before we hit the Madison county line. James swiftly readied himself for bed and the three of us spent half an hour snuggled up, chatting. He is such a neat child, wow. Now Zorak and James are off to dreamland and I am contemplating whether I would rather sleep or read a bit more... and wondering if there's any way to do both. (Decisions, decisions!)

Oh! I read two great books this past week: The Parsifal Mosaic by Robert Ludlum (author of The Bourne Identity), and The Devil in the White City (a true telling of the man behind the 1893 World's Fair, Daniel Burnham, and the parallel life of a psychopathic killer on the loose in Chicago during that time, H.H. Holmes). Both were good reads, although each for very different reasons.

Tomorrow is Father's Day (like y'all didn't realize that, I know, but it crept up on me this year). I'm at a bit of a loss. I'd planned to treat Zorak to an afternoon of fishing with the boys, but tonight he said he needs to spend time with the mistress after church. I guess she got a little difficult last week. So now I'm not sure what we'll do tomorrow. If I can get up and get the boys up in time, perhaps we can make cards in the morning. I hate that we didn't get this taken care of before. It's been such an overwhelming week, and I haven't even made plans for John's birthday on Monday, either. Thankfully, Zorak knows that our lack of organization in no way reflects the depth of our love and appreciation for him. I'm glad for that. (And I've got 48 hours to get prepped for John!)

Anyhow, I think I've decided that if I fall asleep reading in bed, that counts for both. The strongest need will win, and that can't be bad, right? And so, to bed. G'nite!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Wowsa! It's the weekend! I'm legal, we're healthy, what are you doing?

For many people, this means two days of playing and relaxing, mowing the lawn and catching up on laundry.

For the boys, this means bed sores from sitting in their carseats for 48 hours straight, and some kind of fungal issue from wearing spilled Bug Juice for most of those hours.

And yet, Zorak is home, so they don't really mind. *he he* Childhood truly is a magical age...

I feel terrible for them, though, with every weekend offering such a wide variety of nothingness. So we decided that tomorrow we'd explore Cathedral Caverns - er, *ahem*, after we look at one more property. It's just down the road from the Caverns... Think they'll mutiny?

****

I officially have an Alabama driver's license! I'm official. I'm sittin' pretty. I'm also... somewhat stunned, and y'all are gonna get a kick out of this! The name on my Social Security card does not, oh, how to put this delicately? It does not match my driver's license name. Or the name by which the US Postal Service finds me. Or even Costco. I do have a letter from the SS Office - dated March of 2001 - stating that I should have a matching card in two or three weeks and have a nice day! BUT, no card. And they accepted that letter as back-up to my mismatching identification, never questioning why I don't have the promised matching card to go with the letter.

And do ya seriously think I'm going to complain or point out this little incongruity on DMV premises? *snort* I have a license. They can't stop me, now. But seriously, who would you think more likely to engage in civil disobedience (I mean, terrorism is out, but a little civil disobedience isn't always a bad thing): me, or the Smidge? Hee hee. Yeah, me, too.

Sadly, I lied about rounded-off my weight. It's a seasonal thing, so let's just go with the yearly mean, right? And I was seriously tempted to cross just one eye for the actual photo. But I didn't. And I even told the truth about my hair color, although I think she corrected that, thinking I wasn't clear on the abbreviations. Heck, I ought to go check - she might have corrected the weight, too!

I could not, however, get Alabama tags. Evidenly, Maryland registered the 'Burban to Zorak AND I - while the absence of any symbol, direct or derivative of, indicating "and" (as well as the affirmation of the clerk who did the registering) led us to believe it was registered to Zorak OR I (OR, which is what we requested, specifically because nobody with three children intentionally takes all available adults into the DMV, don't ya know!) So no go. Four plus hours of waiting in line, hungry enough to hit up the four year old next to me for just one bite of her shiny strawberry-scented lip gloss (which she refused to share!), plus a frenzied Herbie The Love Bug-type driving course around town to find an ATM, get cash, and return before they closed the window booth... and I was dead in the water at 4:35. Ah, well, there's always tomorrow, if the satellite thing is open. And if not, there's always Monday. Or Tuesday. Can't go beyond that, though. Nope. I want my partial refund from the thorough fiscal pillaging the State of Maryland committed on us with their vehicle registration fees.

Yeah *he he* But do ya wanna see my new license? ;-)

****

Thanks for the prayers. This nasty ick just won't let go. Smidge is a thousand times better today. John crashed around eleven and slept until three. Hmm, I think he was just a wee bit beat? He seems better, too. And even I, the queen of wussdom, am feeling significantly more human today. It helped to get out. It helped to be productive. It helped to know people were praying. Thanks. :-)

And now, I need to get off the computer so Zorak can do more Zoraky things that I'm way too tired to understand. I'm going to go read The Golden Ocean (this is O'Brian's first sea-based novel! I'm psyched!) and see if can barter for a foot rub (is that better, Patty? *big grin*)

Y'all have a great weekend - what are you up to this weekend?
And kiss those babies!
~Dy

AllllllllRIGHTY, then

OK. We're up. We're about. We're up 'n about. We probably shoulda bought stock in Puffs Plus. That is some magic stuff - just don't grab one to wipe the lens of your glasses. The magic doesn't come off so easily.

I have to give a big, hearty, healthy {{THANK YOU}} to Melissa for letting me talk her ear off this morning. She also shared all her wonderful children and hubby stories and helped raise me from this tremendously overwhelming funk. For that, I am indebited. Deeply. Humorously. Truly. Thank you!

Aside from the heat and the exhaustion (I've said it before, it's not going away, I am a weather wimp!), things are cruising along. In circles. We are in the general vicinity of the goal, but the goal itself it's clearly defined yet, so picture the Suburban whizzing around and around on one of those horrible round-about intersections, unable to take an exit and start getting somewhere because we don't know which exit to take. While we aren't getting anywhere, we are singin' plenty of obscure songs along the way and stopping for coffee when necessary. At this point, I figure we'll gather so much force that the centrifugal force is going to fling us off an exit pretty soon, and the path will be chosen for us, compliments of the Laws of Physics. So, that overwhelming fear has been settled. *whew*

Zorak and I aren't what you'd call "long distance runners". We're more, let's say, sprinters... OK, Zorak, he can sprint. I've gotta be honest with ya, folks, I'm the guy that stands under the awning and shoots the starting gun. By the time I've chambered a round and done all that counting and yelling and firing, I'm ready to hit the beer tent.

But Zorak, the Sprinter, is our motive power. He has great vision and the mind of an engineer (aka - a long distance runner). His plans spread out along the horizon and encompass the resources at our disposal. He's a cross between Frank Lloyd Wright and Jeremiah Johnson. It's amazing stuff. But it's all marathon stuff. If we could go out there and round up a crew of 12 highly-motivated (don't even have to be highly skilled, just enthusiastic will do nicely) workers, we'd have THE PAD in no time. And it would rock. It would blow your ever lovin' minds. Sadly, there are issues with funding for wages, lodging for the crew, and probably some immigration laws in there, to boot. That puts a bit of a kabosh on the marathon we need to run.

So, barring unexpected endowments from NAFTA, we have our team in place - a team of one highly emotive toddler; two highly enthusiastic, yet easily diverted small folk; the sprinter; and the bloated guy in the striped shirt. And with this team, we have to run a marathon... in 50 yard sprints.

I'm not complaining. It can be done. It won't be pretty. It should be fairly humorous, and once we get started, there will be blog grist galore. Look forward to some deeply self-depricating belly laughs from this blog in the months (or years) to come.

What's had me by the throat is knowing our genetic propensities, our heritage, our legacy with regard to momentum and project completion... this knowledge scares the living snot out of me. Do you remember the sheer elation (no exaggeration) I felt when we actually repaired the Suburban door handle the correct way - with the correct handle and all! Do you remember that? It was astounding. Not because we could not do it, but because it's reeeeely difficult to stay on track and get stuff done when bailing wire and duct tape will suffice.

It's not from a lack of know-how, technology, desire, or competence. We have all of those in abundance. It's just this... momentum issue. Stamina, if you will. I'm sure attention span comes into play somewhere.

In the end, we'll get there. The Suburban gets great gas mileage, we're all in it together, and I think Zorak can rig up some kind of thingy to carry the smaller ones when we really have to hoof it. I'll bring food and water. We'll blog.

Kiss those little team members!
~Dy

No Blog For You!

I am still sick.

I am not having a good week.

I am reeeeeeeelly grouchy at this point.

Many additional factors aren't helping, but my own rules prevent me from articulating them.

So.

HARUMPF.

That's about it.

The boys are fine. Smidge is improving.

I have nothing else to say, but didn't want y'all to think I'd been abducted by the Randy Weaver Fan Club (although our application is in... I don't know what's taking so long), or that I'd just suddenly dropped dead from lack of oxygen. O2 sat is still relatively high.

'Nite!
Dy

We're dot feelig tho well. I thidk we're thick.

I've been exhausted as of late anyway, but today I was downright narcoleptic. One minute I'm folding the wash and the next - *poof* - I'm face down in the sock pile. The last thing I remember before lunch, I was reading a book - the next thing I knew, I'd drooled all over the bit about anaphylaxis. Great. That was on the front porch. I really hope nobody walked by during that time.

At some point, I sat on the couch and that was a bad, bad idea. John curled up on the couch with me and we slipped into a blissful incoherent doze.

I slept so much today that Zorak took photos of the cute things the boys were doing so I could see them tonight. What a guy!

The boys are faring better. I don't think they've eaten a full meal all day, but they don't seem to care. They are drinking plenty of water and aren't lethargic, though, so it's not time to worry.

Zorak made little glider planes from egg cartons and the boys spent a couple of hours outside today, lost in boyish glee.

We *ahem* compared tractors and attachments. Ha. I laugh only because this, from a woman who ten years ago didn't understand why on earth anyone would want to own their own welding machine, really shows how much things can change.

I didn't put together lessons for this coming week. I didn't make it to Costco or to the library, and we definitely didn't go to church. All things we needed to get done, but not at the expense of making anyone else sick. Especially not with whatever this is.

I did try to do the Mommy Story thing tonight, but all I managed to do was make John cry - violently. I didn't expect James to ask if the dog was dead now... *sigh* SO I followed it up with a comic "The Most Horrible Dog in the World" story - a little redemption from that, but the sniffles that continued for a while anyway really made me feel bad. Stories from the imagination probably need to stay in Daddy's realm from now on.

Enjoy a beautiful week with your family and loved ones! Kiss those babies, and don't catch what we've got!

~Dy

Decisions, Decisions...

We looked at a property today that captured my imagination. It's a close run against the previously mentioned property (if we could get that one without the house) - similar in size, similar in features, similar in price. There are a few things that tip the scales heavily in its favor: it has creeks on two borders, a spring, and a non-nasty pond; James didn't explode - and we walked the entire thing; it's prettier. OK, so that last one is relatively subjective and not necessarily true for Zorak. But, oh, that was fun!

I think a big part of our utter indecision is that we aren't used to having options. Seriously. We used to dream of buying a badly damaged repo in a mildly dangerous neighborhood. That was dreaming BIG, baby! Well, if not "big", at least "realistic". And we did try to ebb away from the danger-factor. Now, here we are, wondering where we want to live until we die, to leave for generations, and how we can make it produce benefits for society and for ourselves. Ooooooo. That's a titilating sensation. Evidently, titilation also takes the edge off. Hence, we sit here and oooh and ahhh and can't commit.

And at that point, my parallels begin to go awry and converge in potentially embarrassing ways...

So on to the boys!

The boys found a turtle, many tree frogs, a toad, and myriad other critters while we walked the property today. James and John concurred that this is one neat property! It's a universal fact: critters capture little boys' imaginations.

John took his homemade whip on the property walk with us, to protect me from wild animals. Unfortunately, this consisted mainly of walking directly in front of me. It was like trying to hike with a 50-pound housecat, and I nearly took a header down the mountain several times for all the weaving and sudden stops he performed. True to his word, however, we did make it back to the Suburban safe from wild animals. He's a good cat-like bodyguard.

The tick head is still stuck in James' neck, but there's no swelling or rash. He says his neck feels "completely normal". Dr. Deb said his body will either force it out or absorb it. (Ew.) So far, so good.

Amy (rightly) laughs at me for my tick-related issues and their eminence in the lifestyle we're pursuing. I know. It's goofy. But ya know, when we dreamed of having a ranch, well, first off it was always located where people had ranches, not farms. The high desert plains, where you can live for a week out there and nary a tick will you see. We've stayed in the woods, slept in the grasses, went so long without showering that the goats avoided us... and still never had so much as the threat of a tick infestation. The West is a magical place.

Actually, though, if you saw me when we pulled the first tick off Jacob back in '03 (there was a lot of shrieking and limp-wristed hand flailing on my part), and could see my tick-deadly proficiency in performing a tick check today (it makes the lice check from the school nurse seem slow and awkward), you'd be proud. I only cringe on the inside now. And when the boys do have a tick, I don't squeak aloud anymore. Daily tick checks are normal when we've been out in the boonies, as they will be when we have our farm. But... on a HOUSE DOG? Oh, for Pete's sake, get a tick collar and call it good! That thing sits on your LAP! It climbs on your BED! Ewwww. A thousand times, EW.

Zorak is sitting here, drawing plans for the live-in barn, and all I can think is, "Wow, this is my favorite grown up in the world!" I'll scan the sketches when he's done. They're neat, and he's fun to watch. He's amazing. I hope the boys inherited his ability to see and make it so. He's also funny. So not only does he inspire me, but he makes me laugh, too. Our adventures seldom go as planned, but we have such fun planning them, and then adjusting to their realities. It's been a wild ride so far, but I can't think of a better way to live this life. Yes, I think I'm going to like building a house with this man and our boys.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Blech * Shiver * Cringe * Ack

Yesterday, Zorak, the three Terroristitos and I drove to Elkmont to see the inside of the Mystery House. Third time's a charm! I suppose, technically, the old realtor was right: no, we really don't want the house. Where she was wildly, painfully wrong was in her insistence that we'd pay for it without seeing it.

Yeah - we didn't want to buy it without knowing exactly how bad it is. It's nice to know, first hand, that the place is structurally unsound - as in, Zorak won't let us live there while we build - as in, we couldn't in good conscience allow the current tenants to live there if we owned it. It's bad. There are termite mounds IN the house. The trusses are loosely scabbed together pieces of wood just waiting for another Isabel type storm to come inland. There's no foundation under half of it. There is ONE flat-floored room; every other room veers downward from there. Most of the rooms reek of urine and mold. Both are visible in most rooms. Actually, the structure is a liability and the property would be better off without it. We might see if we can offer to buy just the land, minus the house and one acre surrounding it.

That, however, isn't the cause of the total ickiness that pervades me even today.

The tenant just got dogs. Cute little friendly puppies. Precious little things - they even convinced James that he'd sure like to have a dog. The boys sat in the kitchen (the flat room in the house) and played with the dogs while Zorak and I did recon on the rest of the place. (Hallelujah! The great cat debate has ended!) As we left, one of the precious little puppies got out. I tried to lead her back by her collar, but no luck, so I had to pick her up and carry her back into the house. I rubbed her head, then put my hands gently around her middle...

AND IT WAS LUMPY WITH TICKS!!!!!!!!!!!

*gag* BLAAACCHHHKKKKK! I haven't a strong enough command of the english phonetic system to reproduce the noises that came from my body. Many of them may have been Yiddish in nature, though - there was a lot of phlegmy gagging type sounds.

The drive home was the longest it's ever been. We did a quick tick check before getting in, but, well, we didn't figure stripping everyone down right there in Tick Country would be very wise. For an hour, I pictured ticks leaving the boys' bodies in droves to make nests (or whatever they do - burrows, hollows, covens) in our seats. Ugh.

We did another tick check last night before bed, and all was clear. ...Or so I thought. This morning I found a teeny-tiny tick on James' neck. It looked like lint, it was so tiny and all those legs sticking out looked like fuzz. I tried to get it off, and I beheaded it. DRAT! EW! *This would be a good place to picture a Steve Martin-type physical response.* Now, every stray hair, every string from clothing, feels like a menacing tick - the one I just know I missed, creeping up my body toward my hair. *shudder*

Oh yuck. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck.

Yuck.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Keeping the world safer, one stoopid directive at a time

The Social Security office informed us today that "due to his age" (19 mos) they cannot issue Smidge a social security card until they've verified our information. There is no mention of a policy like this on the SS card application. I did find one tucked under a Q&A page online tonight, though. On the actual application instructions, the only mention of anything similar is that if a minor over the age of 12 (or somewhere in there) applies for a first-time card, the SSA requires an interview with the child.

They cannot say how long this process will take, and they will not tell us exactly what the process entails. They did, however, print me out a nifty little ACLU-approved letter, the jist of which goes something like this:

"We aren't profiling you, but because of reasons of great national security we cannot issue you a card until we know you aren't a threat. Um, although we definitely aren't accusing you of being a threat at all. You know. We just need to, um, check and stuff. Thank you for your cooperation."

(Ok, side note- like I have other options than cooperation? Seriously, you now have my family flagged as a potential terrorist threat. I'm leery of undertipping, at this point. Like I'm going to nab the next social security number that pops up on the screen and run giggling down to the tax office brandishing our "new number"? *sigh* So weird.)

Evidently there is a rash of terrorists bringing their toddler-aged children into the country to be raised as tax write-offs and, in their off-time, indoctrinated to be threats to National Security. So scroll down to the Smidge-a-palooza pictures to get a good hard look at Our Nation's latest terrorist threat. Watch out, Secret Service, he may be well-documented, but toddlers are crafty that way...

This did not come about because I was unprepared. I had every document to trace our lineage all the way back to my great-grandfather, ready for inspection. Every name change verified. Every document an original with the little official seals on them. And every example came straight from "the list". The lady behind the desk was quiet. She checked his documents. She checked my documents. She frowned. She disappeared. She returned. I started to get a bit antsy. Finally, we dialogue.

SS lady: Why has it taken you until now to come in for this?
Me: (looking up from talking with the boys) What?
SS lady: Why have you not gotten him a social security number yet?
Me: Oh. Well, it wasn't a priority, to be truthful. He didn't need one.
SS lady: And why are you getting it now?
Me: Because we need it for taxes.
SS lady: And you didn't need it before then? You didn't need to claim him before?
Me: Um, ok, not sure you need this information, but no, we were a student family until '04. We had no money. We needed no deductions. As you can see, he was born in '03, still in what we call "The Broke Years". But we needed it for our '04 taxes, and since we didn't want a Maryland number, we waited until my husband's job moved us here.

She re-read all our documents. I'm starting to wonder if things are better in East Germany now... or what used to be East Germany, as it seems to have migrated West a wee bit. (For the record, yes, there was a really funny internal side-monologue going on, but none of it made it onto tape - and our whole conversation was taped.) She tittered (I kid you not, tittered nervously) and disappeared again. When she reappeared, she had the Monty Python version of National Security spiel and the printed letter.

So. Three hours in the Ministry of Silly Walks, er, Social Security Administration office and all I got was a lousy flag with Dept. of Homeland Security. I could've at least had a t-shirt.

I'm going to go beg Zorak for a foot rub, man. I'm tired.

Kiss those babies! ~Dy

Generations of Comfort

When your Perpetually Ravenous Son crawls into bed in the morning and rather than asking for food, he falls back to sleep, you sense that something's amiss. When the other two climb in with him, and they all stay there long after you're up and cooking in the kitchen, you know you're in for a day. Something's descended upon the house, and it isn't friendly.

After a day nursing three sick children, fending off the evil critter that's causing this illness (it attacked me at lunch), and trying to keep an even keel, I'm feeling particulary wistful tonight.

The boys are tucked safely, if sniffily, in bed, given "The Granny Treatment", 'nuggled and kissed. They're happy. They're not particularly healthy right now, but they are happy.

Zorak and I are sitting here, listening to Glen Campbell sing The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, which is such a beautiful song.

And in spite of a bone-weary exhaustion, I'm content and happy, myself.

Something I've pondered today, while rocking one child after another, all of various sizes and lengths, is the comfort of generations. The things that brought us comfort when we were children are often the first things we offer to comfort our own children. The things that make us smile are often the first we'll point out to make others smile. They usually came from somewhere before our parents and their parents, but have filtered down to us in soothing memories and reassurring images.

Through thousands of years, mothers have caressed fevered brows on small children, rocked them gently and spoken in soft tones as wee bodies succumbed to restful sleep. Good medicine? Not really. The wise among us, without medical degrees, have always recognized the healing power of touch, but it fades in and out of fashion among the medical world.

Intuition? Perhaps, although anecdotally I've known so many people who weren't offered those comforts, and don't have any intuitive sense to offer them to passing generations, that I doubt the intuitive nature of it.

Generations, though, may be the key. Scientists claim that having a healthy, strong, well-developed network of family helps fend off illnesses and brings about faster recovery from injuries. Elderly people tend to experience failing health more rapidly when they live separated from their families. There was a source posted on the WTM boards not too long ago citing a possible correlation between this inter-generational support system and lower rates of degenerative diseases. For all today's fast-paced, mostly-transient, uprooted lifestyles, there is comfort in generations. Comfort that goes where we go, and is at our disposal if we will open the stores and pull it out.

For us, it's Gram, Granny, Grandma, the Great-Aunts and Great-Uncles, cousins, neices and nephews. There are so many sources of comfort that we have inherited, and we are eternally indebited to the generations before us who taught and passed along the things that bring us comfort, strength and joy today.

The rocking chair we have was Gram's. She's Zorak's gram, the boys' great-grandma. Her husband bought it for her for their 25th anniversary. The boys never tire of hearing how he ordered it through the catalog and when Gram came back to the house from working, there was a rocking chair perched atop the mail boxes alongside the road. They're awed to think of that excitement, cheered to know their favorite chair was such a cherished gift when it began life in the family, and really think it's just the bestest thing in the world.

We rocked today, one after the other, and although we're thousands of miles from any family, blood or adopted, it was comforting to rock the babies in the same chair Gram rocked her babies in. It was a comfort to bring smiles with stories (even the unemployed gypsie stories come in handy in a pinch! *wink*), tender touches, and reassurring smiles. Yes, from my Mom to Zorak's Mom, and going back and back... those women were with me today, lifting my spirits, lending me words, showing me tricks and tips to soothe and heal.

Generational comfort, indeed.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Activity Books for Summer & The Land Squall

In an attempt to free up my attention during services so that I can keep Zorak awake, I've made activity books for the boys to use during church. They aren't anything fancy, just two 8.5x11 sheets of paper, laid out in landscape orientation and folded in half to make an 8-page booklet. Each page has a different activity centered around their Sunday School themes, memory verses, and learning to follow the service. They seem to have worked, allowing the boys to be still and me to keep Zorak awake, and as a bonus, they've also been a big hit with the boys. I noticed that the boys retain the material quite well.... *click, whirrrrrr, ping!*

So, feeling a bit encouraged - as well as highly caffeinated - I kicked my mental hamster gear into overdrive (that was the ping) and started thinking about making daily activity booklets for summertime lessons. Hmmmm. Might work out nicely. Last summer, during the weeks of swim lessons, I did make a notebook for James to do his math and reading in while I was in the pool with John - it went over fairly well, but I think something a bit more pocket-sized might answer well. Last year's notebook was your standard 3-ring binder, and it was a little bulky for poolside use for the little guy.

My premise at this point is that it would be wonderfully convenient and conducive to an active summer routine, as well as maintaining a year-round schedule (and possibly building a house), without sacrificing too much in the way of progress in the core areas. (I don't ask for much, do I?)

So here's my academic concept car:

Pg 1 (Front page):
The day's memory work and writing practice.

Pg 2 (Inside cover):
Math - reviews, questions, games

Pg 3:
History stuff, tailored to fit each boy. Matching games, coloring pages, craft (would include a ziplock baggie w/ the necessary items for the craft in that day's booklet)

Pg 4:
Latin for James, since he can read it - Probably reading practice for John on this page (?)

Pg 5:
Poetry for the day, with a space to draw.

Pg 6:
Science - classifications, observations, etc. (I'm bone dry on this page, truthfully- groping for ideas.)

Pg 7:
Some random fun activity, probably tied in with what we're doing or what seems to have caught the boys' attention that that point.

Pg 8:
Word games - word search, cryptograms, whatever comes up and looks like fun.

In looking back over that, I think John could do fine with just a four-page booklet, but I'd hate to cut a history craft or a poem from it. Math and writing aren't negotiable. And, as you can see, creativity isn't my strong suit. Not to mention, this does veer terrifyingly close to the void I call Unit Studies (it's a void because of the black, formless depth that is my creativity - it's all connected here.)

Granted, this in no way replaces the time we spend reading, walking, talking, observing, and setting things on fire. Some things just can't be replaced. ;-) I'm thinking (and yes, it's purely theoretical) that the boys would get a kick out of having their own "special" activity books. I think it also will allow us to keep things fresh while we're on the go. Plus, in the 8.5x5.5 format, the booklets will fit easily into the boys backpacks with a small pack of crayons, pencils, water bottles and snacks. So, hey: less for me to carry! WOOHOO! (OK, that last bit was an unexpected bonus that hit me as I typed, but I'll take it.)

Other than that, today was just a neat little ol' day. We drove north a bit to swim with friends... but we drove through a series of what I can only describe as land-based SQUALLS. When I wasn't wishing for a rudder to steer the suburban through the waves, or waiting for dead squid to be slapped against the windshield, I was thinking, "Oh, please, PLEASE let this last long enough to bring the temperature down!" I've been hot 'n sticky for 72 hours, and was getting desperate. Desperate enough that I didn't run through the squall when I stopped to confirm our position with the local corner store - nope, I hunkered down to keep everything from blowin' away, but that cool, fast rain felt so. good. Ahhhh. I ambled. And the clerks inside probably wondered if I'd been drinkin' - but they gave me directions, anyway. Bless them.

We made it to the friends' house - the boys had disappeared upstairs before I had Smidge unbuckled - the Mom and I had a nice chat, in complete sentences, for quite a while. Then it was time to come home. A wonderful day. A wonderful start to the week. And hey, it's only Monday! That means there's more to come!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Smidge-A-Palooza

It seems our youngest child hasn't had equal time in front of the camera. That isn't quite true - we just haven't posted photos in a long, long time. So here, for familial and friend-like amusement (Hi Aunt B and Aunt Bonnie!), the One, the Only, SMIDGE!

We have to back up a bit at first... to, well, to the middle of April, when we decided we'd rather get weepy over his transition to a Big Boy Bed than actually have to pack both the crib and the bed...

He helped put it together...

And boy was he surprised to see how it turned out!

And he couldn't wait for the linens... or a pillow...

Shortly after we arrived here, we hit the Rocket City BBQ and WhistleStop Festival. They had corn. Smidge was happy (he ate three of these):

Then he braved the inflatable, scary, fast-paced bigger kid rides. Repeatedly. Even bigger kids shoving their way past him did not deter him in the least -

He just got right back up and kept going, going, going...

Evidently the view from up there was phenomenal. And the ride down, spectacular!

He was part of the Fishing Troop on Mother's Day (seen here, riding in style down to the lake) -

And this had me howling. The three boys sat on the wall, talking, watching, fishing. I tried to get a good picture of the three of them, but James and John were engaged in something and didn't hear me. I jokingly said, "OK, now pretend I said something funny," and Smidge busted out laughing, pointing at absolutely nothing, and slapping his leg with enthusiasm.




He's been promoted to a supervisory capacity for holidays now. Here he is, overseeing Zorak's Birthday Bash.

And there you have it - you're now mostly updated on Smidge's goings on and big events. He's really grown so much. He's such fun, and so filled with enjoyment for everything he can find to explore. What fun!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Generosity of Spirit

Thank you, each of you, for sharing your experiences, thoughts, and suggestions with regard to allergies and treatment. Every little perspective check, bit of light in a cobwebby corner, is such a help. And the humor helps, too.

The boys are both currently on naturopathic drops to begin treating their allergies. The best way I could describe it today was simply, "The stuff looked and smelled like something Debra would prescribe. And it had lymph in it. So it has to be good." I know, way to be scientific and thorough, but in this arena I'm comfortable. I know the language and the terrain. The boys were thrilled to have "chicken feet" again (it's been a while since we ran out of Thymactive *shrugs sheepishly*), and are more than happy to be working on it. We dose James several times daily with locally harvested honey, and thus far he hasn't exploded again. We're proceeding cautiously, ever so cautiously.

We've spent the last two days continuing the house hunt, sans realtor. Hadn't seen hide nor hair from the ex-realtor until Friday, when she emailed us two listings that are so truly beyond our parameters that I thought they were supposed to have gone to someone else. But nope, Zorak got a copy, too. He he. What a bizarre situation. However, we've been looking and looking and looking on our own - a few listed properties and a few FSBO places. We've had the best luck and come the closest to finding "the place" with the FSBO's, but still haven't found ourselves with just the right mixture. We looked at one Friday that was truly scrumptious. Fruit and nut trees abound, shaded hollows and big ponds spread out behind a small farm house, way up atop a mountain. James had no reaction on that side of the county, either! If the structure on the property had been just a tad bit more structurally sound, or if the price had been just a little lower (so we could afford to level the existing structure and rebuild), we'd have snatched it up in a heartbeat. As it is, it's a great price and a phenomenal property. The owner is completely upfront and reasonable; it just isn't *quite* the right match for our needs and available resources. But I cannot tell you how exciting it is to have o-p-t-i-o-n-s!!! *happy dance* And, we have met some of the neatest folks on our latest excursions. Can't beat that.

Zorak and I spent the evening with the boys, watching a new Lone Ranger DVD, snuggling on the couch, and telling silly stories. Couldn't ask for a better way to spend the weekend, I suppose. Oh. No. Wait. Yes, it would have been quite handy if I'd remembered to do the laundry this morning instead of sometime around midnight, part of the way through a date-night movie with Zorak. Dinner and a movie? Nah, denims and a movie!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Pre-reading Books

We're back into the groove of reading more regularly, both together and individually. The familiar routine is nice, although I've noticed there are changes afoot in our wee lads. It seems they've been busy maturing and growing around all this upheaval. Imagine that! *grin*

John has commandeered the dry erase board and is writing words "just for fun" now. He is looking for his own books at the library, and is fiercely proud of having his very own library card. It's such fun to watch those same milestones again, through another child's eyes. We keep thinking, "but he's just a little guy!" And he is, in many ways, but he's working his way out of it, as he should, and that's exciting.

James, too, has grown and begun to branch out more this Spring. He hit the library this week with a great deal of gusto, first picking out several books to check out and then several more - to read while we were there. (Why didn't I think of that?) I was with him when he picked two mysteries, and I *thought* I'd checked both books myself. One was a Boxcar Children book, and the other looked like a Halloween-type mystery, which seemed fun and whimsical.

... Until we got home and I saw the author's name scrawled (in huge letters - how did I miss that?) across the cover: Ray Bradbury. Uh. Hmmm. I do love Ray Bradbury's writing, and several of his books are on our "must read" list - for the Logic Stage. I flipped through my mental rolodex, trying to think if I'd heard of anything he'd written for little guys. No, came up blank. So I decided to read this one myself before handing it over to James.

Pre-reading is a practice I've followed all along, although after a few books from individual authors that show consistent content, decent grammar, and other high marks on the "is this one worth reading" checklist, I admit I've grown slack. I don't pre-read the Boxcar books anymore, or anything by Thornton Burgess or Arthur Scott Bailey. I don't pre-read most Roald Dahl, either. Not sure if that's complacency or trust, but it's been okay, and when he comes across something he isn't clear on, he has no problem asking us about it, anyway.

I'm glad I read this one first! The book is The Halloween Tree, and the story is fast-paced, filled with fantastical creatures and time travel, and an incredibly creepy man who abducts the boys to teach them about death. So, high adventure, for sure! It's also filled with content that's best discussed together, as a family, and would probably be a good read for the 10-and-up age group. It's pretty intense, touching on the larger-than-life things Bradbury loves to touch and turn over and examine with his readers. While it's not something Zorak and I are comfortable with the boys reading or hearing read now, we think they'll both enjoy it and get more out of it later - when they are better matched to the themes and context of the story.

I sometimes hear disparaging remarks about "censoring" a child's reading, and they make me smile. First, I'm the parent, it's my job to "censor" some things. Our home isn't a democracy, and thank heaven for that or we'd all be malnourished, sleep deprived, TV-junkies, since Zorak and I are outnumbered in the one man, one vote arena. But more than just that, pre-reading isn't always about what not to allow your children to read, (although as young as the boys are, that generally is a big reason for doing it now). It can be a wonderful tool to stock up future "must read" lists for when they're more mature or prepared, as well as for developing a storehouse of ideas, and keeping in touch with what's catching your child's attention. It's a good way to check the pulse of your child's literary life, not to mention the fun of being able to engage in great discussions with your children about things you've both read.

Tomorrow, though, this particular book goes on our future-reading list and then back to the library, and I begin double-checking not only titles, but authors, as well, before any book gets to follow us home from the library! I am glad it was just Ray Bradbury, though, and not the Brain Surgery for Beginners that found its way to Melissa's house! (Melissa, that still cracks me up - thank you for sharing that!)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A quick allergy-related thinking aloud session...

Melissa asked how the allergy testing went, and I discovered there's a lot going on. In responding to her, I was able to clear some cobwebs. So I thought I would blog it here, in case it may help someone else in a similar situation. We are looking at a method of treatment called NAET (Nambudripad's Allergy Elimination Treatment). It does rely heavily on Eastern traditional medical techniques, which we aren't averse to, but are also not entirely familiar with. So here are the thoughts that have coursed through my head in the last 24 hours. If anyone has any experience with NAET, I would love to hear from you!

This is one of those comfort zone things. Both boys came back allergic to almost everything they tested for. The list is HUGE. I don't know how to process it, let alone whether to believe it. Zorak looked at the results and said, "Are you sure this isn't just a random number generator?" The doc wants to do an additional battery on John to give him more options for what to eat. And, of course, she wants to do "the basic fifteen" therapies on both boys -to the tune of about $825 each.

Now, I know that sounds really, truly horrible to think that I'm going to list the price, right up there at the top of the list. It's not that I put a price tag on my children's health. It's that I don't buy brand name things just for the tag - and right now I'm not 100% certain this therapy is anything more than that. SO. I'm reading the book she recommended, and starting the legwork and research I need to do before I can comfortably say whether I think this is "great science" or "snake oil". For "great science", this is a wonderful thing and the possibilities are endless. For snake oil, I don't think Zorak would ever let me live it down. (This would be one of those stories told at Christmas parties twenty years from now... can you see it? Yup.)

One of the conflicts I need to address is the need to remember that this is just a new landscape, with new customes, and basically, a foreign language. That doesn't make it wrong, just weird. (How's that for PC? hee hee) For those whose panties bunched immediately on reading this, relax, depucker. It's weird/foreign to me. I am remembering that, rather than discounting it because of that. Big difference. They way I look at it is similar to if someone had spoken to me fifteen years ago about education and used the terms we now hold as our daily philosophy; I'd have probably given them the same, "You've been drinking again, haven't you?" look that I'm tempted to give the doctor now. Same thing with homebirth and vaccinations, yet here we are. So I'm keeping that in mind.

Also, one of the methods they use to test whether the allergen has cleared is a method I, personally, have always thought was so much smoke and mirrors. It's the kind of thing you expect from a flaky pharmacy-school drop out who works at the herb counter in the Whole Foods Market. You don't want her to touch you, let alone make a diagnosis. But here, I must admit a bit of hypocrisy, as it's been used on me... and it worked. It still creeped me out - it did at the time, and it does now. And I don't generally admit in mixed company that (a) I paid someone to it or (b) that it actually worked - because I know that for a person to do so in certain arenas is instantaneous credibility suicide. Suddenly, you're a freak, a flake, and what are ya gonna do next - hang crystals from your eyebrows to balance your chakra? Chanel the spiritworld? *pfftt* So how do you clear your prejudices, particularly when they persist in spite of your own personal proof that they're misguided? (And on another note, I'm rereading this and thinking - "Wow, forget about reputability, what about integrity?" Hmmmm. That alone is worth rethinking. Not that the family doesn't think I'm wacky enough already, but still, that envelope probably doesn't need to be pushed...)

And finally, I want to make sure that I'm not so busy bending over backwards to be understanding and willing to explore this brave new world that I check my brain at the door and end up willing to believe anything anyone will tell me as long as they promise to make my children healthy and happy and virile. (OK, just healthy and happy, but you get the point.) ACK!!! I told Zorak last night, "I didn't know I was going to have to get a degree in microbiology." He laughed and said, "To be a parent? Oh yeah, but you've passed the psychology courses and the team management reviews quite well. You'll do fine." Hmmm. Well, that's encouraging. At least he's confident I'll make the right choice.

There you have it. The disjointed thoughts of a woman with just one more thing on her plate. It's a good thing I believe in large plates and good-sized portions, eh?

Anyhow, we're off to look at more properties in the morning. I hope you all have a beautiful Friday!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

I didn't know we'd have to study for this...

So, there's a lot of legwork to do before we take the next step. I've put everything together: library books in hand, paperwork in order, snacks ready to go - check, check, check. We're set.

The boys' appointments today went fairly well. The gap between John's appointment and James' appointment wasn't long enough to go anywhere, so we played in the yard and in the lobby. The boys were wonderfully behaved through the entire ordeal. We arrived at two and left at five. I cannot complain. Even Smidge kept his Screaming Yeti act to a minimum, and when he did erupt, it was a happy, excited Yeti Scream. Still somewhat grating, but bearable with a certain benign awareness that it could be much worse.

The doctor is wonderful (it doesn't hurt that our all-time favorite family doctor taught a few of this new doc's classes in med school, I'm sure). She answered the boys' questions (the incessant, unceasing, rampant and voracious questions) with what can only be defined as a calm joy, or quiet enthusiasm. Then she glanced at me out of the corner of her eye and said, "You homeschool, don't you?" The boys answered in unison: "We sure do!" May I point out here that while we neither need nor seek out the approval of professionals toward our lifestyle choices, it is a warm fuzzy when your new doctor smiles and says, "I have quite a few patients who homeschool, and I just love that! I think it's the best way to do it." Ahhhhh, sweet comfort!

Ok, so back to the allergy testing. I am going to have to read and research and read some more. I need to take a step back and calm down. There will be extensive note-taking, and I'm afraid there will be a test at the end. However, I think we're up for it. (We'd best be up for it - it's not like there's another option!) This will take some synthesis. *whew*

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Back to Education

KathyJo had a wonderful post about Pride, Math, and the things we overlook in homeschooling. I can't recreate her wonderful thoughts as well, so go read that, and then you can finish reading here, while I go *rah-rah-rah* and cheer her on.

What I loved about KathyJo's post is that it touches on the most important (in my not so humble opinion), and most often glossed-over, aspect of teaching at a child's pace:

your child's pace isn't always going to graph on an upward curve; teaching to a child's pace includes taking the time to "hover" or "meander" to give him time to absorb and reach new levels in other developmental areas.

Plateaus are normal, and healthy, and we should take the time to hang out on them when they come - there's a lot to explore on each plateau.

A prime example from our home was the MUS "+9's". James had flown through the first few chapters of Foundations. He had the concepts. He had the facts. He could do the word problems. He made up his own word problems. We were cruisin' right along... until we hit the addition facts, +9.

He hit a *WALL*

Or rather, he hit a hurdle he wasn't ready to scale or leap yet. It wasn't a learning wall; it was a cognitive developmental leap he needed to make. At first, I panicked. "OH! I'm PUSHING HIM and this is what happens!" Then I moved on to, "He will NEVER get this!" Finally, the small bulb clicked on and I realized he wasn't cognitively ready to understand the associations MUS makes when teaching +9.

So we hovered. For four. long. months. We played with math and fiddled around with things he was ready to grasp, but our actual math curriculum sat on the shelf gathering dust and spider bits. We sang math songs, reviewed what we knew, and made more silly word problems. But we did not push that particular content. One day, in the car, a wee voice piped up and said, "Hey Mom, did you know that nine plus three is the same as ten plus two?" Eureka! The quiet synapse had fired and he was ready to pick up and move on again.

We're firm believers in hovering, and when the opportunity arises, we try not to think about what we might fall behind in, or what that would do to a beautifully filled-in lessonplan book. That isn't what homeschooling is about, is it? In the end, our children are often better served by the process of learning than they are by learning a process. Again, truly individualized education, achieving truly individualized goals, in a splendidly individualized manner lie as the foundation of home education. It's something we tout, something we love, and ironically, also something we forget from time to time.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy Birthday, Zorak!

Today Zorak turns three dozen and one. The boys are making cards, drawing pictures, and eager to get on to baking the cake! They zipped through their lessons with gaiety and speed, and thankfully, with a bit of accuracy, as well. Throw in a few stories, some bike riding and extensive play time with the boys' new magnifying glasses, and it's been a great morning.

Surprise phone call! I had the sweetest conversation with LB (in Seattle) yesterday as they prepared to take their first family vacation in two or three eons! She is just so uplifting and encouraging, and funny. I sure enjoyed the phone call. (Thanks, LB!) And I hope they have a safe and fantabulously magnificent vacation! Let's see if we can get her to guest blog their adventures when they return!

Our cocooning days were wonderful. We read more stories, drew more pictures, wrestled more for no reason at all. We remembered to let the boys help cook more often. We bought a gigantic watermelon to enjoy one evening this week.

Oh, and we took the boys swimming. The older two were ready for action. Smidge, however, was wound a little tight. If you were to mainline caffeine into a koala, you'd have a pretty good image of Smidge's condition for the first half of the stay. He did loosen up eventually, though, and had a wonderful time. We took stock of the things we'd like to have for the summer and made a Wally-World run: goggles, noodles, kick-board, diving sticks. The boys are excited and have promised to work on their skills. They also met and played with some of the children at the pool. Fun was had by all! Yay! This summer promises to be a lot of fun.

And now it's time to get on that cake, before the boys implode from anticipation! Enjoy this last, beautiful day of May, and kiss those babies!
~Dy

*PS* I discovered we can upload pictures from the memory card to the computer via the printer! WOOHOO! I love technological progress! Who needs those pesky ol' cords, anyhow, right? So, pictures will be coming soon.

Happy Memorial Day

It doesn't take much to make me cry when it comes to things that inspire my feelings toward America. The Declaration of Independence has me in tears before I hit, "to dissolve the political bands". From that point on, I am sobbing unintelligibly all the way down to the signatures at the bottom.

Sgt. Barry Sadler's Ballad of the Green Berets has always reminded me of my brother, a three-tour VietNam Veteran and member of the 5th Group Special Forces. Now, with sons of my own, this song rings truer and closer to my heart - a feat I did not think possible.

And, of course, we suspect Lee Greenwood was genetically engineered by the MWR or the USO for the purpose of boosting moral and patriotic sentiment, the proof of which is so succinctly conveyed through his haunting and powerful God Bless the USA. *wink*

I spent a good part of today in tears.

But, aside from the Declaration of Independence, these are merely the tangibles, the symbols which bring to the forefront of our consciousness the ideals upon which the United States of America was founded, by which it has stood, and without which it would fall. There are many critics of America, and there are many supporters. For all its flaws and disagreements, however, I am so thankful to live in America.

Many people today have forgotten what a "right" is, and seem to feel comfortable substituting the phrase "my right to" for what should truthfully be "I want" or better yet, "I want someone to give me". This weighs heavily on my heart as I think of the future our sons and daughters will have. It does not portend one of freedom and equal opportunity. It does not encourage the best and the brightest in every one of us. It does not leave us protected from the same tyranny our Founding Fathers most feared, but rather invites that same detrimental power to grow and lord over us in ways unimaginable.

So tonight, in honor of Memorial Day, and what our ancestors have fought and died to provide for us, are the things we are guaranteed and provided... Our Rights.

Amendment I

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.


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Amendment II

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.


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Amendment III

No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.


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Amendment IV

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.


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Amendment V

No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.


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Amendment VI

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.


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Amendment VII

In Suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise re-examined in any Court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.


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Amendment VIII

Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.


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Amendment IX

The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.


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Amendment X

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.

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Recently, I've felt the need to speak out more often and more clearly on politics, but a family blog just isn't the spot to mix that in. I'll be blogging political blogs on a separate space, and this space will be rededicated to our homeschooling adventures. Granted, the two are intertwined and related in minute ways, but for the most part, this will be the last political blog on Classic Adventures.

Tomorrow's Blog: what to do when your youngest child eats the oldest one's math sheet! (OK, maybe not that... but I'll think of something between now and then.)

Happy Memorial Day!
Kiss those babies, and a Veteran!
~Dy

*You can read the rest of the Amendments and other archival documents online at The National Archives Experience.*

Taking a break

I don't know if I accidentally packed my muse, or if she's run off and left me, but right now I'm running on empty: physically, emotionally, spiritually. Any attempt at serious blogging would erupt in a shameful display of adolescent angst (which leads me to guess the chemicals aren't currently combining quite at peak performance, either).

So, I apologize for the lack of documentation of the boys' doings. I know y'all out West check in to see what they're up to. They're fine. They're funny. They're growing and exploring and testing, and right on track for fine young men. Their lessons are going splendidly and I can't say enough good about the things they're doing. All is well there. And I still have no clue where the camera cord is, but I will go dump the card onto disk and upload new pictures soon.

Zorak and I are fine, and things are good. We're happy, and we giggle for no reason. Or rather, I should say, we giggle for the simple reason that it's been almost ten years of working together, learning to work together, and figuring out what to work on together. And here we are. And we giggle. We're still a little clueless, but that's ok. We're clueless together. Kinda fun.

However, it's time to cocoon and regroup with my inner introvert, who has been sadly neglected. It's time to explore more with the boys, an activity which has been pushed to the back burner for paperwork and bill transfers and other such mundane stuff. It's time to take several deep breaths and mellow out. I won't be blogging this weekend, as we'll be busy spinning a gigantic family-sized cocoon and stocking it with books and snacks for the metamorphosis. Cookies and milk blended with stories make for lovely wings, ya know.

Have a wonderful Memorial Day. Thank a vet, and enjoy your freedoms.

And kiss, snuggle, love on, and enjoy those babies!
~Dy

Lessons, New Friends, Kinda Quiet

Lessons today were pleasant. The boys are on a roll with their math and Latin. John is writing four spelling words a day now, reading them as he goes. He's so proud of his accomplishment, and he didn't forget nearly as much during the move as I thought he would. His fine motor skills are taking off, as well, and he writes most of his assignments independently. *sniff, sniff* He's growing up.

James is writing letters to friends and family for his daily writing work. They are such a neat way to peek into his mind and see what he deems important enough to share. He desperately needs an actual science outlet. Not so much kits, but books to read. I need to spend some time browsing the library shelves and let him pick the keepers.

The boys lobbied for me to let Smidge watch The BooBahs (or whatever they're called). That took some doing. I'm resistant to change. It still bothers me that the Smurfs aren't on anymore (well, other than in syndication on cable, I know). Barney and the Teletubbies worked their way into my heart, only grudgingly, and only for the smiles they brought my boys. (Smiles and laughter from the boys can convince me to do nearly anything. I'm a sucker for those things.) *sigh* But BooBahs? Not only do I not do change well, I don't do weird change well. But Smidge really enjoys it, and I do get to read aloud with the boys without being attacked by the Atomic Elbow of the Stunted Screaming Yeti. So, I suppose they will stay. Fortunately, they're on while we do lessons. :-)

Our church held its last Wednesday night supper and Bible study of the year. We made it, had a wonderful time, and are seriously bummed that they break over the summer. The boys had a blast. I mean an all-out, filled to the gills, fantastic time. The children from their Sunday School class came running and they were off. That was neat. Even Zorak didn't find it too painful. At one point, he nodded his head emphatically at something the pastor said. I looked at him and whispered, "Are you mocking him?" He said, "No. He's right on." Oh. *awkward pause* "I'm sorry I thought you were mocking him." He smiled, "No, it's ok. Normally I would have been." So it looks like we've found a church home! Yippee!

That's about it. Today was a series of phone calls and information gathering. I did get James in for allergy screening the same day as John (I thought we'd have to trade them, but we lucked out and got a spot later in the day!) I made zero progress on getting Smidge on the grid or figuring which health plan to pick (they're all equally useless for our needs), but I did make headway with tags and driver's licenses. In all, that's productive! Not thrilling, but productive. I'll take that.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

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