New Reading

Arousing from the most profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of some dream. Yet in a second afterward (so frail may that web have been) we remember not that we have dreamed.

(Poe. How delightful. Who knew?)

I think I have discovered a new (to me) delight in this season of my life: the short story. OK, OK, I'll admit it: I've been a bit of a snob about the short story. It is useful for guiding writing classes, for draining the life from high school English Lit classes, perhaps for filling the gaps in an anthology. Too short to be a novel, too long to be an essay, the short story seemed to lack purpose. It never fed a portion of my reading heart in a way that merited remark, either good or bad.

Now, before you *tut-tut* and begin making disdainful clucking noises, hear me out. (I still remember the collective gasp when I admitted I was never a big fan of fiction. We all learn. I'm learning. Growing. Bear with me.) It's not that I hadn't read Poe, Conrad, or Chesterton (although, ok, Chesterton is new to me -- within the last few years -- and it is to him I owe my latest foray into short stories). I think it's that I hadn't quite understood how best to approach a short story. By it's very name, I suppose, I always expected it to be, well, shorter. And so, I hadn't the attention to last much beyond the first page or two. Yet, to gear up for the seminar-length of a novel seemed a bit of overkill, really. So I developed my pace for reading through a short story - I'd sprint. Sprint through it, suck it up, get it over, and try very hard not peek at the last paragraph becuse honestly, is is THAT difficult to show some self-composure? Truly, when you must grasp your reading moments in the quiet lulls between needs and demands, who wants to sprint? Not I!

Children get it. Children get the thrill of a short story. They understand, almost intuitively, that the master of a short story can make his readers wonder, follow, care... all of the things a well-written novel will do, but with far fewer words and far less time to accomplish those things. How did I forget that part? It's a pretty big part. However, due to my love affair with GK Chesterton (it's okay, Zorak knows - I'm only after his words), I picked up a book of *sigh* short stories. Because one of his stories was in there. And it's one I love. Enough to read it over and over again. Enough to buy a book I'm not otherwise interested in owning.

And I began to read the other stories. I read, for the first time in my life, The Pit and the Pendulum. With a bit of context thrown in. And... and... I may not stop making adolescent "quoth the raven" jokes because of it. But I did enjoy it. Not in an uplifting-let's-read-Poe-daily sort of way. But moreso than ever before.

Did you know he wrote of hope?

In so many ways, I am thankful that I can continue my own education. I cannot imagine being in ten years the same as I am today. I am not now what, ten years ago, I thought I'd be. Yet this isn't (really, it isn't) about the journey of self-discovery so much as it is about my utter joy that I've found something I can read, and savor, and enjoy. Before they find me. (I'm running out of hiding spots.)

So, aside from Joyce Carol Oates (who I refuse to subject my soul or mind to ever again, as long as I live - I simply cannot. take. her), who are some of your favorite short stories written by? What are some of your favorite short stories?

And which do you look forward most to sharing with your children?

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

More Surprises

Me-Tae says these are Tiger Lilies. I'm glad she knew, because I had no idea. Just looked out the back window one day to find a huge orange pouf on the end of a tall, tall stalk. There are a dozen or so in the front yard, too. They're wider than my hand. And they're much more vibrant than the picture lets on.
I wish they had a scent. Don't they look like they ought to smell delicious? Yeah. But there's nothing.

Am I supposed to deadhead these things to keep them flowering? (And yeah, she suggested watering them. Said hers just glowed after she gave them a little water.)

You know, I am *never* going to be able to find all these bulbs to pull up this fall. The house, the meadows, the woods, even the rock hole that's filled with trash - none of it overwhelms me quite so much as this little patch of earth between the upper and lower drives.

Kiss those babies! And take time to smell the... well, not the lilies. But we give everything a quick sniff. You never know when you'll be pleasantly surprised, right?
~Dy

Rain! Rain!

YIPPEE, rain! It's still a bit odd to look out at acre upon acre of lush, green land and think, "THIS is a drought?" We don't water anything. We haven't watered anything since we moved here. Gah! That'll make it grow! And then we'd have to mow it, or risk losing the smaller children in the underbrush. But still, it grows. Residentially, the drought hasn't affected the way we run our home or tend to our land. (Mentally, we still live like we are in the desert with a nearly dry well.) But it's been hard, very hard, on the farmers in the area. And just today we noticed (well, Danger Girl noticed) that the grass is awfully crunchy and pokey in the upper meadow. (The rest of us mere mortal were wearing shoes and didn't notice so much.)

But yesterday, it rained. Oh, how it rained. And today, again, it rained. And we all sat out on the porch, reading books, eating otter pops, enjoying the smell of rain. (Not so much the smell of wet dog, but sometimes it's a package deal.) It's beautiful, and although it delayed the painting of the eaves for us, I hope it keeps up for a while. The area really needs the rain.

All is well here. It's simply been too hot 'n sticky to do anything worth blogging about. Somehow, "Got up too late to catch the cool morning. Dang. Moved slowly. Ate otter pops. Did lessons. Laid in bed, reading quietly. Ate Supper..." that's, well, that's difficult to dress up, then, isn't it?

John's summerball league is going well. A little sticky on the town politics, but we're trying fervently not to make eye contact and if anyone approaches us directly about it, we both plan to spout off entirely in Spanish. LOUD Spanish. With lots of hand movement and facial action. Hopefully, if nothing else, they will leave us be. (We would go for a less well-known language, but Spanish is the only other thing we're fluent enough in to be able to respond without accidentally saying something embarrassing.)

We're reading some good stuff right now. That deserves its own post. Right now, though, Zorak is insisting he hasn't seen Radio yet. (But we have. Or, at least, I have. I don't know where he was, though, if he didn't see it, too. Weird.) So I'm going to go kiss those babies one more time, grab my book and my cup, and score some snuggle time while he watches a movie.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Mid-Week Hump

Not much scares me, really. I may get creeped out by quite a few things, but they haven't been enough to make me move yet, so I think we're okay there. But there is one thing, one phrase, which I live in total fear of every waking moment:

IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME.

This is Zorak's Spicoli-like response to most of the less-than-solid decisions he made in the mid-to-late 80's, and I have to admit I'm terrified it's a genetic pre-disposition the boys may have inherited.

The boys finished all their work today with very little oversight on my part. John had a mild panic-attack when he didn't recognize his review from last week, but once he recognized it, he sucked it up and was good to go. James, slow and steady, is getting the hang of "housekeeping" in math. WOOHOO! Aside from a quick re-introduction, and the occasional reminder to stay on task, though, they worked independently today. And that worked out well, as Smidge for some reason decided today would be a Very Good Day to dump every bin from the toy shelf (six large bins and eight little ones, to be precise - plus two dorm boxes from beneath the beds, and the play clothes chest) into one large pile in the bedroom. MegaBlocks Fire & Ice Dragon set, and all. Oh. My. Word.

Me: Uh.. what happened here?
Smidge: *smiling charmingly* I did it!
Me: Yes, *breathe* *breathe* I figured this was your work. *breathe*...*breathe* *breathe* This... this... *breathe* this was your idea?
Smidge: *smile kinda starting to droop a bit* It's not a good idea?
Me: *exhale* *breathe* No, this was not a good idea.
Smidge: Huh. *looking around a bit* It seemed like a good idea--

And this is proof that I'm getting better at this parenting gig - I did not yell. I wanted to. Oh, yes, I wanted to kick toys and throw bins and use up all the bad words I hear on the playground. But by the grace of God, I didn't. And I'm so glad. Partly because Nocturnal Parenting Regret really stinks, to be honest. You already feel bad, so you slink into their room only to find that the demons who'd inhabited your children that afternoon have left and those wee beds now cradle angelic beings. Sometimes they even seem to have a faint glow. (Though that could just be the nightlight beside the bed, so don't quote me. But still, the overall effect is pretty powerful.) And the guilt, the often well-deserved guilt, over what a total jackass you were earlier that day, just gnaws its way right through your liver. Yeah, that stinks. And tonight, I don't have any. Yay!

But I did breathe deeply enough to come close to passing out. And when I muttered quietly, in a Tired and Resigned Voice, "Oh, Honey, you even pulled all the labels off the bins," Smidge helpfully picked up one bin that still had a label, and said, "Not all, Mommy." And he smiled a hopeful smile. And even then, ankle deep in sharp plastic rectangles and small model cars, I was glad I hadn't yelled. You don't ever regret the times you didn't lose it, you know that?

So we started with that bin. And we managed to put the whole room back together. And we ended up having, if not a good time, at least a not-bad time. Smidge got to help sort. Always a plus for the OCD-stage. I got to declutter without detection. Always a plus for, well, for me. At any stage.

The boys popped in when they'd finished with one task, took a quick look at the work going on, and disappeared with lightning speed to start on the next task. I think they were terrified I'd beg for help. Come to think of it, I may owe Smidge a Thank You tomorrow, if that was the cause of their self-directed learning for the day! (Well, probably not. He doesn't ever need to know. Not until he has children of his own, and he's tempted to yell. Yeah, I'll tuck this one away for later.)

And partly because Zorak, in spite of his years of adventures that seemed like a good idea at the time, turned out okay. More than okay. His good ideas now, really are good ideas. Maybe that'll be a genetic pre-disposition, as well? Wouldn't that be nice!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Math-U-See

Did y'all know MUS has a worksheet generator, keyed specifically to the chapters of the books?

Sure comes in handy when *somebody* cannot find his workbook.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Freakily Accurate

Got this from Hillary. Kinda creepy how right-on it is. It was a toss-up between Edward and Knightley, it seems, as the quiz gave me a two-question tie-breaker.

You scored as Edward Ferrars, Your husband/boyfriend is like Edward Ferrars of Sense & Sensibility. He is quietly impulsive, with an understated hint of romance. But once you get to know him, he's very affectionate, caring, and faithful. The two of you enjoy a calm, joyful life. Knightley 80% Edward Ferrars 80% Tilney 75% Captain Wentworth 75% Edmund Bertram 70% Col. Brandon 70% Darcy 40% Who is Your Jane Austen Boyfriend/Husband? created with QuizFarm.com

Now, if he only read Jane Austen, he'd know what this meant, right? *grin*

What can I say, I think Zorak is far finer-looking a man than Hugh Grant. Hmpf. Pfftt. Yes. When I read Austen, I do envision my beloved (although he doesn't make a very good Darcy). I'm rather thankful we aren't Victorians, though, because I don't think I could do the garb. On me, nor on him. ;-)

Kiss those babies! (This would probably be why we have several babies to kiss. *grin*)
~Dy

Edited (repeatedly, because I'm not good at this) so that it quit bleeding into the sidebar.

Back to Business

Well, today we hit the books again. Of course, it helps to have leftover birthday cake for breakfast. (Then watch Mom frantically cram fruit and grains down your gullet for the next four hours, as if to purge the evidence from your crusty little faces... it was a weird day.)

The big boys did pretty well with their lessons. Math, reading, Latin, and science all got done with a minimal amount of confusion or delay. Smidge is kicking their butts in history, though. Today we read the chapter on Marcus Aurelius, from Famous Men of Rome. As we go along, we talk about how certain men compare with previous ones we've read about, or how policies change with the new leadership. It's good stuff. It also assures me they're paying attention, even if they are having foot wars beneath the table. Well, today, Smidge was just on. the. ball. He remembered things I didn't even remember, and he was so proud of himself to be "getting an A+ in history".

(Which is doubly humorous, because I didn't start assigning grades. That all started with Mr. WhatIsTheExactPercentageOfTheQuestionsIGotCorrect, also known as Mr. SoWhyIsThisJustAn"A"AndNotAn"A+"? The worst correction he could ever receive would be a "C" on a paper. And, as all Good Big Brothers are wont to do, he shared the horrors of the numbers with his brothers... *sigh* So, we are now a family of timed tests and percentage points, and letter grades. And they're happy as clams about it. Freaks.)

They did earn back bonus points, though, when we all sprawled out in the living room after lunch for some reading time. I'm still working my way through The Prince, and both James and John at the same time saw the cover and blurted out, "Hey! Divide et regna, right? Cool!" I beamed. (Because I am a freak, as well. We're a happy family with strange tastes.)

Lest anyone read this and think, "Oh, my. We can't homeschool. We're not *like that*." Relax. They also absolutely fell over themselves to finish their lessons by lunch today so that, while Danger Girl was napping and I was cleaning, they could have video game time. Nothing like a little Super Smash Brothers to really make them kick it into high gear. (Oh, and Melora, John has discovered Link. He wants to know more! MORE! MORE!!!! I knew I couldn't avoid it for long, and figured you would understand my, erm, joy? Acceptance? Something, right? *grin*)

We needed some fun and active downtime this afternoon, so I sucked it up and brought out the balloons that I hadn't the heart to let the children have yesterday. (I really hate balloons. If Stephen King were to write a story about balloons, he would probably manage to distill my feelings about them into a truly chilling book.) But we did it. And there was much laughter and spinning and sword play. And then I couldn't hang any longer and bolted, er, slipped off for some quiet time. Aside from the giggling over my somewhat rapid exit, the children hardly noticed my absence.

Everything else is coming along swimmingly. I'm just beginning to look at plans for the coming year. Since we don't break, or have an obvserved passing from one grade to the next, we simply complete one thing and do the next thing. But we do tend to keep a basic clip that finds us about ready for the next thing sometime mid-fall. And my Rainbow Resources catalog arrived (finally! I'd thought they'd forgotten about me!) So far, I've got a wish list from Yesterday's Classics. And there's one more, but I cannot for the life of me remember it off the top of my head. I really like to buy from the publishers, such as Peace Hill Press (but I've already bought all next year's stuff from them! Maybe they'll come out with something new before September? One can hope.) Where are your favorite places to buy books? (Besides Amazon and The Others, that is - have any great secret hidey holes you'd like to share?)

And so another day comes to an end. It comes too quickly, sometimes.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

A Little Fear

Just a little, that's all I'm asking for, here. I mean, I'm glad she knows she's safe and loved and all that good stuff, but really. Come on. In the last week, this child has...

* Mastered the ladder and the slide in the yard. (Perhaps "mastered" isn't the right word - she hauls herself up the ladder, flings herself down the slide. Down she goes, on her back, limbs akimbo, rotating as she descends. She FLIES off the end, lands a foot or two past the end of the slide, flat on her back. Gets up, shakes it off, and goes back for more.)

* Fallen into water over her head - not once, not twice, but three times - without so much as complaining, or deciding perhaps it would be better to stay, oh, ON the LAND. Nope, just kept scootching out until she was in up to her neck and then *ploop* stepped right into the deep water. (Yes, I was *right there* to grab her. No, she was not in danger of drowning, but she doesn't need to realize that, does she? Sheesh, the other three refused to take baths for a week after they got water up their noses.)

* Climbed to the top bunk, and fallen off the ladder. (Again, not an isolated incident.)

* Shimmied up the outside of the step railing on the front porch (you know, the railing we put up so she wouldn't plummet to her death...)

And then, the Grand Performance, Zorak went in to retrieve her from her nap, opened the door and found this:



GAH.

OK, aside from the fact that we obviously need to be a little more proactive about keeping an eye on this child (but this is so new - the other three were afraid of their own shadows - even John The Bold knew he couldn't fight gravity!), I would really like just a little fear. A little respect for velocity. Matter. Gravity. Basic. Laws. Of. Physics, folks. And does she mind the occasional bruised forehead, or bashed lip? Nope, not one little bit.

I swear I will starch the underpants of the first person who uses the term "extreme sports", (or any variation of) in front of this child when she's old enough to understand.

(Yeah, the mattress is as low as it can go - that'll buy us, oh, another two days while we reconfigure the nursery.)

She's the joy of my heart, but she is a bit hard on the ol' ticker.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

That was fun!

Ok, that was actually fun. We didn't get some of the food prepared in time (although the scurvy prevention table was out and heavily stocked - and that's what really matters on any sea venture, right?) We really do need to work on our overall timing, but we are getting better, and the rest of the day turned out okay in spite of ourselves.

As the guests arrived, each received a pirate sword to decorate (for ID purposes, since all the swords are identical otherwise), and picked a bandana (this was easier than making hats, and the kids seemed to like them, but in looking through the pictures, it does look like the theme was more "Urban Gang Boy Band" than "18th Century Pirates". Eh.) We brought out the eyeliner and gave the kids their choice of facial hair. Too bad John got started before he knew he didn't have to use the permanent marker...

To join the crew, each recruit took a Pirate Test (ran an obstacle course). This was so easy, and so fun. The trash bags hanging on the swing set in the above picture aren't some neglected hillbilly part of the yard - they're swinging pendulums to duck. There's a moat to swing over, a balance beam, and a little knife throwing practice.
The crew found buried treasure (coins in the sand pit - who knew they'd spend half an hour there? Even the big kids got into the act.) Then, according to pirate law, they divvied up the loot evenly among the crew.
I have no idea why Danger Girl (aka EmBaby) does that. None of the boys did that. I don't do that. Or at least, well, I don't do that, okay? But she does. Weird.

The pinata was a big hit, and it turned out beautifully. Zorak made it, and he did such a great job of it. (Particularly considering his purchasing agent couldn't procure the appropriate pinata tissue paper. She should probably be fired. But he rocks! It even had skulls.)


And now, the dishes have been done, the presents set gently upon the shelves. The children are bathed and loved on and sound asleep, and I'm thinking that sounds like a pretty good idea. This is one pooped pirate-mom. But it was worth it, every blasted second of preparation was worth it. What made it better, though, was having good friends to come and share it with us. Yep. It's good, good stuff.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hey.

Just one more swig of coffee and I've got to get back to work. But I needed to take a little break and relax. It's been a busy few days, folks!

Thursday, Zorak had to go out of town, I had to go to the dentist, and John had to sign up for summer ball. All at the same time. And yet, we pulled it off. (And we owe Ben & Claudia big time for coming to watch Danger Girl and her minions of impending death while I was at the dentist's.)

Friday, we drove up to Nashville to visit with Jill (Crib Chick) and her clan en route back to the Land of the Free. Harried day. Awesome visit. Way too short, but we're so, so glad they took the time to stop and see us. They are truly awesome people. Oklahoma's lucky to be getting them back.

We raided the Russell Stover outlet. Yes, we're going to put the sugar-induced-coma theory to the test! WAHOO!

And for the past two days, we have worked like men possessed on the Forever Home. The house and yard have been de-hillbillified. For the most part. (We're having people over who are not in our Inner Circle. Yes, if you're in our Inner Circle, you get to wallow in our hillbilly shack love. But for foreigners, we clean. It's a complex ritual.) Aside from the flaking paint on the eaves, and the sidewalk/gauntlet combo we haven't torn up yet, this place could be in AnyNeighborhood, USA. Pretty cool. Even the saw horses have been put away!

The menu is planned. (Although we stopped at three different grocery stores today and not one of them had root beer in bottles. Every store is sold. out. Is there a pending FDA ban on I.B.C. we haven't heard about?) The swingset has been cannibalized for an obstacle course. The back porch is clean and ready for stain. (Which we won't probably ever get around to putting on it, but hey, it's ready just in case someone takes pity on us and comes to paint it one day. It could happen.)

Zorak is in the basement, painting the pirate ship. (Would you believe we have looked at FIVE different stores, and not a one of them had black or brown tissue paper? We can't have a pink pirate ship!) I'm trying not to make eye contact with the kitchen. It scares me, and the intimidation factor is pretty high right now. But soon, I will go clean. And I will win. Or Zorak will drag my dead body out of the kitchen before the guests arrive. I just hope he runs the dishwasher first.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy Birthday, John!

I haven't the words to do justice to him this year. He's just such a great kid. He's grown this year in confidence and stride. (Not to mention size - he is officially bigger than his big brother.)

He has developed a comfortable sense of where he is in this world, and where he's going. He seems to understand that it's a process, and the goal is to remain in upward motion - growing, learning, exploring, laughing, loving. Rinse. Repeat. It just doesn't get old. Not for him.

"What can I do to help?"

"You did a great job!"

"I'll take care of that."

"Let's do something together."

"I've got BabyGirl."

"Can I read it for you?"

If you take statements like those, douse them in a constant stream of humorous anecdotes and wise-cracks (this was his year for figuring out the parameters for humor vs. line-crossing, but I think he's got it now), and sprinkle the day thoroughly with a lot of affection and laughter, you'd just begin to have a peek at living with John.

He's the first one to offer to help. He's the first one by your side on the couch. He's the first one to suggest a game of ball in the meadow.

He gets the jokes that go over the rest of our heads. He makes up some pretty great stories, and tells them over and over again to entertain his little brother and sister. (The Orange Monster stories are still alive and well because of this.)

He wears his great big ol' heart on his sleeve. It gets bumped from time to time, but he's not about to put it away. That just wouldn't be The Way To Live.

And laugh. Oh, you've got to laugh. Sometimes I probably shouldn't, but, well, he's funny. He's literary funny. He's abstract funny. He's frat house funny. He's an all-around humorist. God help us once he masters satire. But, oh, he's hilarious.

He dreams big, and yet he's pleased and thankful for the littlest things, as well. He *gets* the pleasure of delayed gratification in a way I've never seen in someone so young. He's not only willing to stick it out for the long haul, but he really wants you to make it, too.

His father is his gold standard, and every step he takes, every task he takes on, he measures it by "Like Dad". If it'll get him one more step closer to being "Like Dad", he's good with it. If it's not "Like Dad", then his internal filter kicks in. So each step he takes, he takes with care and adoration, his eyes set high.

I just don't know how to express the way this child makes my heart soar. Every. Single. Day. Whether it's his laughter, his empathy, his wit, his noble heart, or his gentleness... it's all a part of Being John. And we get to live that each and every day. I'm so thankful. So humbled. So in love.

 

This morning he summed up how he feels about turning seven:

Well, it's pretty exciting to be in my Late S's.

(He had to explain that one to me, but it's funny.) And he's right. It is exciting.

Happy 7th Birthday, John! We love you, and are so proud of you! Always.

Love,
Mom & Dad

Fruit Pizza

 

As you can see, it ends up looking better than it starts out. We were too impatient to wait for the crust to cool completely before adding the toppings. This was so easy to make, and the boys enjoyed both the making and the eating.

The crust recipes I found in my searches were, of course, all useless for a wheat-free crust (pre-made pie crust, cookie dough, etc.), so we used the Breakfast Foccacia recipe in The Gluten-Free Gourmet Bakes Bread. This recipe also makes a delightful danish!

The "sauce" is actually the cheese - equal parts cream cheese and whipped cream, beaten until smooth.

Top with your favorite fruits. In this case, I went with canned fruit - pineapples, mandarin oranges, and triple cherry fruit cocktail. This is the one and only time my children have willingly eaten fruit cocktail. (Our Wonderful Neighbors in MD would be so proud! *sniff* *sniff*) The oranges didn't make it onto the pizza. We fell to temptation. So good!

And in going with the whole cheese-as-sauce, sauce-as-cheese theme, the final product got drizzled with your basic, cooked, sugar-water-oj-vanilla sauce. There's some left over. We may have to make doughnuts tomorrow.

Birthday Countdown Time

*whispering*

Hi. It's me. It's almost three, and I've got to get some sleep, but I wanted to blog anyway. I'm so excited! My JohnBaby turns seven today. Seven! This is the child who keeps getting caught in age-warps. I swear he was two for almost three years. Five for only a month or two, and now *poof*, he's seven. I'll wax philosophic after I've had a little sleep.

In the meantime, we've got all the ingredients for John's birthday breakfast (he requested pizza - insert nauseated, confused Mom look here). I didn't think the rest of us could stomach pepperoni before noon, so I tweaked the plan to make a fruit pizza, instead. I think they'll all get a kick out of that. Zorak had a Very Cool Idea to pick up a Pirates t-shirt for him while I was at the store, so it's now wrapped and laid at the foot of his bed. It'll be his birthday suit. *grin* We may start a new tradition. It's not like any of them are going to stop growing anytime soon, so a new t-shirt is pretty much a necessity at any time. But this can be something we wouldn't normally buy, something a little different, something they've expressed an interest in. Just a little something. Sometimes that can bring the biggest smiles.

Today, we go bowling with two of our favorite Big People in the world, Me-Wa and Me-Tae. It should be a lot of fun, and a nice, low-key way to enjoy the day. James and Smidge and EmBaby bought him the Pirates of the Caribbean chest with three action-figures set, and he'll have that to open at the bowling alley.

The party itself is scheduled for Saturday. I have no clue how that's going to go. I have no clue if any of the children will be able to make it -- this is the week when everybody always seems to be going out of town for their Big Summer Trip. Well, whoever can come will have fun. Zorak's been making a Pirate Ship Pinata this week, and it's looking really good. I'll post pictures of the process once it's done.

We didn't make the mark of having it all done and ready well ahead of time, but at least this year it didn't sneak up on us. That's some improvement.

Ok, too tired to think. Talk to you later!
Kiss those great, big, growing babies!
~Dy

From Our Visit With Verena

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

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



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

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



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

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Happy Father's Day!

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

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


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

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

Man, I am on a roll!

First, the Nightmare on Elm Street Team Cake.

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

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

Nah.

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

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

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

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

Who's On First?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let's illustrate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No more would we accept an out-of-left-field, unrelated comment from one of our children as a legitimate portion of our discussion. (At least not without pointing it out.) For example,

This is a difficult task. I could use help,

would not be answered appropriately with,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Quiet Saturday Afternoon

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

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

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

And I'm thankful.

Kiss those babies.
Dy

The Twelve Tasks of Hercules

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

And in five minutes, they were back inside.

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

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

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

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

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

*long, drawn out pause*

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

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

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

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

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

US Stuff

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

US Stuff

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

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