Books in Boxes

Just thought I should post to note that we all seem to be alive, despite recent spinach consumption. I'm in some doubt on the matter for myself, as I have such a head cold that I cannot sleep, but objective evidence is still strong.

We decided this weekend that we really must start putting the books away. What with all the other things we had to do this weekend, what we succeeded in accomplishing was getting the shelves in place, putting an enormous pile of boxes back in the living room, and settling on a general organizational scheme. There are a few on the shelves. It's good to see them there again, like welcoming old and long-absent friends.

The ducklings, of course, think we've created a special indoor playground for them. They both seem to have entered the climbing stage at once--D1, in one fell swoop, has mastered the arched bars, the slide ladders, and the riding toys at the park. Prayers for their safety and my sanity would be appreciated.

Too cheap?

So we're minutes away for leaving for a night out (free night at the Children's Museum!), and I have a lovely supper for the road packed up: tortilla wraps with a chicken/bean spread, swiss cheese, and . . . spinach.

And then DOB calls me to say he just remembered to tell me to throw out that bag of spinach in the fridge because there's been an E. Coli outbreak.

I have no other supper-suitable ingredients. I used a lot of very nice, expensive (from my perspective) ingredients to make those. We ate the spinach last night, so we've already been exposed.

We're eating them.

I did find something else for D1's supper, though. She hasn't had any, so she has a chance of escape. I figure we're doomed anyway.

If I die, it was in the interests of frugality. But I'm not feeling very hungry all of a sudden. My stomach is getting queasy.

Nothing's Wrong With Me, Thanks

Meandering around the internet, I stumbled across this drug company website with a helpful quiz to figure out if you might be suffering from Adult ADD and thus a prospective customer.

Some of the symptoms that they state indicate Adult ADD:

• Do you have difficulty concentrating or focusing your attention on one thing?
• Do you often start multiple projects at the same time, but rarely finish them?
• Do you have trouble with organization?
• Do you procrastinate on projects that take a lot of attention to detail?
• Do you have problems remembering appointments or obligations?
• Do you have trouble staying seated during meetings or other activities?
• Are you restless or fidgety?
• Do you often lose or misplace things?

Hmm . . . and I thought all those things were perfectly normal. Not in the sense of everyone being like that, but within the range of normal behavior, mostly as a natural side-effect of being creative and intelligent. * Being fidgety is even good for your health--burns more calories, and maintains function in your joints better than * being still.

I don't begrudge drug companies their profits--profit is capital, and capital is new developments. But I do begrudge them running around amplifying problems to drum up business. Maybe there is such a thing as Adult ADD that genuinely needs drugging, * and of course you're supposed to talk to your doctor and find out if it's "right for you." But if those traits are all it takes to qualify, a third of the population are good candidates for their drug. Which I'm sure they wouldn't mind.*

Personally, I think it's those other people who have the problem. * I'd like to diagnose them with Excessive Attention to Detail Disorder (EADD--on the obsessive/compulsive disorder spectrum) and give them a pill so they would stop stressing out over minor things and learn to think outside the box. I mean really, in the grand scheme of things, does it matter that I sent the container of straight spaghetti sauce to lunch with DOB and left the dish of sauce mixed with noodles in the fridge? (Actually, DOB is very gracious about such things. He has to be, or he would go crazy. It's better than the time I mistakenly sent him a pound of cheese in his lunch. Or sending him empty bags, which happens all too often.)*

*Just out of curiosity, I stuck in an asterisk every time I surfed away, got up and moved around, or otherwise got distracted. Fidgeting that didn't move my hands off the desk didn't count. I think it's just the power of suggestion. **

Some obligatory pictures

Every parent has to have these:
The Boy With Baseball






The Girl With Makeup

Just about one

I have not encountered very many different ages and temperaments of children yet. At least, not in children of my own. But I have to say, the age right around one (say ten to fifteen months) seems like the most difficult so far.

There's no denying that it's also the most adorable. All the chubby baby cuteness is still intact, combined with all the curiosity of a toddler and the occasional attempt at communication in some entirely unique dialect. D2 will copy D1's inflection perfectly, sitting around muttering undecipherable questions to himself ending in "esss" or "oooo."

But at the same time, they stop taking all those lovely extra naps they used to need, but they're still too small for those handy activity ideas to keep your toddler busy. You can't leave them alone for a second with anything smaller than their head, because they will eat it, or larger than their head, because they will use it to climb onto the piano.

Besides, the only activity that really interests them is learning to move, and for that they want your constant assistance: if your fingers aren't available, they'll wrap around your legs. Forget taking a shower being a luxury; ANY trip to the bathroom is a luxury.

Then of course there's that little problem of Original Sin, which is beginning to poke its head out, so cleverly mixed with innocent babyishness that you never know quite what to do. Just the time you're sure it's a temper tantrum, it turns out to be a howl of anguish--just the time you're sure it's a real problem you see that little, "I got you!" look in their eyes. Whatever you do, you're bound to get it wrong.

But it doesn't matter, because they're stuck with you. And they don't care how evil of a Mommy you are. They still want you.

Of hair and sheep

I cut D1's hair for the first time this week. It wasn't particularly momentous; I don't even think she noticed what I was doing. There are no before and after pictures, because you really can't tell the difference. But now she has official bangs, and it's one of those things you're supposed to write in the baby book, which I don't keep, so there it is. Haircut.

I rather like that my children are slow in the hair department, requiring two years to come up with a respectable quantity of blond fluff. Babies with full heads of hair always look so much older. I don't really want my children to act like babies a second longer than is necessary, but I'll take looking like it.

D1 feeds D2 pretty regularly now. She doesn't have the patience to do a whole bowl of food, but once I'm finished eating she'll often shovel it in for awhile, which gives me a moment to get started on the dishes or run downstairs and switch the laundry. D2 likes it because she drops even more food than I do, and then he can pick it up with his fingers.

"Baa, Baa, Black Sheep" continues its prominent place in our lives. It happened the other morning that D1 was beginning to get a bit drizzly, and I requested that she produce some more cheerful sounds. She began singing, "Baa, baa, black sheep . . . "

"Yes," I said, "That's a happy song."

Well, somewhere in the inner workings of her mind, she's taken from this the idea that singing it is the proper response anytime she is miserable. Whether she thinks that singing it has the power to make her happy, or whether she thinks I will accept it as ipso facto proof that she is happy now and not send her off to her room to compose herself, I cannot tell. But so it goes:

"Baa (sob), baa (sob), black sheep (sniifffff), have you (sob) any wahhhahhahhoolll?"

Three years ago today

4 moves . . .
3 jobs . . .
2 kids . . .
1 big adventure.

Those are, of course, carrots on the cake.

Nursery Rhyme Improv

Heard from the back seat:

D1: Baa, baa, black sheep, Have you any wool?
Have you any . . . cats?
Have you any . . . cars?
Baa, baa black sheep,
Have you any . . . Uncle Dan's house?

At the lunch table:

QOC: What are little boys made of, made of? What are little boys made of?

D1: BEEEeeaaaans!

Farewell to Eden

I am no fan of hot weather. But my joy at seeing the temperatures coast back into the low 70's is tempered somewhat this year, as I realize it will require radically readjusting everyone's wardrobe.

In dressing children, my philosophy is simple: The less time and money spent on it, the happier everyone will be. So since April, they've worn little besides hand-me-down t-shirts and whatever protection for the lower regions seems suitable to the current state of potty training, laundry, and my interest in cleaning up messes. D1 gets on sandals and shorts to go out, or a jumper if she is feeling particularly girly. D2 is still innocent of the concept of shoes and was quite alarmed one evening when we put a long-sleeved shirt on him--he couldn't figure out what had happened to the rest of his arms.

But now we must find complete outfits. Here the second-hand clothes become a bit dicey. Not everyone seems to believe in completely interchangeable clothing (don't their children ever eat tomatoes?) and often the tops and bottoms did not survive together. Worse and worse, we have to find shoes. And socks! And all those have to match, too, or at least not look noticeably hideous together.

Plus, there are now twice as many garments to get wet or stained. Twice the laundry.

The good news is, D1 loves her new tennis shoes, which, being white with pink, go with pretty much everything she has. I still haven't gotten my nerve up to put shoes on D2; size 3 is far too small and size 4 is hopelessly big. But sooner or later I'll have had enough of his cold little toes.

You pick

Version A:

D2 has shown great strides in fine-motor skills and self-feeding lately. He can really get around, too, and he's eager to take those first steps. D1's love of reading becomes more apparent every day, and she's also taking an interest in housework and organization. They're both quite affectionate towards me. We've been enjoying the cooler weather and have been eating well lately. I find myself constantly challenged by my work, drawing upon previously-unknown reserves of creativity and strength.

Version B:

D2 spends most of his time shredding Kleenexes and eating off the floor, when he's not climbing on those moving boxes that seem to have become a permanent part of our living room decor. He expects my fingers to be available every moment so that he can walk where he wants to go. D1 thinks I have all day to read her stories, unless, of course, she's dumping the wrong ingredients together while my back is turned or rearranging the pantry. They both want my lap exclusively if I dare to sit down or even make eye contact. It's raining too hard to go to the park. The dishes have backed up to an alarming degree. I'm at my wits'* end of things to do with them and I need a nap at 10:30 and bedtime at 6. I'd have a nervous breakdown, but I haven't got the time.

*Edited when, after due consideration, I decided I have more than one wit. The Grammar Commando is never wrong about apostrophes, but sometimes has trouble determining the intended meaning.

The Grammar Commando Lives

I got 100%.

Trash-picking

Last night we went to church, the first Wednesday Night service of our marriage. DOB was excited because the pastor was doing an open-question night, which apparently he does once a quarter, but then disappointed to find out that you have to get the questions in a day in advance so he has time to study on them. And no one else had sent any questions in. DOB intends to see that there is never a shortage of questions again.

Anyway, we were pulling into our driveway and I saw three children's bicycles in the trash pile across the street. I promptly jumped out and ran across the street, rang the doorbell and asked if those were really trash or if the children had just parked them in the wrong spot. Sure enough, they were throwing them out. The grandkids had outgrown them.

"They need new tires," he said, "Or, maybe they just need air."

Well, maybe indeed. Anyway, there we are, all set with bicycles until the children are seven. They're girl bikes, though. I hope D2 doesn't mind. Or maybe a neighbor with grandsons will throw something out.

DOB muttered something about people not knowing about Goodwill and putting perfectly good stuff in a landfill. Which is true, but then, if they'd taken them to Goodwill, we'd have had to pay for them instead of getting them for free.

And maybe now that they know I'm not above rummaging through the garbage, they'll think of me when they have other things to throw away.

Not Even My Dryer has a Normal Setting

I once read someone remark that it takes about a year to get back to normal after the birth of a new baby. I don't know what the figure is for a move, but I would estimate it's about the same. So, in the unlikely event that we have no more babies between now and then, we should be due for a refreshing burst of normalcy sometime in 2009. But then, normalcy is probably boring.

D1 had her first exposure to clothes shopping last week. It was actually a shopping expedition for me, thanks to DOB being given an award at work that consisted of a gift certificate to the mall in the same development. But while I was trying things on, she went through the toddler section, examining various skirts and handing a few to Aunt Kristen for taking home. I had to dissuade her from the skirts, since they happened to all be for infants half her size, but I made her blissfully happy by locating a suitable shirt for her to purchase, and then the clerk made it even better by giving her her Very Own Shopping Bag to take it home in.

Perhaps she felt the need to reassert her girliness after wanting to spend the week riding around the neighborhood to watch large machinery in action.

I've decided to concentrate on getting a good night's sleep. I'm not really sure how little sleep I was getting, but I know that I'm feeling amazingly better with six and a half hours of sleep, so I think things were pretty bad.

The first few weeks in the house were difficult because the kids didn't sleep well in a new place, and after that I just gave up on the idea of sleeping, I guess. But we seem to have resolved D2's various issues and he is sleeping much better (though I could handle him going an hour or two longer). I am no longer going to be a martyr about the air conditioning, and we are leaving it down at 77 during the night. I am catching up on little details like regularly washing the sheets so everything is nice and comfy.

It didn't help last night, though, that DOB had had lunch at a Thai place. He claims he had basil chicken, but it seemed to me he must have partaken of some mystic dish known from ancient times for its power to repel vampires, bacteria, and women. Next time he goes out for Thai food, he needs to take me along so I won't notice.

Second-Chance Movies

Or rather, movies I'm glad I gave a second chance.

One was Chariots of Fire. My first memory of it predates my tenth birthday, and recalled it as endless footage of indistinguishable characters running along the beach. Borrrrring. (A cursory survey of others raised similarly suggests this is a common memory. Just because a movie is virtuous and lacking in objectionable material does not mean it will be of interest to young children.)

When I watched it again in my late teens, I was astounded. It had characters! Plot! It had Gilbert and Sullivan! Quite enjoyable.

Sometime in those years, though, I watched The Philadelphia Story and was not at all impressed. It was far too full of "innundo" (as Dinah would say) for my tender ears. I couldn't make out what the point was at all, at all. It wasn't even that funny and it seemed to be justifying quite inappropriate behavior.

Recently, however, DOB saw a clip of it and was dying to find out what was going on. So I agreed to give it a second chance. And behold it was funny, after all. And there was a point, and an excellent one, not about justifying inappropriate behavior, but about extending grace and unconditional love to each other. So, I'm glad I gave it a second chance, too.

Church hunting

Moving this past time has put us far enough away from our old church to require church hunting again. We dreaded it. Our last church hunting experience was grueling--it was several weeks before we even found churches we could possibly tolerate, we were strangers in a strange town and felt, on the whole, like severed limbs in search of a body. (The fact that I was newly pregnant and wanted to puke if I disagreed with anything in the service didn't help.)

One day we were on a country drive and saw an adorable little white church in the woods with a red door.

"What a cute church!" we said, "We should go there. Except that's a stupid reason to choose a church."

A few weeks later we decided we needed to buy a house and called a mortgage broker who happened to have been at one of the churches we had checked out recently.

"If you're looking for a church," he said, "You should try my dad's church." Well, it was the cute little church with the red door, and it was just right. Indeed, it wasn't long before DOB's entire family had joined, as it was much closer to home than their former church.

Anyway, joining there was as great or greater a relief as finally getting into a home of our own with clean air. (I did throw up there once, but it wasn't the doctrine or practice that disagreed with me, just the potluck food.)

But we were dreading another months-long ordeal this time. We drew up a lengthy list of all the churches we knew of or had heard of that were likely prospects or even just mildly curious.

One of the ones on the list was one that an old friend of DOB's attended. Since this old friend was now in our new neighborhood, and since the church also was pretty close by, it was a good candidate for a first try.

The first try was nice, but the pastor was out of town, and really, you can't make a decision on one visit. We were still attending our old church most of the time. But we stopped in again to hear the pastor.

Then we moved. A crew of total strangers from the church showed up at nine at night--after VBS got out--to move in most of our furniture.

So it seemed only natural to go again that Sunday. We kept meaning to go attend other churches, but we kept not getting around to it. Churches we were thinking about visiting kept dropping off the list.

This week we really, really were meaning to attend another church; it was close by, after all, and maybe we should give it a chance. We looked it up on the internet: not only did it have a "fully graded" Sunday School, but an entire separate Sunday morning youth worship service. (DOB: "Oh, you're seventeen-and-a-half now? Then you can attend the special 'Why Seventeen-and-a-Half-Year-Olds Are Better!' class.")

So we gave it up. There were little kids and teenagers and the lame and the blind in the service at the other church. In the pew next of us one of the regular members of the church was sitting with a lady who apparently had some serious mental or emotional troubles and couldn't make it through the service, so the other lady patiently stepped out and back in with her. Nobody looked askance (well, except DOB) when D2 uttered exclamations.

We like it there. Maybe we'll get around to visiting somewhere else. Or maybe not.

A Promising Beginning

"My criterion for selection of material has been very simple; I have included anything I found interesting."

From Temples, Tombs and Hieroglyphs: A Popular History of Ancient Egypt, by Barbara Mertz.

Clutter Explained

Yesterday I bought some plastic dishes. They were marked as being reusable AND disposable.

So, when you're done using them, you may throw them away! As opposed to all those other plastic dishes, which you must store forever in your attic.

Pictures are back!

A little earlier this morning I was remarking that surely by the time D1 was four she would be capable of feeding a baby. Apparently she decided not to wait that long.

Speech, speech!

We decided that D2's official first word will be "Uh-oh." It's a little hard to determine among the many purposeful babblings which sounds are truly words, but we're all pretty sure on that one, and he says it quite often. Also, it suits his personality just fine.

The first time he said it distinctly, we were all sitting at the table coloring. D1 dropped one of her crayons on the floor, and said, "Uh-oh." D2 promptly tossed one of his crayons on the floor, too, and said, "Uh-uh."

Almost equal in use, however, is the phrase "up-down" (or "Uh-dah" but the inflection mimics mine). Since he uses the two together, I think they may only be one word in his mind, perhaps meaning vertical movement. He uses it for doors on the puzzle board, for clothes he's tossing out of a basket, and even as he stands and squats in turn, for all the world like a miniature aerobics instructor.

Five Things

From Cappucinno's Mom

5 things in my freezer
Way too many plastic bags
Split pea soup that I can never get my nerve up to serve
Two months' supply of pita pockets
Breyer's Ice Cream
Little cubes of pureed vegetables

5 things in my closet
First-aid kit
Shoes
Sewing basket
Wastepaper basket, out of D2's reach but unfortunately also out of mine
Straw hat
D2 (I feel like one of those evil schoolmasters, but he sleeps so much better in the dark.)

5 things in our car
DOB's new home gym that he got for half off
The plastic floor cover that was necessary at our last place and we can't even find a place to store here
Spare water
A box of clothes that's waiting for me to find a thrift store nearby
Two car seats

5 things in the diaper bag
Extra plastic bags
Nursing drape
Chocolate that went to powder a long time ago and is too gross to clean out, but it's in a pocket I never use anyway
Diapers, I hope


5 things in wallet
library card
driver's license
SS card which I really should take out and put back in the file. (Nobody reading this blog swipe my identity, ok?)
Coupon for Pampers pull-ups, in case I ever decide to get them again.
Kroger's card

5 people I tag
Rats, this one has been around for awhile and I can't remember who's done it. Well, if you haven't done it yet, consider yourself tagged.