The Duchess Turns Seven

See that Hansel-and-Gretel cottage cake? Guess who made it allllmost all by herself?

D1 is growing by leaps and bounds. She has moved on to reading long books with small print, preferably books of fairy tales. She likes to draw, preferably princesses. And she likes to cook, preferably birthday cakes. She can get everybody ready to go, in the car and buckled while I am still trying to remember where I left my purse.

It's great to have a big girl.

This is no fair

My weird aunt died suddenly last Tuesday. She was the person who taught me music and Shakespeare and baking fabulous cookies, who introduced me to Gilbert and Sullivan and science fiction and Magic: The Gathering and Sandra Boynton and personality analysis. We used to debate and analyze for hours, and more recently we instead stayed up far too late playing strange card games.

I'm glad she's out of pain, but I'm going to miss her terribly.

Style and 5 year old boys

I hate FDA-approved (or whoever it is that approves it) pajama fabric, all synthetic and treated and ooky feeling. I just don't see that my children are in greater danger of spontaneous combustion while sleeping than while playing. So instead Her Majesty makes them lovely untreated flannel pajamas for winter and for the summer I just pick up a few extra t-shirts and some knit shorts at the thrift store.

This week I got some pieces for D2 and was rather pleased that I managed to coordinate them. I found a pair of orange shorts and a grayish-green shirt with a bright orange tiger printed on it. Then I found some navy shorts and a periwinkle Gap t-shirt with "GAP" in navy.

Tonight D2 wanted to wear his new pajamas. He found the orange shorts, so I dug around and found the tiger shirt.

"That doesn't match!" he complained.

"Yes, it does," I said. "See, there's orange here to match the orange on the shorts."

"But not very *much* orange."

So I tried digging out the other pair. "See, they're both blue."

"But it's not the *same* blue. "

"Well what are you going to wear then?" I asked.

He took the orange shorts and the blue shirt and went and put them on. I don't get it.

Exploring

Some pictures (courtesy D1, which is why she's in none of them) of the kids in our new yard. I've only had to rescue two boys out of the laurel bushes so far.

Conjugation

We are moved.
We have been moved. (Thanks to many helpful people.)
We shall be moved. (When we figure out where everything goes.)

Right now it's time to feel like the old sailor. And note that this is a *really* bad time to come down with the stomach flu. But not quite as bad of a time as last week would have been.

Grammar Commando Rides Again

The Grammar Commando has been lured out of a long hiatus by QOC absent-mindedly posting as her Facebook status, "After spending the whole morning scrubbing, our new house suddenly seems plenty big enough."

"Ha!" says GC. "The house was scrubbing, was it? How lucky of you to get a self-scrubbing house!"

(A more logical construction: "After spending the whole morning scrubbing, I think our new house is plenty big enough." It's QOC that was spending the whole morning scrubbing, and nobody else. Well, except the ducklings for about three minutes. His Majesty is busy taping and wielding tools.)

But, now that GC is out of hiding, she will add an error QOC would never commit.

"Chalk full"

Really? Full of chalk? What on earth is full of chalk except an unopened package of sidewalk chalk?

No, what you're thinking of is "chock full," i.e., full to the point that they had to chock (carefully wedge) in the last bits. Which could apply, metaphorically, to a book being chock full of ideas. But it probably doesn't have chalky ideas in it.

Status Report

Potty Training: Almost there. They've got the idea. D4 persisted in a triumph of willpower over lack of readiness, but he finally started figuring it out after several days of trauma for all concerned. They still have accidents. D4 still won't use full-sized potty. I spend a lot of time debating under what circumstances they earn chocolate. Still, I packed up all my diaper covers and training pants and sent them to Goodwill yesterday. (I saved the diapers for a lifetime supply of cleaning cloths.) Disposables will actually not be that greatly reduced, since I don't think we're anywhere close to staying dry at night yet.

Packing: Agonizingly slow. I'm trying to retrieve all the little pieces of everything and get them in the same boxes as all the other small pieces of the same category. And make sure we only take our stuff. And clean, and purge, and organize. And not murder anyone who discovers a cool lost toy in a box and drags it back out again.

Moving: We closed on the house on Thursday. Now we need to clean it very thoroughly, then paint and do some minor fixes. We're hoping to move Memorial Day weekend, which we realize is terrible timing because everyone able-bodied in the country will be out camping, but it's when we think we'll be ready. People have started to give me plants, and I'm very excited about that.

Colds: The kids have had them. Now I do. Bleah.

7 Quick Takes: The Potty Training Edition

1. I had a GREAT plan for potty training the twins. We were going to wait until July. They'd both be three. The weather would be warm and sunny for minimal clothing. Grandma R., a seasoned potty trainer, would be visiting. We'd be all moved and settled in. The floor plan of the house has a large kitchen/dining area with vinyl flooring and a toilet and washing machine right off them. It was going to be great.

2. D3 decided on Sunday that wearing diapers hurts, and just like with sucking her fingers a month ago, that was the end of that. Being a little girl who likes to wear dresses makes it much easier. She doesn't even need reminders anymore.

3. D4 believes anything she can do, he can do better. Only he can't. But he won't believe me. Nor will he accept the idea of wearing diapers again. Or of training pants. "No! I won't wear those round diapers!" I am doing a lot of laundry.

4. Just because I feel it necessary to counterpoint conventional wisdom, I will point out that girls are not necessarily easier to train than boys, since D1 was approximately 23 times harder (counting by months) or 750 times harder (counting by accidents) than D2.

5. And my kids never read the potty training books about never trying to potty train right before a big, stressful event. They have a radar for big, stressful events. Which is why D2 decided to potty train right before the twins were born. On the plus side, this meant that Grandma R. and Wondergirl did all the work, because I couldn't reach the ground.

6. That bit about cloth diapers helping children potty train sooner because they feel wet is hogwash, too, as far as my kids are concerned. They just get used to feeling wet. Maybe I should have changed them more often. Oops.

7. D4 has all the pieces, he's just having trouble putting them together. I think going bottomless for a few days would do the trick. He's not inherently opposed, just finds it too chilly. And he did not welcome the suggestion of wearing D3's dresses. However, Her Majesty has had a brainstorm: she's persuaded him that several grown-up sized old t-shirts (especially with military themes) are in fact knight costumes. Clothed in such manly attire that will keep his legs warm and still allow for airflow, I'm hopeful that it will all click. Soon. 'Cause otherwise I'm going to be doing a lot of laundry for an awfully long time.

More quick takes at Conversion Diary.

What manly men wear for potty-training. Even though it's Grandma's.

The Opposite of Magic

In the church I grew up in, the pastors made a special point, it seemed like at each instance of celebrating communion or baptism, of saying, "Now, there's nothing magic about this bread (or water). This is just something we do in obedience."

Something in me always rebelled against that. If there was nothing special about it, why go through it? Why would God order meaningless actions? But, no, I didn't really believe in magic bread or water, so I let it lie.

Over the past couple of years, as we've explored sacramental churches and stepped back and then explored again, I've come to realize that a sacrament is the opposite of magic. Magic is an intangible action--a word, a gesture, a symbol--to generate a physical result. But a sacrament is a physical action to transmit a spiritual reality.

We are physical beings. And we are spiritual beings. In the sacraments, God promises to meet us on both levels. And as we began to acknowledge it as such (and recognize that God had indeed been present to us, in that way, all through the years of being told that there was nothing special but we were going to do it anyways), we've begun to see a whole lot of things differently.

We've begun to see that salvation isn't something that rests on the fervency of our own faith, or the complexity with which we can articulate doctrine. It rests simply on the work of God in Christ. It is not a deal to be signed by those who have reached the age of consent, but a meal to be shared with all who come. And looked at that way, it no longer made any sense to keep from sharing it with our children.

Which is why we celebrated this Easter by having all four of the children baptized and receive first Communion.

Do they understand it all? Neither do we. When was I "saved," after all? Was it the first time I prayed the prayer, hiding in the grass as a toddler? Was it when I was seven and wrote it out in my Bible? Was it when I was baptized at eight because my older siblings were? Was it when I was twelve and the enormity of God dying for me hit for the first time? Was it when I wrestled with and walked through doubts as a teenager and young adult?

Or was it all God the whole time? Did it matter how clearly I understood or simply whether I received? Did Jesus, who commended us over and over to the faith of a little child, really mean to tell us that their faith didn't count?

So today we recognized the gift of faith in them and permitted them to receive God's grace through baptism. The older ducklings can answer catechism questions with the best of them, and the twins know that they belong to Jesus. Will they have doubts? Surely. Will they have a crisis of faith, of wondering if it is really theirs or just something inherited? Very likely. I will probably have a few more crises of my own. But that won't change what God does, nor do I hold back from receiving His grace now because I might not take advantage of it in the future.

In Which I Type Up A Bunch of Stuff

I'm typing with my laptop hanging off the edge of the loveseat, the battery about to die, wishing I'd brought a book instead of a computer. Except I probably would be done with the book by now, too.

I really wish I had my Nook. I've been saving up for it for months and I finally have enough, but no time to go to the store and get it. (Yes, I could order, but I want to look at it and feel it first.) I have thought of a thousand times it would be handy to have. I'll probably break it in three weeks.

The reason I can't move is because there is a small head with closed eyes resting on my other side. D4 interrupted the morning preparations for church by throwing up. I stayed home with him while DOB took the others out to church. So there is no one to send for a book. We watched Bob the Builder and then a video of old family movies. A lot changes in forty years.

DOB had his first trial last week. He got a decent verdict. (It was public defense of a civil commitment--the fellow was undoubtedly crazy, but he got to keep a few key rights rather than having a complete guardianship.) DOB had a wonderful time objecting and cross-examining and then came home and wished he could just die and get it over with. I think he should be over the adrenalin detox in a few days. He's feeling happy to get back to estate planning and other boring stuff.

We have a contract on a house and are moving forward with it. It's a great location and price and a huge lot, but the house is currently pretty small and plain (two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a mysterious toilet in the back entry. Also a basement). We have plans for a massive expansion in a couple of years. But right now we'll just be happy to get moved. And we hope it comes through, because we're putting a bit of money into it in advance of closing so that we don't have to get a construction loan.

Now I'm getting the Low Battery warning. The end is near.

Maybe good, maybe not

D3 has been a compulsive finger-sucker since she first discovered that she had them. She's not just a situational finger-sucker, either. No, anytime the fingers are not actively employed in handing food in, they are in the mouth. They always look white and shriveled and smell like stale saliva.

So I'd been thinking about when and how to break her of this, and always, when the peaceful sound of focused sucking signaled that naptime had begun, come to the conclusion that now was not the best time.

Sunday, right as the church service was starting, she started whimpering over a cut finger. I had to quickly rummage through the back of the church for the first aid kit (fortunately I knew where it was owing to the events of my first visit to the church). I found a small round bandage and we persuaded her it was enough for now.

Not until we got home did we realize the horror of what had happened: it was one of THE fingers. And not until I tried to get her to take a nap that afternoon did I truly realize the full horror. She had no idea how to go to sleep without them.

"Try sucking your thumb," I suggested "Many people enjoy thumbs. Or what about your left hand?"

"They don't work!" she wailed. Nor would she put the finger in her mouth, with or without a bandaid.

Finally I gave up, being in desperate need of a nap myself, and called in the reinforcements. DOB finally managed to rock her to sleep, at great cost to his own afternoon.

Fortunately by bedtime she was so tired that she fell asleep rather quickly. But the same pattern has repeated all week long: no nap (which usually means she wakes D4 up after 45 minutes, instead of the blissful 3 hours we had been enjoying), then conking out at bedtime. One would think that tiny cut would have healed by now, but she insists that it still hurts.

I would be happy that we have found a way that at least is not my fault to be rid of the habit, except today I realized what is replacing it: she's sucking on her lower lip. Now she's got a red rash all along the underside of her mouth.

There's no winning this one.

I'll have to explain this one later

Last night DOB and I went to a young lawyer's event. It happened to be at a restaurant in the same building where one of the attorneys I work for is. We arrived about 5:45 and DOB started to put his shoes on (he never drives with them on) only to have one of the strings break. Only it didn't break clean--the outer part bunched up and left the tough inner core. He could neither tie his shoes nor pull the lace out to replace with a new one.

Both of us rifled our stuff, but we had nothing sharper than a key, and keys weren't doing it.

Finally I had an idea--I could run upstairs to the attorney's office and borrow scissors. When I got upstairs, the door was locked, but I have a key. So I let myself in. The receptionist had gone, but the legal assistant and the attorney were both in their offices, both on the phone. The legal assistant's desk faced the front desk, so she watched me as I waved, rifled through the receptionist's desk for scissors, and then left.

The shoe string cut, I let myself back in upstairs, where everyone was still on the phone. I put the scissors back and walked out.

D3 Anticipates Adulthood

QOC: So when you are three, you can go in the big potty.

D3: And wear big underwear. And drive in the car by myself with children in the back. And have brown hair.

D3 Explains Disaster Relief

D3: The people in Japan had all their stuff washed away by a big wave, so we have to give them their washcloths back. At the store.

'Tis Done

I am a lawyer.

Despite being admitted to the practice of law somewhere for over a decade now, this is the first time I've really tried to be a *lawyer*. Yes, I went to law school. Yes, I passed all those bar exams. Yes, I convinced the board of governors of my own state that their rules gave me permission to apply when they thought otherwise.

But actually practicing? Well, for many reasons, it's never happened. Until now.

And even so, I don't really feel like I'm practicing law. Mostly I sit at home and read and look up and write things; they just happen to be about law. I get interrupted by requests for snacks and toilet paper. I've only worn my suit three times.

Still, it counts. And it feels good. I like being a lawyer for real this time. I like learning from people who have been doing it for longer than I've been talking in sentences. I like that I can do this work and still have the time and presence to take care of my primary job. I'm grateful that I have the ability to do work I enjoy that makes enough to help out.

It's been a long and sometimes overwhelming path to get here. I've had to come to terms with the possibility that nowhere is it written that a good mother must do it all herself. I've had to admit to myself that this is something I actually want. And I've wanted to give it all up many times when it just seemed too big and scary.

Many thanks to DOB for helping me to be more myself. Many thanks to family for providing support and babysitting. Many thanks to the ducklings for being happy and helpful and flexible. Many thanks to two attorneys for taking a chance on training someone who'd never really done this. Many thanks to God for giving me the courage to try.

I'll try to do a good job.

Small Heresy

I am teaching the twins' Sunday School class, a choice that is probably ill-advised because:

a) I am pretty lousy with 2 and 3 year olds.
b) the twins are two-thirds of the class, and
c) they spend most of it fighting over my lap.

However, things are getting a little better, and today we actually had a pretty decent lesson about the Trinity. D4 was coloring a paper with a triangle on it, each point with a label of "Father," "Son," and "Holy Spirit." Then he turned it over and started marking on the back.

"Dis is God da Fadder," he said, pointing to his mark.

"OK," I said, pleased to hear the lesson was taking hold.

He drew another mark: "What's dis?"

"That must be God the Son," I said.

"OK," he said, and drew another mark.

"And there is God the Holy Spirit," I said.

He continued on, making a fourth mark. "What's dat?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said.

"Dat is God da Car!" he exclaimed in triumph.

Miscellaneous

We have lived through February. Well, we've still got a few hours to go, but it looks like we shall survive them. DOB got back from his trip OK, I went on my trip OK, I'm still waiting to hear that I'm an official lawyer and hoping the word comes soon.

~~~~******~~~~~

We had snow last week. Multiple times. This is wrong, wrong, wrong for the end of February. It's crocus and daffodil-shoot time! The ducklings still had a good time in the snow (except for D3, who had a good time coming back inside and curling up under a blanket).

~~~~******~~~~~

We are starting to house-hunt and working on persuading mortgage companies that we are good, steady sort of people despite the gaps in our employment history. This is definitely the wrong time of year to look at bank-owned houses in the dark and the cold.

~~~~******~~~~

It has been brought to my attention that I am posting all the cute kid stuff on Facebook these days. This is not really because I don't like blogging anymore, but because I don't have to think up a title on Facebook. Or feel like I'm making it too short if I only post a two-sentence conversation. Nonetheless, here is an accumulation for those who would like to see it:

D1 & D2: "Hey, we found some full bottles of whiskey!" Me: "Those are *empty* bottles of *sparkling cider*." I think they've been reading too much Tintin.

D1's proposed science experiment: "I think we should all get olives or oranges on our fingers and see who can poke through the fastest."

Today in church I learned that my new square-heeled pumps are exactly the right height to serve as garages for Hot Wheels.

Beauty tip: The day of an important formal dinner is probably not the best time to make multicolored playdough with your kids.

D4: I'm not going to cry at AWANA. Crying is for naptime and bedtime.

D2 Quantifies His Hunger

D2: "I am hungrier than 100 wolves!"

QOC: "What about 101 wolves?"

D2: "I am as hungry as 101 wolves."

DOB: "What about 102 wolves?"

D2: "They would be hungrier than me."

(I'm thinking if the meal had been potato soup instead of spaghetti he would only have been as hungry as, say, three wolves.)

What a Day Looks Like

At least, a day like today . . .

6 a.m. DOB's alarm goes off. He hits snooze a couple of times, then gets up. I get up, get dressed and go upstairs to fix his breakfast (two egg sandwiches on rye, to go, plus an orange); pack his lunch (yesterday's leftovers); start the skillet granola for the kids' breakfast; remember that it's my day to fix supper, panic, consider the leftovers, then start a big pot of black beans to go with the eight cups of leftover rice; and start fixing cheese sandwiches for lunch. Wonder why I always wind up trying to cook three meals at once.
6:30 a.m. DOB grabs his breakfast and lunch and leaves. I sneak back to my room and hide out on the computer until
7:30 a.m. when the noise of ducklings playing in the living room becomes too loud to avoid. I get up and change and dress the twins and convince the big kids to make their beds and get dressed. D2 decides to wear a hooded t-shirt--backwards.
8 a.m. We eat breakfast downstairs (The skillet granola didn't turn out very well today--I don't think I should let the oil and honey heat in the skillet before the oats.) Various meltdowns over who gets how many seconds of which items. We have morning prayers and I tell them the story of the Transfiguration.
8:45ish I take the breakfast dishes back upstairs and clean things up. D4 follows me and races his bike all morning. The other three are busy downstairs, doing something that does not involve screaming, so I don't investigate. Hooray for me, I remember to turn the beans off so they don't burn while we're gone.
9:45ish We get socks and shoes and jackets on and get in the van. Wednesday is our running errands day, but we have a short list today, so we're getting a late start.
10:10ish We arrive at the library. I decide to park between the library and the waterfront park (they're a block apart) since we are having a picnic at the park afterwards. We fill our bag with reserves, then head back to the children's section. D1 selects some more fairy tales (as always); D2 decides he wants books about sea creatures and then spots The Lorax and is lost to the world. D3 and D4 play with the puzzles and pull board books off the shelf.
10:50ish I notice that the children's section of the library is starting to smell really bad. I notice that it is coming from D4's direction. I decide it is time to head back to the van.
11:00 We finally make it to the front desk and I check out. The librarian gets her day's amusement watching me try to get the right coat back on the right kid and rouse D2, who is now lying on the floor in the middle of the library reading The Lorax.
11:05 We walk the half-block out to the van, hauling a very full library bag and a couple of extra stacks, only to realize that I left the purse at the counter in the library. I briefly consider leaving the bag by the van (it's a sunny, dry day), consider the awful consequences if someone made off with them, and haul the full bag, two extra stacks, and four kids all back to the library. The smiling librarian hands over my purse.
11:10 We get back to the van and I realize I never brought the diaper bag at all. Fortunately I also never clean out the van, and there's a stray diaper and some paper towels that will serve.
11:20 We finally make it to the park with our lunch and a large bag of stale bread for the birds. We suddenly become the most popular people at the park as birds gather around looking for bread and children gather around looking for bread to give to the birds.
11:50 We eat our lunch. (Toasted cheese, peppers, apples)
12:00 We head back to the car via the beach. D4 is still freaked out by the beach after we nearly got caught by the rising tide last fall. We all take note of bird footprints in the sand.
12:20 We get to the grocery store to pick up the week's supply of milk, plus bananas on general principles and avocados and spinach to go with supper. D4 insists on getting a car cart.
1:00 We pick up the regular babysitter (shall we call her MP, for Mary Poppins?) who comes on Tuesday and Wednesday afternoons. I am deeply grateful to have someone of sufficient stature to help with hauling everything in.
1:30 The older ducklings are already playing The Adventures of Robin Hood on CD while they cut pictures out of magazines; MP is getting the twins ready for naps. I retire to my room. Over the next three and a half hours, I do two hours of legal work, plus a small amount of napping, reading (A Whole New Mind by Daniel Pink, not as great as its back represents but has some interesting further reading recommendations), laundry folding, and checking message boards. I consider going for a walk, but figure I have had lots of fresh air and walking today.
5:00 I head upstairs to fix supper. The twins are back up and MP has organized a game of hide and seek.
6:00 We sit down to supper (black beans with rice, hardboiled eggs, steamed spinach, guacamole, orange slices) with Their Majesties; they will take MP back home on their way to visit Her Majesty's parents.
6:45 DOB pulls in as we are clearing the supper dishes. He walks in and settles the crisis that has arisen while he is walking in the door (D2 has knocked down D4's sofa cushion fort); when he heads downstairs D2 and D4 commence to happily building forts together. I bring him his supper downstairs and go back up to do the dishes. D1 gets her pajamas on right after supper since it is her night to have a special play time with DOB. D3 starts coloring, then gets annoyed when her hands get covered with ink and soaks her dress washing it off.
7:20 I finish the dishes and persuade D4 to accompany me downstairs; D1, D2, and D3 are all piled on the loveseat reading new library books. D3 apparently has already memorized Each Peach Pear Plum from someone reading it to her. DOB finishes his supper and he and D1 go off to race cars. I get the other three ready for bed and read to them.
7:50 We have evening prayers and tuck everyone into bed.
8:00 I fix dessert and tea for me and DOB. I start writing this.
9:00 We should have already quit and headed for bed by now.

Faces