And So It Goes

DOB did have a headache yesterday, but then it resolved itself into the flu, and now his flu is almost gone so he has a headache again. I martyred my way through yesterday and spent today lying on the couch and whimpering. So the ducklings--who are still in good health and excellent spirits--have been running the house themselves, and doing a fine job of it, considering their lack of experience and height.

D1 trots about carrying Kleenexes and glasses of water and empty dishes to wherever they may be desired. D2 trots behind, only sometimes he trips and falls on all the strange things that have grown out of the floor in the last few days. They have both found plenty to amuse themselves, whether it be baptizing their blankies in the toilet (fortunately I caught that one just in time) or throwing tomato cans under the couch.

The only real trouble is with food. They tried raw potatoes out of the pantry, but I really didn't approve of that. However, neither DOB nor I can bear the sight or smell of most actual food. Many foods in theory sound good--I'm craving Bisquick pancakes with cheap syrup, myself--but in presence they seldom live up to their potential, and anyway, we can't stand up for that long.

So the ducklings have been living on hard-boiled eggs and bread with peanut butter, and other things that the cook doesn't have to smell long, and they've been eating unsupervised, which makes for a kitchen that doesn't bear description. The server sits shuddering in the other room, waiting for the dreaded, "Mo? MO!" or the equally fearsome, if more polite, "I would like some more, please."

Happy Valentine's Day

I have no thoughts for you on romantic getaways. We're iced in, although I'm sure DOB will try to brave the roads and get to work sooner or later. Right now he's in bed with a monstrous headache. At least our power hasn't gone out, unlike most of the city.

I further have no thoughts on making a romantic dinner at home, because tonight we will be lucky if I manage to fix any food at all. I was hoping for a 24-hour-bug, but it seems to want at least 48. About all I can get down is applesauce and yogurt. I'm just waiting with bated breath for the ducklings to come down sick.

I was going to at least make a card, but that would require going upstairs to where the card-making supplies are, and I'm not sure I'm up to the trip.

Love is when everything goes wrong and you still can't imagine anywhere else to be or anyone else to be with.

This Bodes Not Well

Last week we had bad colds and a snowstorm.

This week, it's shaping up to be the stomach flu and an ice storm. Oh, and yesterday, two flat tires.

I'm not sure I want to know what next week will turn out like.

In a galaxy far, far away . . .

On any personality test that measures how abstract one's thought processes are, mine are always at the far abstract end of the chart. I have heard there's a planet called Earth, I may have visited there once, but I really couldn't tell you how to get there.

So when I read a discussion awhile back about Mommy Time (which is too far lost in archives for me to bother digging up, as usual), one commenter's thoughts really resonated with me--it's not the children themselves an abstract person gets tired of, it's having to be Right Here, Right Now. Little children aren't much for abstract discussions. They're always having their heads bonked, their feelings hurt, and their pants wet, right here in the concrete.

And thus Mama, who only really knows how to live with her head in the clouds, is always being jerked back to earth. Every thirty seconds, all day long. Jerk, jerk, jerk. It hurts. It's tiring. What I need to recover is not necessarily to be away from the children--I do love hearing their happy little voices and watching their little wheels turn--it's being free from the constant barrage of decisions and interventions that small children require, and instead having some time to think. Or read. Or write.

Fortunately DOB is kind and understanding, and although he is abstract enough to listen to me, he's also concrete enough to change lanes safely. Or notice when the squabbles have reached a fever pitch. So yesterday, when he saw I was completely lost in a fairytale, he kindly dealt with as many problems as he could himself, and was remarkably patient with my distraction every time he had to contact me for information.

"Earlier, while you were in Russia . . . " he would explain and update me on what was happening in our little duchy.

I do hope this situation improves as they get a little older and better able to care for their more immediate needs themselves. I'm even hopeful that D1 will continue in her current role as The One Who Knows How It All Should Be Done and thus mediate between my dazedness and subsequent ducklings.

For D2, I'm not so hopeful. I see him pause in his play, a blank expression on his face, as he stares off into the distant galaxies. Before too long, perhaps, he'll talk well enough that we can compare notes.

Strange and possibly, though not creditably, Unique Thoughts

* That whole business about the little house not being able to be sold for gold or silver? That had to violate the Rule Against Perpetuities.

* This week I had a library book that was so absolutely and forlornly lost, even after six weeks of searching, that I simply had to up and pay for it. Fortunately, it was only four dollars. Unfortunately, it wasn't one I particularly would be thrilled to own, if it ever does turn up. But the occurence did put a thought in my head. Suppose I find a book at the library that I really, really want to own. Suppose further that this book is rare or out of print, and even further that it looks like something the library is going to ditch soon in favor of more shelf space. Of course, the chances of me happening across it at just the right library sale are very slim indeed. How evil would it be to, ah, "lose" the book and pay for it, and then "find" it again but decide not to bother about getting my money back? Evil, evil, evil. I blot the thought from my mind.

Siblings

D2's movement into D1's room meant more than just more sleep for me. It also focused them as siblings--them on the one hand, and us, the grownups, on the other. We hear them there chattering after they've been put to bed or before we go get them up in the morning. (This is completely fine with us as long as there's no yelling or getting out of bed.)

Maybe it's also that they've had so much time lately to interact primarily with each other, mostly, I'm afraid, because I'm suffering from such a bad case of cabin fever that I would rather not interact with anything closer than the sky. Anyway, they're busy with their own invented games and plays, into which I am only occasionally invited to enter.

Brothers and sisters of a close age, growing up together, spending all day with only as much supervision as a tired mother can spare, have their own world in a way I doubt any other people can have. No one else has so much time or so much curiosity. I set the boundaries of their world; I provide the raw material. But the world is their own.

I don't mind being a grownup to awfully much, but I am a little jealous.

This Day Had to Come

D2 came into the world with a ride in an ambulance. He has "accident waiting to happen" in big black and blue marks across his forehead. So perhaps the only surprising thing about last night is that it took him sixteen months to take us to the ER with an injury.

The scenario was the same one that happens about once an hour: slip, fall, bang head. Only instead of the relatively forgiving wood floor or door frames he usually encounters, he hit the brick corner of the fireplace. We immediately dropped our so-far fruitless attempts to get the borrowed TV to show the Super Bowl and began working on keeping his head still enough to bandage it. He was not helpful in this endeavor. In fact, he screamed non-stop from the moment it happened until a nurse kindly brought him some applesauce, which allowed us to answer in the negative with complete confidence when asked if he had lost consciousness.

D1 was perfectly calm about the whole thing, once it was explained to her, and went about getting her shoes and coat on to go visit her friends while we were gone. She would be a much easier child to take to the ER, but that is why she is much less likely to go there.

D2 was reasonably happy from snack time through playing with some bowls of water until people actually started working on his head again, whereupon he resumed his former song. Because he was so young, the nurse had me apply the numbing solution to his head. We were struggling to hold him down and put it on, as the nurse had told us to "Hold it there as long as you can."

"How long exactly should we try for?" I asked.

"Fifteen minutes," she said. Fifteen minutes! I was feeling pleased that I had held it on for fifteen seconds. She finally put some tape on it, which allowed us to devote our attention to keeping his hands away.

While a later nurse was washing out his wound (with plain water, no fancy antiseptic stuff), she jerked the syringe too hard sucking in the next batch of water and managed to knock the bowl of water all over the floor and the doctor. He was, fortunately, an exceedingly nice fellow. We opted for glue instead of stitches, thinking it would involve less holding him down. They were going to swaddle him for the actual stitching, but they couldn't find the necessary contraption, so we had to once again resort to our finely-honed Toddler Restraint skills.

Meanwhile DOB's family, who were coming over to watch the Super Bowl, arrived, let themselves in, got the TV working, set out food, and fetched D1. DOB did get to watch most of the second half after we got back. Not that he was highly concerned about it at that point, but still, he was glad to see the Colts win.

D2 continued in unabated misery until we put him to bed, but he slept soundly last night and has been quite chipper this morning, except for a cough not helped by the running around in the cold last night. So far he hasn't re-bumped his head, which is amazing, considering how many times he's fallen down, once about five inches from his scene of triumph last night.

The nurses said they hoped not to see us again too soon, but they didn't sound too confident.

Colds and Colder

That's why I say, "Duckie!
Don't grumble! Don't stew!
Some critters are much-much,
oh, ever so much-much,
so muchly much-much more unlucky than you!"

There are indeed much-much more unluckier creatures out there, such as those who must be Out in the Cold today, whereas we, who have sniffles and such, have holed up like bears for the winter this weekend, except for a brief trip out for me yesterday to stock us up on movies and butter for popcorn (popcorn is essential sore throat food) and a brief trip out for DOB today to get a car we left behind a few days ago.

Our haul at the library proved quite productive: we had a Rudyard Kipling adaptation to watch yesterday and a Dickens for today, plus a few extra comedies if we have enough time. Which is not too likely because DOB is awaiting a TV to arrive so that he can watch the Colts tonight.

The ducklings are alternately happy as larks and miserable sniffling wretches, according to how long it has been since they slept. We had chicken and dumplings yesterday and hamburger and vegetable soup today. It's so cold we have to put our coats on to go to the basement; it's so cold we gritted our teeth and turned the heat up to seventy (which has nothing to do with the temperature of the house anywhere within six feet of a window) so that the children wouldn't freeze if they pulled the covers off, which they always do.

It's cold. And we do not have a dog that needs walked, or groceries that need shopped for, or a furnace that keeps breaking. Yes, there are critters ever so muchly more unlucky.

The Forecast

Snow had fallen,
Snow on snow,
Snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter
Long ago.

I have just discovered Accuweather, and I wish I hadn't. Before I could blithely go from day to day, thinking the cold would surely lighten up in a day or two and we could go back outside. Not that DOB didn't warn me that it's a bad sign when birds go about their daily activities as if everything wasn't frozen solid. Maybe the birds were wrong.

Anyway, now I've looked at the official forecast, and it shows ice and cold continuing for weeks and deepening in the next few days. After the first glorious play-in-the-snow day a week and a half ago, I was satisfied. After a week of intermittent snow to no purpose and uninterrupted cold, I was done. Add some runny noses and another week, and I'm running close to desperate. (Oh, Accuweather forecasts health, too. High chance of colds, very high chance of flu. Lovely.)

Actually, it's not been too bad. But it does seem like this will be easier when the ducklings are a little older. If they were older, we could read The Long Winter and Snow Treasure and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. We could construct a city out of old boxes or make ingenious little paper toys or decorate elaborate cookies or get ahead on schoolwork so that when the weather does warm up we would feel no guilt about spending all day at the park.

We do have books to read, we just have to read the same ones over and over. (Yesterday it was Kitchen Words. Cup. Spatula. Whisk.) Playdough remains popular, and so does coloring. I think I'll move the picnic table up from the basement--even there is too cold to play these days--to the living room, so they can color without imperilling their heads in falling off the dining room chairs. I have been making progress on the filing while they play in the attic.

The good news is, the washing machine has been fixed. It turned out to be a hose plugged with lint. That sounds like a problem even within the reach of stick-poking, so perhaps we will learn how to fix it ourselves in the future. Anyway, now we have clean laundry again, although I am even more convinced of the value of wearing clothes multiple times, when possible. It's difficult when one of them is potty training and the other's drool is a major tributary of the Ohio River, but every once in awhile there's a salvageable garment that can serve as one more day's insurance against a laundry catastrophe.

Washing Wear

I've had my suspicions about the washing machine for some time, since it left a rather damp spot on the floor after some loads, but it wasn't until the second load of laundry yesterday--which was admittedly an overlarge one, so perhaps the fault was partly mine--that it gave up entirely. I ran downstairs to switch loads in a lull in the playdough action and discovered rivers of water overflowing the machine and running across the basement floor, right through all the sorted piles of clothes, into the drain. (An unfinished basement is a great advantage.)

I managed to persuade it to stop filling and even to drain out the water that it had, but beyond that I didn't dare to try. DOB's father, who is ordinarily our person to look at uncooperative machinery, is required to stay off his feet for awhile. DOB and I have the practical mechanical prowess of a chimpanzee--we can poke sticks at things, but if the hole to poke isn't obvious, we generally step back and let someone else do it. (Well, perhaps that is a bit hard on DOB. His theoretical abilities are greater. But he hasn't much time or energy left for poking.)

Although there is certainly considerable annoyance at anything not working, there's also a sort of high adventure in it. Every appliance malfunction is a sort of shipwreck, and the more critical the appliance, the more glorious the smash-up, and the more precious every piece of flotsam and jetsam that can be rescued. I was giddy with delight this afternoon to discover that I had managed to get one of D2's shirts in the first load, as well as several socks for myself, and to realize that D1 still has one shirt left that will go with the one pair of her jeans that made it through.

Further, a sail is in sight. DOB has located a repairman who will come by tomorrow, and his mother kindly took the more desparate loads to wash at her house.

Things I Never Would Have Thought of Before Having Toddlers

* Drooling can be a competitive sport. (And if they continue to take after their father, pretty soon they'll have a complex of rules and measurement methods. Three bibs in a morning! Woo-hoo!)

* A trip to the potty is a community activity, requiring the active involvement of all present members of the family, plus a few dolls and/or stuffed animals.

* A piece of broccoli can be the starring figure in a riveting drama. ("The Adventures of Ulysses the Broccoli in the Perilous Sea of Tomato Sauce." I know it was Ulysses, because he always avoids being eaten.)

Homemaking Meme

Picked up second-hand, like most of my furnishings.

Aprons – Y/N? If Y, what does your favorite look like?
I either wear an apron or wish I had. The old, grungy, all-over ones get worn day after day while the cute short ones languish in neglect.

Baking – Favorite thing to bake
Biscuits: quick, homey, and not too messy. And I now have a recipe that represents a reasonable compromise between fluffiness and nutrition.

Clothesline – Y/N?
No, but I do have a couple of clothes racks in the basement.

Donuts – Have you ever made them?
We used to always make them for New Year's when I was younger. I've never made them in my own house, though, as I don't have a deep-fryer. Someday I'm going to try a baked doughnut recipe.

Every day – One homemaking thing you do every day
Dishes. Every hour, really.

Freezer – Do you have a separate deep freeze?
Yes, and I would have a very hard time functioning without it. It's an old one from DOB's parents.

Garbage Disposal – Y/N?
No, No, a thousand times NO! We do not get along. We never have, and we never will. Plus, our current sink has but one hole. We had the garbage disposal taken out and an honest drain put in.

Handbook – What is your favorite homemaking resource?
Well, if it doesn't sound too arrogant, my own head. I like to think about things and figure them out for myself.

Ironing – Love it or hate it? Or hate it but love the results?
I don't hate it, but I wouldn't exactly say I love it. But I can't stand wrinkles, so I do it regardless.

Junk drawer – Y/N? Where is it?
Yes, in the kitchen.

Kitchen – Color and decorating scheme
Carrots, naturally. Right now it's white but I want to paint it celery green.

Love – What is your favorite part of homemaking?
Those aha! moments when I make something new work.

Mop – Y/N?
I plead the fifth.

Nylons – Wash by hand or in the washing machine?
In the washing machine.

Oven – Do you use the window or open the oven to check?
There's a window?

Pizza – What do you put on yours?
Turkey sausage, mushrooms, green peppers, olives.

Quiet – What do you do during the day when you get a quiet moment?
I'd rather read but I usually check the internet because it doesn't require such a commitment.

Recipe card box – Y/N? What does it look like?
No, but I have a random pile of recipes getting bent and spilled upon.

Style of house – What style is your house?
1930sish Cape Cod with mint green siding and white trim. The mint green is definitely not my choice, but I'd rather live with it than change it.

Tablecloths and napkins – Y/N?
Considering how often D2 bonks his head on the table and falls over, tablecloths are definitely not a good idea. Cloth napkins we use, or more often just cheap terry washcloths.

Under the kitchen sink – Organized or toxic wasteland?
I don't like what this question implies.

Vacuum – How many times per week?
1. We only have carpet in the bedrooms.

2. We don't allow food anywhere near them.

3. The carpet is a mottled tan berber that wouldn't show the trackings of the high school football team after a rainstorm.
4. The ducklings periodically decide they are afraid of the vacuum cleaner.
5. None of us are especially fastidious.
6. You guess how often we vacuum.

Wash – How many loads of laundry do you do per week?
Ten to twelve, house on one day, clothes on another, diapers as needed.

X’s – Do you keep a daily list of things to do that you cross off?
No, but occasionally I make a weekly list and get it done by the end of the month.

Yard – Y/N? Who does what?
We have a yard, which we try to avoid because of the killer swarms of mosquitoes. DOB's brothers mow it when needed.

Zzz’s – What is your last homemaking task for the day before going to bed?
Make sure the bedside water bottles are filled. We're all about proper hydration here.

Happy Things

Looking back over last week's posts, they look dreadfully whiny. Ugh. Lack of sleep is an explanation, but not an excuse. However, the sleep situation has much improved. D2 adjusted happily to his new bed. He likes being in there. D1 likes him being there. I like having him in there. I can sleep now, instead of listening to him breathe.

With him out of the closet, in the literal sense, other Useful Things could go back into the closet, like DOB's ties and our coats, which were all in D1's closet, and soon a grand closet rearranging forthcame. D1 immediately caught onto the idea and gathered up a huge pile of blankets and books to dump on the floor of the closet. She was actually quite helpful when I could remember to give her something to do.

Indeed, D1 is so handy to have around the house, it's a little disturbing. Saturday evening I had just dumped all the vegetables in the stew, and, without uttering a word, was looking around the kitchen trying to figure out where I had set down the spoon. D1 started squealing, "Right there! Right there!" and pointing to the counter. "What's right there?" I asked. "The spoons are right there!" she said, pointing to the utensil crock.

On the topic of stew, although half or more of the family responds with displeasure to squash in any identifiable form, chopped up with carrots and potatoes in a stew or minestrone it passes without comment. This is helping me with my resolve to use more seasonal vegetables and stop trying to make peppers and tomatoes work in the dead of winter. Also, DOB adores steamed cabbage, although the ducklings are still rather skeptical.

D2 had his first haircut this weekend. I could have handled the fluffy blond curls a little longer had they been all over, but the little fringe in the back with nothing on top was looking odd. When DOB uttered the word "mullet," I knew it was time to get out the scissors. It's very uneven, owing to his complete non-comprehension of "hold your head still," and my lack of ideas on how to compensate, but since it's still fine baby-hair it doesn't really show. Next time I give the ducklings haircuts I think I'll make an exception to our usual policies and let them watch a movie. Maybe that will hold his head still for, oh, thirty seconds at a stretch.

It's a good world, even though it's going to be too cold to play outside all week, and the ducklings have too bad of colds to go anywhere where other people might be. If I have sleep, I can deal with it. And if I get exercise every day, I can sleep. And I've discovered that even walking around the outside of the house while the ducklings nap is enough to get the blood flowing, whatever it may lack in the appearance of sanity.

The Book I Wish I Had

I wish I had a book. Unfortunately, none of the 1,358 (just a wild guess) books lying around the house seems quite the ticket. Last night was another less than stellar experience in the sleep department (as of RIGHT NOW, D2 is out of our room and sleeping in D1's room), and the brain is foggy. Yet sleep continues to elude me. (Maybe it's not just D2's fault that I don't sleep. More fresh air and exercise would no doubt be helpful, but it's been well below freezing all week, and spending half an hour tracking down lost boots and putting everything on to endure twenty minutes of stumbling around outside in said boots, with tears every ten steps from falling over, and then another half hour of taking everything off once inside--well, it dampens even my enthusiasm for the Great Outdoors.)

So anyway, I want a book. Of course I have three going right now, but none of them are quite the ticket: The Odyssey (MUCH more enjoyable than the Iliad; I'll write more when I finish it); excerpts from Plutarch's Lives; and a book called Science and Creation, a scholarly tome on why various civilizations never got very far in the realm of science, owing to their philosophical allegiance to faulty ideas. All very productive and worthwhile, but not exactly anything to just sit down and while away a nice, long naptime whizzing through.

The nice, long naptime IS an amazing thing. We made much of D2's transition from his former bed (which was technically a playpen wedged into our closet) to the crib in D1's room. After I cleaned out all the blankets and toys which had volunteered to fill the empty space after we gave up on persuading D2 to sleep in there when we first moved in, I let D1 climb in there first and play. This was, naturally, all it took for D2 to be eager to join her. So when naptime finally rolled around, he was not too terrified of getting in there, and only took one reminder to lie back down and half a chapter of Science and Creation before he dozed off. And they are still both sleeping angelically, nearly two hours later.

The bitter, bitter irony is that I have all sorts of books that would be just right awaiting me at the library. But they weren't in there on Monday, when we usually go to the library, and of course I can't go until the kids get up, and once they get up I won't have time to read, and so I might as well wait until the next library day, as on the weekends DOB is handy to while away naptimes with.

Of course, if I actually went in the other room and looked, I could probably find something worth reading . . . just in time for the kids to wake up.

Besides, whining is so much more fun!

The Scavenger Hunt

And here is my entry in the Jones' scavenger hunt. Now if only there was an evening of free babysitting to win along with a gift card!

* Shoe
"For Christmas this year my hero asked for these boots, to match mine that I’ve had for several years. How romantic!"
Those shoes look equal to any weather, and Rebecca solves the problem of what to wear with them at The Space Between my Peers.

* Tooth
The PrairieFrogs begin a new tooth tradition:

"As the loose tooth season begins, (our eldest is 6) we begin a new PrairieFrog tradition!

Just after bedtime, Kaira's much wiggled tooth finally let go. We let her slip out of bed to put the treasured tooth in a tea cup for the night.

Tomorrow our gap-smiled girl will wake to find a love-note from Mommy and Daddy in her tea cup, along with a tea bag (apple-cinnamon), so she can enjoy the treat of tea with breakfast."

~Tooth in a Teacup

* An odd name
"Stuart has inherited my compulsion to name everything. Some of his more memorable christenings:

* Pinky-pom
* Cholken
* Cracker-Barrel (a cyclops)
* Organize (a mountain giant)"
From The Namer at Keeping Up.
(I think a mountain giant named Organize is exactly what I need around here.)

* Car (fancier the better)
Here's some pictures of a shack on wheels, a hamburger car and a "stilleto car," plus a few more. From Amazingly Bizarre.

* Frightful dilemma
Amy agonizes over the difficulties of grownup life (and more specifically, working from home, which I'm not sure I would have the guts to do):
"Today is the type of day I wish I could sit somewhere near a window, read a good book, and periodically look outside at the beautiful falling snow. Unfortunately there is no time for that luxury today. . . . Here’s something for my hall of shame. I still haven’t unpacked from our trip yet!! I’m just now starting laundry. Meredith has been sick and wants to be held constantly. Today is the first day she’s seemed more autonomous. Plus, I have a work deadline fast approaching and that tends to take first priority around here."
From Yearning.

* Discussion of childbirth
"Did you know that giraffes literally drop their babies from a great height at birth? It's too risky to lie down to do it. The babies survive. But imagine if someone at a zoo took a notion that "dropping" your young was too primitive and started a trend of strapping mama giraffes down, flat on their backs. . . ."
Birth, A Surprising History, at The Cappucino Life


* Theological discussion/debate
On the rare occasions when I actually feel like a theological debate, I know I can always find one at Adventures in Mercy:

" . . . considering how a complementarian rendering of 1 Timothy 2:12 should be worked out in the Real World is certainly food for thought. If a woman is literally not to be in authority over a man, how does that play out in our daily lives? In the church world, what Scriptural justification can be given for allowing a woman to lead worship music but not to preach a sermon? In the secular arena, does it negate submitting to a female leader in politics or on the job? Or does 1 Timothy 2:12 only apply when we walk into the doors of a church building (and if so, how have you come to that conclusion)?"

You can follow the link and read all of the 10 Questions for Complementarians, as well as various people's answers. And what do I think of all this? Don't I wish I knew.

* Funny line, joke, short post
"Me (from my chair in the living room): [Push] The button that says CD.

Emeline: But how is it spelled?

Me (laughing, but trying to enunciate): It’s spelled C D.

Emeline: What letters spell CD?."
Maybe we need more spelling lessons, at A Familiar Path.

* Train
We ourselves see trains at the park from time to time, though it's been awhile since I mentioned it:

"Best of all, our lives have been full of heavy equipment lately. Workmen have been tearing up and replacing the sidewalk near the park, so we've watched Bobcats, cement trucks, Caterpillars and lots of men in hardhats. One memorable morning, a real live train actually went by on the tracks that run through the park. All quite thrilling."

* Hairbrush
At Dewey's Treehouse, a Christmas game involves a quotation that refers to a hairbrush, or the lack thereof:
“That was a wonderful day. It was a treasure, and no mistake! I never saw such heaps and heaps of presents, like things out of a fairy-tale—and even Eliza had a shawl. Perhaps she deserved it, for she did cook the rabbit and the pudding; and Oswald says it is not her fault if her nose turns up and she does not brush her hair. I do not think Eliza likes brushing things. It is the same with the carpets. But Oswald tries to make allowances even for people who do not wash their ears.”

If you want to find out what book that was from, you'll have to look up the answers.

* An appeal for money
Semicolon asked for donations for the Salvation Army during December:

"Last year during the month of December I set up a Salvation Army Red Kettle in my sidebar through which readers could make secure online donations to the Salvation Army. This year I’m doing the same –two days early.

If you’ve enjoyed reading the posts here at Semicolon this year, please consider a small donation (or a large one) to the Salvation Army. You can donate online by clicking on the red kettle in the sidebar."

Of course, it's a little late this year, but maybe you can do it next year.

* Hobby
The First Year Boy at the Common Room has a rather dangerous one, in the manner of small boys.
". . . He has of late enjoyed another pasttime as well, and in honor of the time he has spent in solitary confinement to consider his sins I offer the following:

I shot an arrow into the air
It fell to earth
above the stair
It flew swiftly
and out of sight,
Tis true,
But it landed almost 'zactly
Where I wanted it to. . . . "
From The Arrow, at The Common Room

* Green
Meredith at Like Merchant Ships uses green to make a frog-and-bug bedside table for her son:

"Even though I did much more of this project, Andrew still enjoyed participating. We talked about how to make the colors we needed (no black, so we substituted dark green and brown). He would look at the encyclopedia and describe the shapes and details for me. Why do tree frogs have circles at the end of their fingers? How many legs does a garden spider have? Then he filled in my rough outlines with paint."

You really must to follow the links and see the picture; it's the coolest piece of furniture. I want one! Maybe someday I'll paint the old dresser we have in the kids' room.

Paper Tigers

It's been calling my name for some time now, but today the call of the unfiled papers rose to a deafening roar and I succumbed. You know those tasks you put off for months, dreading the very thought of them, and when at last you buckle down and do them, they turn out not so bad?

This wasn't one of them. Half an hour I spent at it (which is an enormous chunk of time when you have two small children busily rearranging the attic while you try to work at it) and only succeeding in strewing vaguely-sorted piles of paper everywhere, pinching a few fingers in the drawers, and coming to the conclusion that, although we have every other receipt from Lands End for the last three years, we don't have the one receipt I need to find.

It will take me weeks to get the mess put away, and I don't know where next to look for the receipt. And I didn't get far enough to feel any noble glow of accomplishment. (Even when I finish, the glow will be miniscule, because even an overflowing pile of paper is only a very small amount of cubic space cleaned.)

I hate filing.

Miscellaneous

Here's a hint Heloise never recorded: if you have small children, or if you are uncoordinated, and especially both, you will have frequent spills on the floor. Some will be of the wet type, and some will be of the sticky type. If, when you have a wet spill, you use the resulting wet rag to wipe up any recent sticky spills, you can put off mopping the floor for a surprisingly long time.

I have had to relax my lifelong No-Christmas-Carols-After-Advent rule to make an Adorable Toddler exception: When D2 rocks himself back and forth and says, " 'way? 'way?" we are allowed to sing "Away in a Manger."

D1, however, is not so much into Christmas carols anymore now that she has learned "London Bridge is Falling Down." She is obsessed with this song, even without knowing the accompanying game (which we are not quite numerous and coordinated enough to attempt). Naturally I fed this obsession by finding a copy of the Peter Spier book at the library. Meanwhile, I'm working on learning "Oranges and Lemons" before our book of Mother Goose tunes has to go back to the library. (BTW: Why are all the good picture books going out of print? And why are so many stupid ones being printed instead? I've given up on even finding good books by looking at the library; there's too much drivel to wade through. I have to know what I want and reserve it in advance.)

We had snow, real snow, at last yesterday. We weren't expecting it at all, and were most perplexed to be awakened by what we first thought were garbage trucks on a Sunday morning. In the afternoon we were able to go out and play with friends, which is essential for fun in the snow, especially when they have a hill in their yard and we do not. The ducklings did quite well for their first try at winter sports; D1 wasn't too impressed, but she managed a couple of sled rides and pats on the snowman. D2 was thrilled with sledding, and went down a dozen times or more, alone and on his belly, with the greatest of glee, even if he had to spit snow out of his face at the end. The dads, of course, had the most fun of anybody.

The Siege of Troy

So I finally finished the Iliad, two moves after starting it. Part of the fault was misplacing it during the moves, but part of it was also getting bogged down in the middle. Homer requests to sing of the anger of Achilles, and it is his anger that structures the story: his anger at Agamemnon for stealing his girl that takes him out of the fight, and his anger at Hector for killing his best friend that takes him back into it. Frankly, Achilles is not admirable for much except his fighting; but that seems to be the primary qualification for a hero for the Greeks.

It is while Achilles is out sulking that the tale begins to drag. Why so much tedious detail on the mode of death and personal history of every soldier? Did Homer fear that if he left anything out, some outraged and heavily-armed latter-day Greek would rise and say, "How could you leave out how my ancester Peneleos slew Iloneous, son of Phorbas, wealthiest of the Trojans, by spearing him through the eye?"

An odd thing, from a modern perspective, is that there is simply no interest in the justice of one side over the other. It's not just that Homer, as an impartial later observer, helps us see the good and bad on each side; it's that nobody involved cares whether or not they are "in the right" in a cosmic sense. Fighting is just something people do, from personal motives, mostly, and because they apparently have nothing better to do with their time. You don't need a grand moral justification for going out and trying to kill other people; it's all the fault of the gods, anyway, who are finding things dull on Olympus and want to stir up a little trouble.

However, even if there is not a great war of good and evil to side with, there is the matter of whether you fight well or bravely, honorably or dishonorably; whether you stand your ground or act like a coward. Even that is not entirely within the power of mortals to control, but we can at least try.

Random Pictures I've been Meaning to Post

Some faces it's impossible to resist, the one picture where we were all looking at the camera, and the ducklings hanging out in their new house.

Ooo! Ooo!

It's a Blog Scavenger Hunt, and you want to play, right? Of course right!

In Which I Resolve to be Lazier

While there is a side of me that is definitely random, spontaneous, creative, and even (though I hate to admit it) touchy-feely, there is also the other side to me that got me dubbed the designated engineer at my former workplace. I love plotting things out: designing databases, writing curriculum, and making grand, all-encompassing housework plans.

With the new year, I had some lovely changes to make. No more letting dishes sit in the sink overnight! No more leaving DOB's ironing until the last minute! More cooking in advance to make things easier! Actually mopping the floor occasionally! It all worked beautifully on paper. I even resolved to leave the computer off until after lunch to prevent me being distracted during the morning.

Maybe I should have waited until D2 and I had stabilized a bit more after weaning. Maybe I should have just tried one new thing at a time. Anyway, I crashed. Badly. Post-weaning hormones may have had something to do with it, as may a little scheme by the ducklings. I think this is what they're talking about when they seem to be playing sweetly together in the other room:

D2: I'm pretty tired tonight, do you think you can handle it?
D1: I could probably manage two or three potty runs, but then I'll be wiped out. Can you do Monday night?
D2: Yeah, I think I'll do the old whimper-in-my-sleep trick. That's not too tiring and really drives her crazy.
D1: Good. Don't wear yourself out; we have to make sure we don't let naptime last too long.
D2: How long do you think it will take for her to get tired enough to send us to see Grandma?

So, the last two days, I have regressed. The dishes have sat. The laundry has sat. I turn the computer on right away in the morning so that I'll be sure to sit down and waste some time instead of trying to get up and straighten everything up. I'm starting to feel quite a bit better.

I haven't entirely given up, though. I still have plans to cook up six pounds of turkey sausage this afternoon to make future meals easier.

But I probably won't wash the pot today.

The Natural Balance, as it pertains to Sleep

It's my theory that in every set of parents there is one naturally gifted with the ability to sleep through an attack of armed bandits, and one who awakens every time the children roll over in their sleep. It is not always the father who is the former and the mother who is the latter, but in our case, it is. That is why I scoff when I hear suggestions about fathers helping out in the night. (Ha, ha!)

It is a far, far easier task to take D1 to the potty and answer whatever questions have been troubling her in the night ("Does Papa have a night-night blanket?"), provide D2 with his requisite 20 ounces of water, repeat all bedtime routines and convince them both to go back to sleep than it is to awaken DOB. I think he would wake up if I told him armed bandits were attacking, but only long enough to run them all through. Then he would promptly fall back to sleep. Whereas if I hear a rustle coming from D2's bed I awaken and lie there, heart pounding, for half an hour, wondering if he is about to wake up.

Now, there is good cause for this, of course. If all parents were sound sleepers, the children would die of anguish in the night. If all parents were light sleepers, the parents would die of anguish after about three days with no one getting any sleep at all. But it is hard to be philosophical about the balance of nature when one returns from the third trip of the night to see a contented log undisturbed in the bed.

However, things are looking up. A bit. D2, upon weaning, often sleeps all the way through the night, at long last. And last night we tried the experiment of leaving his water in bed with him, whereupon we discovered that he can find it and drink from it unassisted when he wakes up in the middle of the night.

Eragon vs. Taran

I read Eragon this week, and couldn't help constantly comparing it, rather unfavorably, to Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles, which I read about this time last year. They are both fantasies centered on the theme of a young man facing various trials and lessons which prepare him for leadership. (The Prydain Chronicles are aimed at a younger audience, though.)

Paolini is a young man, and his hero gets what young people think they need to face the world: skills, power, street smarts, and freedom.

Alexander, though, while he puts his hero and heroine through the obligatory battles and magical encounters of fantasy, focuses on some quite different lessons: humility, dependence on others, relinquishing of power, enough self-knowledge to cure one of self-focus, and a willingness to do the dull and unglamourous tasks simply because they need to be done. I'm not very old yet, myself (at least I don't FEEL very old yet), but my money's on Alexander's take on growing up.

Besides, he's a lot funnier.

Frugal Friday: An Assortment of Curtains

I've never done a Frugal Friday before, but since I stumbled across the topic for the week and it was precisely something I wanted to blog about anyway, I proceed. This is one of Wondergirl's many projects while she was out. In the one corner, the living/dining room with an assortment of oddly-shaped windows and white, white, white walls. In the other corner, Wondergirl armed with a pile of identical burgundy rose sheers inherited from our great aunt. I think she may have used a few safety pins, but other than that, adapting the curtains to the different windows was simply a matter of ingenious draping. The white panels I swiped from my great aunt (or possibly grandmother?) at an earlier date. They're considerably shorter than the burgundy panels, but if you tuck them behind, you can't tell. The tie backs are cut from tulle that was on wedding gifts. The only expenditure on this entire project was a much-needed support for the center of the long curtain rod--otherwise, we just used whatever hardware was on the windows and some cup hooks and nails we had on hand.

Someday I'm going to paint this whole room a nice creamy tan, but until then, these have greatly relieved the white.

Miscellaneous

It is not helpful, when one is trying to wean a toddler, to have an older sibling who likes to announce the next activity--"D2! You need to nurse!"--before I can stop her and remind her that no, he doesn't do that anymore. Nonetheless, we must really be done since that didn't really upset him, although it did make him exceedingly eager for me to get on the sandwiches (which were peanut butter and banana, even though DOB thinks that's gross).

Yesterday I was making pizza with the assistance of the ducklings, which means I was making pizzas, D1 was standing on a chair occasionally sprinkling cheese on them and more often filching it for herself or D2, and D2 was standing by the table, grabbing anything edible he could reach. The can of mushrooms suddenly fell out of my hand, rolled across the pizza, struck D2 in the eye, leaving a smear of tomato sauce and cheese it had collected, and scattered on the floor. He was completely unfazed and immediately went after the mushrooms. Do not get between that boy and food.

D1 is going through a fascination with Polite Conversation stage. She will go around the dinner table: "Papa, how was your day?" "My day was fine, how was yours?" "Uh, very well. How was D2's day?" "He had a good day." "How was Mama's day?" It's best not to try a long explanation, though, as she'll just keep moving on to the next person. This still hasn't translated into much speech when accosted in public, but I hope sooner or later it will carry over.

D2 is picking up numerous words, but he shines best at "Yeah!" and "Noooo." "Yeah" is default, but he certainly knows when it's time to throw in a definite No, such as when asked, "Do you want to go night-night?"

Reading Plans

As usual, I have far too many. But here they are, in several categories:

Book Club: I'm a member over here, at Bookfest 2006. Which is Bookfest 2007, now, of course, but it would be awfully cumbersome to change the title every year. I didn't dare try last year, when they had four books a month, but two a month seems more doable. The first one I've read from the list this year was highly enjoyable, and not something I would have found on my own. So I'm looking forward to the rest of the year.

Great Books: I'm trying to tackle some of the Great Books on a more-or-less chronological basis. I still have the Iliad to finish, though. (It's suffering from the usual slighting that goes to books I actually own, as opposed to those I have to return to the library.) I'm not sure whether I'll go on to read the Odyssey (which is bound to be more fun) or skip it and go on to some of the others I want to read this year: Plutarch's Lives, Athanasius' On the Incarnation, and possibly City of God by Augustine and Beowulf later on.

Preview Books: I'm working out a curriculum plan for future years, and previewing books as I go. Basically we want to do a four-year cycle: Ancients, Dark and Middle Ages, American History, and Modern World History. I started at the beginning of the cycle when D1 turned two so that we would be ready to start it over when she turned six. I've been reading books and previewing them, trying to find ones that meet my criteria and that are available through our local library. It's been a lot of fun; I wasn't sure I'd stick with it, but I've found it too enjoyable to give up. (Reviews on the books I do find are over at the other blog.) I'm working up a rough plan and book list now and will make a more detailed plan closer to the actual time. I just pulled in a pile of books on ancient Greece, then we'll do Rome through late spring and summer, and the Dark Ages in the fall.

And then, of course, there are the random books that I come across and can't resist. I try to do one on science now and again; I've read a lot on physics and on brain development and function in recent years, and I'd like to branch out, but I'm not sure into what. Chemistry is something I know very little about, but I've read about molecular bonds at the atomic level, and I'd like to learn about what that looks like on the next level up.

The $10 Dollhouse, before and after

Actually, all that paint did cost something, so it's more like a $20 dollhouse afterwards. But that's still a great deal on a two-story wooden dollhouse. It's pretty plain inside, just all painted white, but that just leaves lots of room for upgrades on future Christmases.

History, Etiquette, and probably a few stray things as well

This blog really began nearly a decade ago as a weekly email to my sister, who lived far away. She found it amusing and read it to her co-workers. Some other siblings got word of it and started asking to be put on my list. My grandparents got on the internet and wanted to be included. Pretty soon there were quite a number of people on the list, and it began to get unwieldy to keep track of the addresses, not to mention taxing on my memory to remember all the amusing incidents of the week and write them down at the end of it.

Shortly after I got married, I discovered the possibility of blogging. It was the perfect solution: I didn't have to keep track of the email addresses, I could post things as they happened, and there was a place to store it off my computer, which kept crashing in an un-backed-up state.

I've never made my blog private for several reasons. One is that I want it to be easy to pass on to family members who may not be very comfortable on the internet. Another is that I've never wanted to bother with it. The main one, though, is that I like to meet new people. I've made many good friends through blogging. I even like to meet people who disagree with me, as long as they're civil about it.

What I don't like is people who are rude. Yes, a blog is public, but even guests who come on an open invitation should be polite. It's still my blog. It's like opening up my house for an open house; I'm happy for you to come and nibble at the snacks. I'll even let you use the bathroom. But don't poke in the cupboards. Don't start insulting me the minute you walk in the door, and then act surprised when I am less than gracious in response. (Perhaps I should be. But I am a mere mortal, and even the immortals aren't fond of being insulted.)

Responding to a general post on family events by insinuating that I abuse my children is just rude--particularly when you've never uttered a word on my blog before. I don't need to answer someone's questions when they do that, because rude questions can be politely ignored. Perhaps ignoring them entirely or deleting the question would have been the better course of action, but I have a hard time resisting the urge to dialogue.

So here are some rules for discussion:
If I express an opinion, feel free to disagree. But do so in a civil tone, addressing the opinion and not personally attacking my character or motives.

If I recount an event, feel free to recount contradicting experiences. Be cautious about jumping to grand conclusions about my beliefs or general practices on the basis of an isolated event. At any time, attacks on character and motives are rude.

I decide what rooms are off limits. Some things are private. It doesn't mean they're bad, or that I'm ashamed of anything in my life (I'm not) but there are some things I don't want to discuss in public. The mention of something connected doesn't give people the right to pry. You can ask, politely, but don't get all huffy if I don't answer. Call it self-centered, but I don't owe you anything, including information. It's. my. blog.

I am going to delete the discussion in question. It wasn't getting anywhere. In the future, I will most likely do the same with any personal attacks or excessively nosy questions. I will continue to welcome polite disagreement.

And hopefully now I will get back to the regularly scheduled programming. I have pictures of projects accomplished during Wondergirl's visit, a book reading plan for the year, and musings on some new books. I may even dare to mention the ducklings (whom, for the record, I do not hit, ever) again before too long.

Into the Wardrobe

I hated shopping even before I had small children. With small children, it's just out of the question. If I can't get it at the grocery store, I don't buy it.

But, with my sister here, some much-needed shopping is taking place. I even bought some clothes, which has always been a problematic area for me. Because I go shopping so rarely, and have rather strict requirements in the decency department, I usually feel a desparation to buy something--anything--that seems marginally workable. The end result is a lot of clothes that I don't really like.

So this time I resolved not to buy anything that I didn't love, and that furthermore it had to be workable with my life (i.e. washable and not showing stains) and be a good buy. Much to my surprise, I actually found one skirt and half a dozen blouses that met this standard. I even worked up my nerve to go into a more trendy-looking store--which I usually have avoided because I neither desire to wear hooded sweatshirts nor air my navel--and was astonished to discover some extremely cute striped stretch shirts and ribbed turtlenecks to layer.

In that vein, I've been interested lately by a new blog find, The Space Between My Peers, which is fashion discussion from a SAHM who homeschools. Clothes for real people. And who besides a homeschooling mom would explain outfit balancing with Cuisenaire rods?

I'm still working on what sort of clothes really work with my current job. Plain t-shirts and solid knits in general are seriously overrated--they show stains way too easily. Better to get something with texture and a little pattern (at least heathered) that will camouflage. I like TSBMP's advice to think of wardrobes in terms of tops and bottoms to wear around the house, and accent top pieces to toss over the top when you go out. This also helps cover up the drool. Also, low-riding skirts are more forgiving of waistline changes than ones that ride at the waist. And straight skirts or ones that button just are not going to survive sitting cross-legged on the floor.

So, I'm heading up into the attic, finding blazers that I had thought I retired, and trying them out with more practical skirts and blouses. I'm dragging out all my scarves, which didn't work at the neck anymore, and wearing them in my hair and as belts. I'm casting my net a little wider to find new things to try. I'm trying to put into words what I really like in clothes, so I know what I'm looking for (rich colors, especially red, green and brown, stripes, curved lines, extra stitching and details) and what I'll never enjoy (anything too girly or too bland). It's fun.

I've tried periodically to cure myself of caring about clothes. But I've never quite succeeded.

Things Happening Around Here

Posting has been light (OK, absent) because my sister is here, and that means we have been very, very busy. She is not called Wondergirl for nothing. She just wanders about the house, doing the regular things, and then suddenly says, "If we moved this over there, we could put this back here, and then this would be over there. Would that be better?" And behold, it would be better, and she moves it all around and suddenly the house is neater and more efficient and prettier. All sorts of little projects that I've been wanting to get to are suddenly done.

Also we went shopping at the clearance sales at the outlet mall the day after Christmas, and then scouted out thrift stores the next day. Now I know where one is three minutes from DOB's work, and I finally found a brown suede purse that will work for me, as well as the cords I couldn't find at the clearance sales.

D2 is starting to repeat all sorts of words: "Cracker," "Jesus" (On Christmas morning, no less), "Walking." He wasn't too thrilled with all the running around, though, and in general has been rather cranky. Hopefully it's mostly teeth and will go away when these molars come through. We're making slow but steady progress on weaning~last night he made it through the whole night on just water and seems quite happy this morning.

I hesitate to rejoice too soon, but we may be seeing some progress on the potty-training front, too. Of course I read the books and they all said to use positive reinforcements to teach potty training, that wet pants alone were enough negative reinforcement, that punishment just led to power struggles, etc. Well, D1 liked the stickers and candy just fine. But when you're getting stickers and such all day, what's an occasional miss? So, on Christmas Eve, after she'd ruined the second kitchen chair in an hour, I decided I'd had enough and resorted to a more punitive form of reinforcement. She hasn't had a waking accident since, even with hours in the car and in strange places. Maybe she just needed that to be convinced that wet pants were no longer an acceptable lifestyle option.

Merry Christmas!

First Christmases are overrated. Second and Third Christmases are so much more fun.

Christmas, Christmas

Various snippets of excitement from around here:Making the Swedish Tea Ring for Christmas breakfast (or, as D1 dubbed it, the tea ring ring.)
D1 enjoyed making thumbprint stationery to give as gifts.
D2 did not. He just wanted to hold the ink pad.

The Time Has Come

Sometimes it's time. Sometimes you're not sure it's time, but you plow ahead anyway. That's where I am with D2 and a certain form of sustenance.

I'm very big on Avoiding Bottles, although this has as much to do with cheapness and laziness as anything else. But D2 has long since grown past any need for that sort of supplementation; he can sit at the table and hold his own glass and wield his own fork (even if he has to poke the food on with his other hand.) Nursing him has gotten to be a dreary chore, as he hates to sit still with his back to the world for that long and usually spends the entire time with arms and legs flailing. Yet he keeps asking for it.

So, I decided it was time to nudge him a little. He spent the day at Grandma's on Friday and survived fine as long as he didn't see me. (Probably didn't help, though, that I arrived *before* the potluck started.) Gingerbread covers a multitude of maternal neglect. Having meals ready a little early helps. And I haven't even begun to cut out nights yet.

But he's still not entirely pleased with me. Yesterday at lunch screamed with protest through most of the meal, even as he managed to eat it with relish. (When he settled down a little I let him sit on my lap and fed him myself. This seemed to console him somewhat.) The rest of the day, he didn't seem to mind.

What he really wants is Mama and Food. It's not that important to him that the two come combined any more, but it's hard to take time to give him a little extra of both while he gets used to the change.

Christmas Quiz

Which I took from Devona.

1. Egg Nog or Hot Chocolate?

I've never tried eggnog. Hot chocolate sounds good in theory but never quite lives up to its promise. I like milk.

2. Does Santa wrap presents or just set them under the tree?

EVERYTHING must be wrapped. If Santa won't wrap the gifts, then he can't come. I even wrap gifts for myself.

3. Colored or white lights on the tree and/or house?

White. Colored are (usually) tacky.

4. Do you hang mistletoe?

We have a cardboard cutout of a foot with weaponish toes, but we don't actually hang it up.

5. When do you put your decorations up?

When I get the chance. I prefer right after Thanksgiving, but that hasn't happened lately.

6. What is your favorite holiday dish (excluding dessert)?

Crabs in cocktail sauce on Christmas Eve. Not that we do that out here. But it was yummy when we did.

7. Favorite holiday memory as a child.

Sitting alone in the dark in the living room with the Christmas tree lights on and soft music playing.

8. When and how did you learn the truth about Santa?

No one really believed in Santa at our house. After awhile we stopped leaving out milk and cookies for him and started leaving out veggies and dip for the Grinch.

9. Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve?

I prefer not to. But sometimes it's hard to avoid.

10. How do you decorate your Christmas tree?

By hanging ornaments on it, of course.

11. Snow! Love it or dread it?

I love it if I don't have to drive in it.

12. Can you ice skate?

Yes, even backwards! No fancy spins, though.

13. Do you remember your favorite gift?

A certain telephone call from the Duke a few days after Christmas four years ago was pretty memorable, although not technically a present. Other than that, though, things tend to be more of a happy blur, and it hardly seems fair to pick out one present over the others.

14. What’s the most important thing about the holidays for you?

(Humming) TRADITION! (Oh wait, wrong religion.)

15. What is your favorite holiday dessert?

Cookies. Krumkaka are required to be the favorite cookie, but after that, perhaps peppermint spritz.

16. What is your favorite holiday tradition?

Anything that involves little kids.

17. What tops your tree?

Nothing, this year. The ribbon ran out before we got to the top and I haven't decided what kind of star I want on it. It looks just fine without anything.

18. Which do you prefer, giving or receiving?

Both. Either one by itself is not nearly as much fun.

19. What is your favorite Christmas song?

Secular, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas"

Sacred, "O Little Town of Bethlehem"

20. Candy Canes! Yuck or yum?

Yum for the first three licks. After that, yuck.

And now I really must stop procrastinating and go clean the bathrooms.

Deck the Halls

If you need help decorating your tree, I know two people who would be delighted to help.







Thanks to Uncle Steve & Aunt Bettie for pictures.

Women, Children and Chores

I'm a terrible internet writer, because I like to think about things for awhile before I write them. So I find by the time that I'm ready to sit down and compose my thoughts, the world at large has moved on to other topics, it's too much trouble to dig up the original link, and my thoughts probably are no longer very connected to the original idea. It's all right though, I'm not entirely ready to abandon the advantages of thought.

Anyway, a week or two ago I read the blog of a mother who was upset that her children, whom she had hoped would just be willing to cheerfully help with whatever needed to be done, actually hated to work and complained about whatever she asked them to do; she was considering whether perhaps the idea of regular, defined chores had some merit, after all.

I don't think she's alone in her ideals; in fact, I suspect most mothers secretly think that's the way things ought to be; I know mine certainly did. And to give you a rare glimpse into a nearly-as-rare Source of Tension in the Duchy, I tend to think DOB should just see when I need help and come to my side, whereas he thinks I should come and ask him so he knows what to do.

Women have a good reason for thinking this way; it's the way they operate toward their home. They don't wait to be told what to do, they figure out what to do and then do it. And if they can't figure it out, they go read all the books and websites they can to tell them what to do; and if they still can't figure out what to do, they weep and despair and raid the freezer. One seldom finds children or even grown men feeling this way about their house; they may be neat or sloppy but they are generally not troubled with the constant sense that Things Could Be Better.

What women need to realize is this sense they have is a combination of many factors--long training, social pressures, the predominately female desire to nurture, a sense of ownership and control in the house--and that few, if any of those factors are present in children. They really wouldn't want them to be. A kingdom doesn't do well with two kings, and a house doesn't do well with two keepers. Mother wanting to do things this way and Daughter wanting to do things that way is the source of countless conflicts when they're grown up; you really don't want to push it along before they've learned some better people skills.

Since the children can't run the house, there are only a few options left. They could do nothing and live a life of idleness, which is good for no one. They could do regular chores, which we will address in a minute. Or they could simply "help out where needed," which often sounds to mothers like the best of the options.

But think about what it means from the other end. It means you have no advance warning of how long you'll have to work or what you'll have to do. It means you get none of the advantages of a habit, of doing something customary. It means you have no ownership over your time. In short, it means you are a slave. And no one likes being treated like a slave, not even a six-year-old.

Which leaves us with regular, defined chores. A child with regular chores is not a slave, he's an employee. It's not the highest place on the scale of work, but it's a place that's reachable for children. They can learn the skills and practices that will help them to actually see what is needed. They'll get accustomed to work so that they know it's not really such a terrible thing. And they'll still have some control over their own time.

There's still a lot of room left for teach a servant's heart, for helping them see needs, for being willing to pitch in during an emergency, for praising unsolicited assistance. But regular chores teach the basics that make those advanced concepts more achievable.

The Physics of Superheroes

I haven't finished this book yet, but I'm enjoying it immensely and can't resist the urge to tell about it. It is by far the most enjoyable thing I've ever read on physics OR superheroes. Not that I've read much on either, but that just goes to prove its power. If you've ever wondered what we can deduce about the planet Krypton from Superman's powers, whether Spiderman really could swing from a web, or how many cheeseburgers the Flash would need to eat, this is the place to find out. You'll also get a history of Silver Age comics, fashion critiques, and the essential connection between Einstein's Theory of Special Relativity and your shopping list.

And while I'm at it, it turns out that:
I am Spider-Man

Spider-Man 75% Supergirl 67% Superman 65% Wonder Woman 62% Green Lantern 55% Robin 50% Iron Man 45% The Flash 40% Batman 35% Hulk 30% Catwoman 20%

You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility.

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Various Festive Activities

Friday was our Annual Insane Cookie Bake. We are still not nearly so elaborate as the Original Insane Cookie Bake, but we managed a fair degree of insanity nonetheless. I would have taken a picture, but I was too busy trying to limit the sprinkle-shaking to within two feet of the table.

We made had three grownups, four children (all under four) and made five kinds of cookies: shortbread, glazed rum cookies, sugar cookies, peanut butter blossoms, and candy canes.

Saturday we put up our tree, risking life and limb (or at least a ticket) in driving the wagon with expired tags; sure enough, the new tags were waiting in the mailbox when we got home. As is traditional, Uncle Steve and Aunt Bettie came to help us, and as is also becoming traditional, we stuck them with a large unrelated task while we had them handy. (Last year it was melting ice off the roof in preparation for the Roto Rooter man. This year we only had them watch the kids for a couple of hours. I'm not sure which was worse.)

So, now we have cookies; we have a tree. We are just about all set.

Advent Calendar

This is our advent calendar. Baby Jesus is under 25, of course, and Mary and Joseph on either side. I can't show what's under all the panels, because you're not allowed to turn them over early. But you get the idea.

Happy Anniversary, ACS Blog

The American Chesterton Society Blog celebrated its anniversary yesterday, and are playing a game in response:

1. When did you first read a Chesterton book, story, or poem, and which was it?
The first Chesterton story I read was "The Invisible Man," probably when I was about fourteen. It was in a high school literature book.

2. What was the most recent of GKC's writings you read?
Dear me, I'm not sure. I'm afraid it was a rereading, and so I can't remember which thing I reread most recently. I really need to get some new Chesterton books.

3. Which is your favorite book, poem - or quote?
The Napoleon of Notting Hill
"A Marriage Song"
"Now most modern freedom is at root fear. It is not so much that we are too bold to endure rules; it is rather that we are too timid to endure responsibilities."

Oh wait, that was an "or," not an "and" . . . oh well.

4. Which would you recommend to a beginner?
Anything with Father Brown.

5. What is the most unusual fact or quirky detail you know about G.K.Chesterton?
Well, it's not that obscure, but I've always liked the one where he telegraphed his wife from the railway station asking why he was there and where he was supposed to be. I can identify with that.

I didn't eat any meals off the floor yesterday, although the children probably did (we were baking cookies). But I will try to remember to ring the front doorbell when I come home today with our Christmas tree.

Winter Wonderland

Rose asked for a cheerier post about the joys of having two small children, and today looks like the day.

It snowed! (OK, that may not help you down south, but it will get me started.)

Having little kids means there's someone to dance around shrieking "No! No! No!" and meaning something good by it today. It means spending more time putting on and off jackets and mittens and boots than actually being in the snow, but having it all be worthwhile for the look of astonishment on their faces when they see what's happened to the world.

It's coming back inside to make snow pictures with cotton balls on blue paper, and amazingly enough, not getting glue everywhere. This was an idea from the toddler art book I checked out a few months ago, and it even worked for D2, which is quite an accomplishment.

Also, having small children means I get to revive all the preschool-oriented Christmas traditions that rather lapsed from my family after we all outgrew being preschoolers, but which still have a hallowed place in my memory. Chief among them is the flannel advent calendar where each new day turns over a new character from the Nativity. Even in years when I have been far away from this calendar, I have measured the month of December by it and none other. (It's time to panic when you hit the bottom row of wise men and camels on December 19.)

Another one is our Advent devotional box. When I was small, we had a large box to open December 1, and inside were 24 packages, each with some small item and a devotion to accompany them. For small children, I like this idea better even than Jesse Trees and other popular Advent activities--something tangible, a new box to open, is very exciting to them. I decided to design my own, though, because I didn't see anything out there for free that was quite what I wanted.

So I wrote up a sequence of very short Scripture readings and devotionals that would take us briefly through the key stories of the Old Testament that pave the way for Christ and also forshadow his coming (Creation, fall, flood, Abraham, etc.), then through the significant prophecies about Christ, and finally through the Christmas story itself. For each one I'm trying to come up with some appropriate symbol in a box for them to open. This has involved saving boxes all year, and I never did get them wrapped. Maybe next year.

For instance, Tuesday we read about God's promise to bless the world through Abraham, and the symbol was a tent (contrived during nap time out of sticks and fabric scraps) to represent how Abraham followed God through faith. Yesterday we did Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac and talked about how Jesus would come as the substitute for us; they opened a small altar (made of rocks and salt dough).

Actually I got tired of trying to come up with more things and made a whole bunch of symbols out of salt dough yesterday. Now I should try to find some paint so they are more recognizeable.
It probably still is mostly over their head just yet, but they are enjoying it very much and will understand more next year. And next year, the packages will be all ready and I can actually think about their real Christmas presents.

A Venture into Marketing

The Bethlehem Candle
Looking for a unique item to enhance your festivities, that will turn the focus back to the True Meaning of Christmas? Fill your home with the rich, unforgettable aroma of the first nativity with The Bethlehem Candle. This elegant, hand-crafted candle will waft your family back in time as they inhale its special blend of fragrances designed to recreate the odors of the manger.*









*Yes, it would smell like sheep dung. And hay dust. Lovely, no? I bet people would buy it.

Chutes & Ladders

That's what our version was called, but there's also "Snakes and Ladders," which amounts to the same thing: You roll the dice, move that many spaces, and if you land on a ladder you jump ahead; if you land on a snake (or chute) you slide backwards. First one to the end wins. It's a great game for small children.

It's also what parenting them feels like. You plod along for awhile, and then suddenly--whoom!--they figure something new out and are suddenly more grown up. But then--whoosh!--they suddenly slide backward into something you thought they'd outgrown. Overall the game is meant to result in progress, and you will eventually reach the 100 square, but the human mind being what it is, sometimes it seems like the chutes are dominating.

With D1, it's potty training that keeps sending us down the chutes. Every time we have a day where she's dry all day, and even takes herself when my back is turned, it's balanced out by a day where we go through every pair of pants in her drawer. Over the last year there has certainly been progress, yes, but honestly--a year? a YEAR? And we're still nowhere close to done as far as I can tell. Yet who knows when we might step on a ladder and shoot up to the top?

With D2, it's sleeping through the night. Every once in awhile he'll start going at least six or seven hours for a few nights and I think, "Ah, at last!" But then, whether from sickness or teething or just orneriness, he'll be waking up two or three times in the night again. Why he's so thirsty at night, I don't know. I'm not about to let him sleep with us, as this would not involve any actual sleep; he thinks our bed is The Place to Party. (Cosleeping with infants I can do. Cosleeping with toddlers mystifies me.) Letting him cry it out just makes him thirstier. So I just keep going up and down the same little round of chute and ladder, waiting for him to grow out of it and getting more perturbed with each round.

Really, the speed at which they learn is amazing. It's just that they have so much to learn before they can do even the most basic things.

Happy Things

~*~
DOB finagled us symphony tickets for my birthday, and his parents, after intially planning to go along with us, instead agreed to babysit when we couldn't get another babysitter. (Fortunately, being grandparents, they rather preferred the babysitting, so we could still have a good time without feeling guilty.) The seats were box seats, so we had a prime view of the percussion piece, which was a lot more fun to watch than to listen to.

~*~
We found the Bing Crosby CD! The loss of it was sorely dampening our Christmassy feelings. It was in the wrong box, and though I had looked through many of the wrong boxes, I hadn't found the wrong box it was in. But we looked again, and there it was.

We got some Christmas CDs from the library, but it seems that an essential feature to a good Christmas CD is having played it last year.

~*~
On that same note, I have discovered that I cannot listen to the Messiah without having an urge to clean house. This is no doubt because it was my custom throughout my adolescent years to spend the Friday after Thanksgiving deep-cleaning the living room and putting up Christmas decorations, and I would always put the Messiah on first.

After a week cooped up with small sniffly children, anything that makes me want to clean house is a Very Good Thing, indeed.

~*~
We went to a fabric store on Saturday. As far as I can remember, I hadn't been in one since I was shopping for wedding materials. I had forgotten how much fun they are. Unfortunately, DOB had forgotten his Standing and Waiting shoes, so he put his back out.

~*~
I have finally become a Potentate of the Rose.

Getting Well Food

I was born to be a skeptic. But it's hard to be naturally skeptical about everything; one must do *something* after all. So in medicine, I'm skeptical about the overuse of drugs and surgery in modern medicine; I don't care to use over-the-counter drugs; but then, I'm every bit as skeptical about the untested claims of herbs and the like. Yet I'm not quite willing to lay down and die just yet.

So I try to stick to things that, at the least, I'm sure won't hurt. Chief among these is food; eating is necessary, after all, and there's a fair body of foods that are reasonably healthy by almost any standard. But it must also taste good, because one must see to mental health as well as physical. So when we come down with ailments, I get out my soup pot and make

Chicken Soup

of course. With lots of onions and garlic and, of course, carrots. On the side, whole wheat bread with more garlic on it. In fact, I'll put extra garlic on lots of things and raw in proportion to the amount our illness prevents us from socializing anyway.

Then one should eat some fresh food with lots of vitamins in it, one of my favorites is

Spinach-Orange Salad

which must have a good dose of vitamins in a quite palatable form. Or a fruit salad with a yogurt dressing, because yogurt (with live cultures) is supposed to be helpful in keeping those friendly little microbes inside you happy, and even if it isn't, it makes a good dressing.

I also try to avoid sugar, which probably isn't all that health-inspiring, and milk if there's congestion (which there generally is). Instead something like

Chili

with extra cayenne pepper clears out the sinuses and provides yet another tasty way to consume more garlic.

Finally, some hot tea in the morning and before bed helps one feel a whole lot better whether it happens to be some super cold-fighting herb or not. And a little bit of dark chocolate is good for the soul and doesn't have too awful much sugar.

After all this, we were doing a lot better towards the end of this week, until I woke up this morning with . . . ewwww . . . pinkeye. I think it's just the cold taking a strange form and not some new bug. But I'm ready to be done with this mess, and I think it most unfair that it came on the day I had to get my driver's license picture taken.