Playing Games

You know how desparate the cabin fever has become around here when we confess that this weekend we actually resorted to downloading and playing computer games.

Not that there's anything wrong with video games. I just don't usually have the patience for them. To start out with, my reflexes are slow, so any game that involves quick response times only annoys me. If I liked strategy games, I would earn wifely brownie points by playing more of them with DOB.

I do occasionally like a puzzle-type video game, but it only takes a few minutes before it starts feeling tedious. Once I know what I need to do, why should I drudge through the endless clicking necessary to accomplish it? And if I get something almost solved and mess something up and have to go back and start over . . . well, it doesn't take too long for it to start feeling like washing the dishes. At which point, I might as well go wash them. Or read a book, where missing a word on a page doesn't send me back to the beginning. (OK, so maybe my real problem is a lack of attention to detail.)

Anyway, we really are feeling much better. And it's supposed to get warm this week. The ice has already melted off the trees and soon the snowdrifts should be rehumidfying our basement. Yippee!

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.