One of my strict rules about breakfast is that Protein Must Be Eaten, because I want us all to stay alive until lunchtime. So there will be eggs (except when we have cheese toast) and you will eat your eggs before you get your fruit.
Today the twins were questioning this rule.
D4: Nana!
QOC: Your eggs have to be all gone.
D4: (Places egg on table instead of high chair tray.) Nana!
DOB: You have to put your eggs in your mouth.
D3: (Stuffs eggs in mouth) NmphNmph!
DOB: (starts to fix banana for D3, looks back and sees that she is spitting the eggs back out into her bib) And you have to KEEP them in your mouth.
When D1 was on the way, some teenagers speculated that it would be a terrible fate for her having two lawyers for parents--she'd never get away with anything. What they didn't realize was how quickly the relevant skills materialize.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Friday, January 15, 2010
7 Quick Takes Friday
Because this blog feels sorely neglected . . .
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1. DOB has entered the essay-writing stage of bar preparations and is trying to get his wrists in shape for twenty-four essays in three days. I watch over his shoulder and hope and pray the state bar changes the rules on inactive status so I don't have to take it this summer. It's not all gone, though. I don't remember a blessed thing about Commercial Paper (I don't even remember what it is!) but I knew about the Dormant Commerce Clause without skipping a beat.
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2. DOB invented a great game with giant balls--the downhill people try to throw them onto the driveway, and the driveway people try to get them all down the hill at once. This was followed by Giant Ball Golf, which is much the same as Frisbee Golf. Yes, it rains every day here, but not all day. And when it doesn't, out we go.
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3. Two great card games: Killer Bunnies and the Quest for the Magic Carrot (a game I have yet to win, but it's great fun anyway) and Illuminati. Both require a slightly twisted sense of humor to enjoy. In Killer Bunnies, you try to keep your bunnies alive, slay everyone else's, and collect enough carrots to have the Magic Carrot at the end. In Illuminati, you are a secret power group trying to gain control over various subsidiary groups and their money and power.
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4. D2 has started teaching himself to read, which is most unfair. Perhaps the twins will wait long enough for me to teach them. He goes about it the opposite way from D1, though. She memorizes the book first, then figures out the words, then works out how they are put together. He spends his days analyzing sounds and rules and blurts out things in the middle of church: "Hey! Is that a silent 'E'?"
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5. Have I ever mentioned the virtue of bread pudding as a breakfast food? I butter a 9x13 pan and fill it with crumbled up bread of any variety: plain, sweet, biscuits, cornbread. Sprinkle with cinnamon sugar and raisins. Mix up four or five eggs in a quart measuring cup and add milk until full; pour over the top. Bake it at 350 for forty-five minutes. Mix it up the night before, slip it in the oven before the kids get up, breakfast is ready to go.
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6. The older two have started going to AWANA with Their Majesties (who run the show). They came home Tuesday night and D1 was bouncing around the room chattering about everything while D2 sat on the couch with a dazed expression on his face. You could take a picture and caption it: "Which child is the introvert?"
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7. I'm finally starting to see some improvement from exercise in being able to walk a mile without getting winded and not being completely wiped out by ten in the morning. Hurrah!
More Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1. DOB has entered the essay-writing stage of bar preparations and is trying to get his wrists in shape for twenty-four essays in three days. I watch over his shoulder and hope and pray the state bar changes the rules on inactive status so I don't have to take it this summer. It's not all gone, though. I don't remember a blessed thing about Commercial Paper (I don't even remember what it is!) but I knew about the Dormant Commerce Clause without skipping a beat.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2. DOB invented a great game with giant balls--the downhill people try to throw them onto the driveway, and the driveway people try to get them all down the hill at once. This was followed by Giant Ball Golf, which is much the same as Frisbee Golf. Yes, it rains every day here, but not all day. And when it doesn't, out we go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
3. Two great card games: Killer Bunnies and the Quest for the Magic Carrot (a game I have yet to win, but it's great fun anyway) and Illuminati. Both require a slightly twisted sense of humor to enjoy. In Killer Bunnies, you try to keep your bunnies alive, slay everyone else's, and collect enough carrots to have the Magic Carrot at the end. In Illuminati, you are a secret power group trying to gain control over various subsidiary groups and their money and power.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
4. D2 has started teaching himself to read, which is most unfair. Perhaps the twins will wait long enough for me to teach them. He goes about it the opposite way from D1, though. She memorizes the book first, then figures out the words, then works out how they are put together. He spends his days analyzing sounds and rules and blurts out things in the middle of church: "Hey! Is that a silent 'E'?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
5. Have I ever mentioned the virtue of bread pudding as a breakfast food? I butter a 9x13 pan and fill it with crumbled up bread of any variety: plain, sweet, biscuits, cornbread. Sprinkle with cinnamon sugar and raisins. Mix up four or five eggs in a quart measuring cup and add milk until full; pour over the top. Bake it at 350 for forty-five minutes. Mix it up the night before, slip it in the oven before the kids get up, breakfast is ready to go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
6. The older two have started going to AWANA with Their Majesties (who run the show). They came home Tuesday night and D1 was bouncing around the room chattering about everything while D2 sat on the couch with a dazed expression on his face. You could take a picture and caption it: "Which child is the introvert?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
7. I'm finally starting to see some improvement from exercise in being able to walk a mile without getting winded and not being completely wiped out by ten in the morning. Hurrah!
More Quick Takes at Conversion Diary.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Some Exciting Things We've Been Doing Lately
Probably the most exciting was deciding to have a hot-dog roast last Thursday night.
Now, keep a few essential facts in mind:
1) It's January.
2) It's dark long before supper time.
3) The twins are eighteen months old.
4) The relevant bonfire was selected for proximity to brush-generating locations, not proximity or ease of access from house.
Nonetheless, when DOB discovered His Majesty taking advantage of a lull in the rain to burn a couple piles of brush, he proposed the adventure. After all, I was making beans for supper already--just add hot dogs to that, transport it all up the side of a hill laced with flower stakes, slippery steps, and tomato cages, serve it in the dark out of a wheelbarrow, and there you are. Well, why not?
After a few trips to carry the non-fragile items, like mustard and plastic bowls, I felt I had the route down enough to transport the more perilous items, like toddlers and boiling pots of beans. Not simultaneously. The only error we made were forgetting a flashlight and napkins, and leaving the outside house lights on, thus resulting in several minutes of readjusting to the darkness every time we actually stepped into the area that was hard for walking.
It took a while to convince the babies that we were actually eating in this strange setting, but after a few episodes of poking hot dog fragments in their mouth they finally figured out what was going on and responded accordingly. D2, as he always does, felt the call of nature five minutes into the meal, but fortunately nature was close at hand, though the encounter with brambles was perhaps a bit too close to nature.
The fire had been burning for awhile and close to it the air was positively cozy--though it wasn't really that cold anywhere.
My admiration for Ma Ingalls grew by another leap, although as I washed up afterwards and noted the advantage of not needing to wipe up a table or floor, I saw that the rustic life was not all negatives. But then, we had it easy. It didn't start to pour rain until five minutes after we had hauled everything back inside.
D3 still has mustard on her jacket. Her Majesty prudently was spending the evening in jail (leading Bible studies, for the record), so she missed the excitement.
Come to think of it, that's enough excitement for one blog post.
Now, keep a few essential facts in mind:
1) It's January.
2) It's dark long before supper time.
3) The twins are eighteen months old.
4) The relevant bonfire was selected for proximity to brush-generating locations, not proximity or ease of access from house.
Nonetheless, when DOB discovered His Majesty taking advantage of a lull in the rain to burn a couple piles of brush, he proposed the adventure. After all, I was making beans for supper already--just add hot dogs to that, transport it all up the side of a hill laced with flower stakes, slippery steps, and tomato cages, serve it in the dark out of a wheelbarrow, and there you are. Well, why not?
After a few trips to carry the non-fragile items, like mustard and plastic bowls, I felt I had the route down enough to transport the more perilous items, like toddlers and boiling pots of beans. Not simultaneously. The only error we made were forgetting a flashlight and napkins, and leaving the outside house lights on, thus resulting in several minutes of readjusting to the darkness every time we actually stepped into the area that was hard for walking.
It took a while to convince the babies that we were actually eating in this strange setting, but after a few episodes of poking hot dog fragments in their mouth they finally figured out what was going on and responded accordingly. D2, as he always does, felt the call of nature five minutes into the meal, but fortunately nature was close at hand, though the encounter with brambles was perhaps a bit too close to nature.
The fire had been burning for awhile and close to it the air was positively cozy--though it wasn't really that cold anywhere.
My admiration for Ma Ingalls grew by another leap, although as I washed up afterwards and noted the advantage of not needing to wipe up a table or floor, I saw that the rustic life was not all negatives. But then, we had it easy. It didn't start to pour rain until five minutes after we had hauled everything back inside.
D3 still has mustard on her jacket. Her Majesty prudently was spending the evening in jail (leading Bible studies, for the record), so she missed the excitement.
Come to think of it, that's enough excitement for one blog post.
Thursday, January 07, 2010
Duckling Moments
D2: I can make biscuits all by myself! I just need biscuit dough and someone to do the oven 'cause I can't do the oven.
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D3 was very unhappily refusing to go play after supper, yet not sitting contentedly in any laps, either. DOB led her away from the table and insisted she go play. She refused again. Then, suddenly, she saw D2 zoom by on her four-wheeler. "MY BIKE!" she screamed and ran off.
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I was looking at a list of the Top 100 Picture Books and realized, with slight sadness, that D1 and D2 are starting to outgrow picture books. There are still many on the list they enjoy, but although their own selections are technically from the picture book section, they're usually long illustrated fairy tales or non-fiction. The ones where the story moves on every other sentence, that used to be necessary to keep their attention, now are too fast.
Surely one of these days the twins will figure out that you have to turn the pages in order to read a book, and then we can begin again.
**************************
D3 was very unhappily refusing to go play after supper, yet not sitting contentedly in any laps, either. DOB led her away from the table and insisted she go play. She refused again. Then, suddenly, she saw D2 zoom by on her four-wheeler. "MY BIKE!" she screamed and ran off.
**************************
I was looking at a list of the Top 100 Picture Books and realized, with slight sadness, that D1 and D2 are starting to outgrow picture books. There are still many on the list they enjoy, but although their own selections are technically from the picture book section, they're usually long illustrated fairy tales or non-fiction. The ones where the story moves on every other sentence, that used to be necessary to keep their attention, now are too fast.
Surely one of these days the twins will figure out that you have to turn the pages in order to read a book, and then we can begin again.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Exploit the Day
I have often bemoaned my inability to play strategic games. I can't see all those moves ahead to see how everything will work out. I lack the ability to forecast what moves my opponents will make. So I always feel trapped, and therefore play halfheartedly.
A couple of weeks ago we were discussing this in anticipation of a game night and DOB said, "Don't try to do something you can't do. Just do what you're good at. Play to your own strengths." Well, what can I do in a strategic game? I can't assess the far future, but I am pretty good at taking in the current turn. I'm good at noticing where other people need to be blocked, and how to get the most power (money, land, whatever the goal is) available on this turn.
So I played that way, exploiting the opportunities I could find and thwarting others when I could. And I won. Turns out that playing the best for the moment works pretty good in the long haul--certainly much better than panicking or giving up.
Now to apply that lesson to real life. It's easy for me to feel panicky or lost right now. Everything is hanging on the bar exam, and towards that I can do nothing except keep the children quiet (and on that score my success is limited). After that, who knows? I don't know whether I'll have to take the bar next; I don't know when or how DOB will get a job; I'm not sure whether I will find work or how much; I don't know when we'll have our "own" place again or for how long; and even small goals are closed down by the twins, who have a radar for determining when parents are doing something interesting and productive so they can promptly interrupt.
The long range is beyond my knowledge. I have to exploit this turn. Today. It will probably come in handy to have educated, well-trained children, so I should take advantage of them wanting to do school and help with the dishes. I could certainly use extra energy and strength whatever comes, so doing another day's exercise is a good idea. Everyone needs fed, everyone needs a conversation, everyone needs sleep. DOB needs quiet to study and it's not raining at the moment, so why not go outside?
Someday, maybe the board will open up and I'll see where this is going. The twins have hit that eighteen-month point where their ability to play and talk takes off, and I begin to see light at the end of the toddler tunnel. The bar exam will be over in seven weeks and one day, and then it will be time to assess what to do next. Right now, I've got this turn to play.
A couple of weeks ago we were discussing this in anticipation of a game night and DOB said, "Don't try to do something you can't do. Just do what you're good at. Play to your own strengths." Well, what can I do in a strategic game? I can't assess the far future, but I am pretty good at taking in the current turn. I'm good at noticing where other people need to be blocked, and how to get the most power (money, land, whatever the goal is) available on this turn.
So I played that way, exploiting the opportunities I could find and thwarting others when I could. And I won. Turns out that playing the best for the moment works pretty good in the long haul--certainly much better than panicking or giving up.
Now to apply that lesson to real life. It's easy for me to feel panicky or lost right now. Everything is hanging on the bar exam, and towards that I can do nothing except keep the children quiet (and on that score my success is limited). After that, who knows? I don't know whether I'll have to take the bar next; I don't know when or how DOB will get a job; I'm not sure whether I will find work or how much; I don't know when we'll have our "own" place again or for how long; and even small goals are closed down by the twins, who have a radar for determining when parents are doing something interesting and productive so they can promptly interrupt.
The long range is beyond my knowledge. I have to exploit this turn. Today. It will probably come in handy to have educated, well-trained children, so I should take advantage of them wanting to do school and help with the dishes. I could certainly use extra energy and strength whatever comes, so doing another day's exercise is a good idea. Everyone needs fed, everyone needs a conversation, everyone needs sleep. DOB needs quiet to study and it's not raining at the moment, so why not go outside?
Someday, maybe the board will open up and I'll see where this is going. The twins have hit that eighteen-month point where their ability to play and talk takes off, and I begin to see light at the end of the toddler tunnel. The bar exam will be over in seven weeks and one day, and then it will be time to assess what to do next. Right now, I've got this turn to play.
Friday, January 01, 2010
Do You Hear What I Hear?
The cousins have had a tradition for the past few years of staging their own Christmas pageant involving a lot of costume changes. With the addition of D1 and D2 we were able to cut the costume changes down to one each.
We tried to persuade the twins to participate as sheep, but although they once offstage put the sheep hats on and said, "Baa," when it came right to it they refused. D4 did manage to scream on cue at the line, "and she brought forth her firstborn son." The dog was also supposed to be a sheep, but refused to come with the shepherds. However, both she and D4 decided to go on with the wisemen.
There's something iconic about children in a Christmas pageant. They forget their lines, they stare the wrong direction, they're wearing bedsheets and old towels. And they are the conduits of deep mysteries.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The Year in Review
Borrowed from The Common Room
1. What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
Drove across the northern Plain states.
2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't think so. I have a deep aversion to the whole New Improved Shiny Me thing, as it rarely involves permanent character development and generally instead involves looking better to everyone else.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth or get pregnant?
Quite a few of them. But not me, hurrah!
4. Did anyone close to you get married?
Not that they told me about.
5. Did anyone close to you die?
My uncle, which may or may not count as close enough.
6. Travel?
Oh my yes. West Virginia in February, and then the Great Trip.
7. Did you move anywhere?
From Ohio to Washington.
8. What was the best month?
The first six months of the year where rather steadily dull; the last six months were all highs and lows. I don't think I could pick one as being a real best, although the trip itself makes October stand out.
9. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?
Patience. (Spare me the jokes, please.)
10. What date(s) from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
June 29, the day we decided to move. October 10, the day we left, and October 22, the day we arrived.
11. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Keeping myself and those dependent on me alive.
12. What was your biggest failure?
Losing my cool and perspective and being unwilling to live in acceptance of the moment instead of impatiently insisting that everything be sorted out right now. (Um, this is more of an ongoing one.)
13. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Just general exhaustion.
14. What was the best thing you bought?
Most of my achievements of the year would be the things I cleverly managed to avoid buying, such as by resurrecting old computers.
15. Whose behavior merited celebration?
The kids', for taking their parents' insanity in stride and handling massive upheaval without complaint; DOB's, for being brave enough to try new things; and the family and friends who made it all possible, most especially Their Majesties.
16. Whose behavior made you appalled and/or depressed?
Pretty much anything that was in the news all year, which is why I tried to ignore it.
17. Where did most of your money go?
If one only knew . . .
18. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Moving back home, reexamining life.
19. What song will always remind you of 2009?
Long, Long Journey
20. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder?
ii. richer or poorer?
i. Happier, I think, but things are still settling themselves out.
ii. Poorer for the present.
21. What do you wish you'd done more of?
I think I've done enough, thanks.
22. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Changing dirty diapers. I really think one per child per day ought to be enough.
23. How will you be spending New Year's Eve/Day?
We will probably have a small celebration with the older ducklings that ends by 9 p.m. and go to bed early. New Year's Day we have a wedding to attend.
24. What was an unexpected surprise?
Everything. I am easily surprised.
25. Did you fall in love in 2009?
Surely I've done enough in that department, too.
26. What was the best concert you've been to this year?
The cousins singing "Let All Things Now Living" on Thanksgiving.
27. What was your favorite TV program?
Jeeves and Wooster. It's my favorite TV program every year!
28. Do you dislike anyone now that you didn't dislike this time last year?
It takes a lot for me to dislike someone. No one has worked hard enough at it lately.
29. What was the best book you read?
I wish I kept better track of them. (Perhaps that is what I should have done more of.)
30. What was your greatest musical discovery?
The effect a quiet CD has on getting four children to sleep in the same room.
31. What did you want and get?
The chance to be with my family-of-origin. Adventure and excitement. Children who all sleep through the night.
32. What did you want and not get?
Finding a way to bridge the gap between what I like to do and what I have to do.
33. What was your favorite film of this year?
I'm tempted to say Hogfather. So I think I will.
34. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I was 31, and since it was Thanksgiving, I spent most of the day chopping vegetables.
35. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
DOB already having new work.
36. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
Can I still button it?
37. What kept you sane?
Reading and taking walks for as long as I could.
38. What political issue stirred you the most?
The incredible undying stupidity of Congress on every issue has stirred me so much already that nothing is left in the pot.
39. Who did you miss?
Friends and family from Cincinnati.
40. Random Memories from 2009?
An overambitious but fun garden; the pristine if almost unfriendly beauty of a house ready for the market; babies turning into toddlers like an invasion of the infantry; D1 learning to read and D2 following close behind; plains, rivers, forests, mountains, snow, rain, sun.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Christmas in the Sheep Fields
A few days ago I posted a Facebook status that asked, "Does it count as being in the Christmas spirit if you don't feel like doing any of the work?"
I meant it to be a bit flippant, but the more I think about it, the more it sums up my feelings about Christmas this year. Generally one is expected to either be exuberantly dashing about to stores and parties or bah-humbugging along (usually while still dashing about to stores and parties).
There is no Dasher in me this year. Yet I bear no ill-will toward Christmas. It's still delightful. The lights twinkle just as well, the songs play just as merrily, the occasional social event is just as much fun.
But when it comes to my personal contribution to the festivities, well, I hope to show up. In something that bears no stains or rips more than an hour old. I have baked a couple batches of cookies, and that was plenty, and I have wrapped two or three gifts for each duckling (and only the ducklings) from the remnants of last summer's yard sales, and that was plenty. The tree was decorated once, but ducklings somehow quite innocently keep getting entangled in the lower reaches, so it now looks like the result of an ornament fight in the woods.
In a brief, quickly-abandoned attempt to write a Christmas letter I dug through this year's blog archives and remembered last year's Christmas. (And marveled again at the phenomenon that the stuff I wrote a year or more ago is always so much more profound and witty than the present drivel.) The twins were in the six-month growth spurt, nursing night and day and just learning how to gag down a few bites of applesauce.
Nights have certainly improved since then: how quickly one learns to take eleven hours of quiet for granted. But days have become much, much more complicated. The babies who napped twice a day, rolled about in a blanket in the corner, or rode along in mei tais have turned into The Energizer Bunnies of Chaos. Just opening the refrigerator door is an exercise in strategic withdrawal, as by the time the necessary object is removed, one or more inquisitive heads will be blocking its closure.
No wonder by the time nap time or bedtime hits, I can't come up with the energy to tackle a beautiful and creative Christmas project--or even the energy to care that I don't. I could berate myself over my laxness or express bitterness over various cultural expectations, but I don't really want to. I think all that stuff is very fun, I just don't want to this year. Some years one can be a Magi, bearing gifts from afar, and some years one is a shepherd, showing up impromptu and unequipped with a crowd of stinky sheep. The manger is open to all.
I wonder if God sent the angels to the shepherds and the star for the wise men because he knew the shepherds wouldn't have a clue what the star was about and the wise men wouldn't believe the angel--or, at least, would not enjoy it as much as working out all their star position charts. There's a messenger that's right for each of us, and I think mine will show up while I'm sitting in the rocking chair by the Christmas tree, singing carols to two howling toddlers who just fell and bonked their heads again.
I meant it to be a bit flippant, but the more I think about it, the more it sums up my feelings about Christmas this year. Generally one is expected to either be exuberantly dashing about to stores and parties or bah-humbugging along (usually while still dashing about to stores and parties).
There is no Dasher in me this year. Yet I bear no ill-will toward Christmas. It's still delightful. The lights twinkle just as well, the songs play just as merrily, the occasional social event is just as much fun.
But when it comes to my personal contribution to the festivities, well, I hope to show up. In something that bears no stains or rips more than an hour old. I have baked a couple batches of cookies, and that was plenty, and I have wrapped two or three gifts for each duckling (and only the ducklings) from the remnants of last summer's yard sales, and that was plenty. The tree was decorated once, but ducklings somehow quite innocently keep getting entangled in the lower reaches, so it now looks like the result of an ornament fight in the woods.
In a brief, quickly-abandoned attempt to write a Christmas letter I dug through this year's blog archives and remembered last year's Christmas. (And marveled again at the phenomenon that the stuff I wrote a year or more ago is always so much more profound and witty than the present drivel.) The twins were in the six-month growth spurt, nursing night and day and just learning how to gag down a few bites of applesauce.
Nights have certainly improved since then: how quickly one learns to take eleven hours of quiet for granted. But days have become much, much more complicated. The babies who napped twice a day, rolled about in a blanket in the corner, or rode along in mei tais have turned into The Energizer Bunnies of Chaos. Just opening the refrigerator door is an exercise in strategic withdrawal, as by the time the necessary object is removed, one or more inquisitive heads will be blocking its closure.
No wonder by the time nap time or bedtime hits, I can't come up with the energy to tackle a beautiful and creative Christmas project--or even the energy to care that I don't. I could berate myself over my laxness or express bitterness over various cultural expectations, but I don't really want to. I think all that stuff is very fun, I just don't want to this year. Some years one can be a Magi, bearing gifts from afar, and some years one is a shepherd, showing up impromptu and unequipped with a crowd of stinky sheep. The manger is open to all.
I wonder if God sent the angels to the shepherds and the star for the wise men because he knew the shepherds wouldn't have a clue what the star was about and the wise men wouldn't believe the angel--or, at least, would not enjoy it as much as working out all their star position charts. There's a messenger that's right for each of us, and I think mine will show up while I'm sitting in the rocking chair by the Christmas tree, singing carols to two howling toddlers who just fell and bonked their heads again.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Crismis is Cumyn . . .
and D1 is happily decorating every house she is given access to with seasonal signs, on which she sometimes consults over spelling and sometimes not. She even got D2 into the game, laboriously copying out The Twelve Days of Christmas, although she only got as far as "Six geese a-laying" and D2 gave up the attempt midway through the fourth word.
This morning they asked me if I wanted to hear the song they had composed. They stood next to their advent calendar and sang for each day's creature: "Oh, the cow is white and the camel is peach and the bird is white and the sheep is gray and the angel is red . . . " all the way through to "and Mary is blue and Joseph is green and baby Jesus is white" "no, brown" "no, white" "no, brown."
At lunchtime they were rehearsing the angel chorus for the Christmas program and after reciting "Good will toward men," D1 asked, "But what about the ladies?"
So, a merry and inclusive Christmas to all of you!
This morning they asked me if I wanted to hear the song they had composed. They stood next to their advent calendar and sang for each day's creature: "Oh, the cow is white and the camel is peach and the bird is white and the sheep is gray and the angel is red . . . " all the way through to "and Mary is blue and Joseph is green and baby Jesus is white" "no, brown" "no, white" "no, brown."
At lunchtime they were rehearsing the angel chorus for the Christmas program and after reciting "Good will toward men," D1 asked, "But what about the ladies?"
So, a merry and inclusive Christmas to all of you!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Spam, Spam, Spam
I've been getting a lot of comment spam lately, so I've turned off anonymous comments. If you have a problem with this, I'm not sure what you should do about it. Cry, perhaps.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Settling In
People keep asking us if we are settled in yet. It is hard to say, as I am not sure what being settled in would look like. If measured by intentions to unpack more boxes, then we're pretty settled. Indeed, I'm wondering why we packed all that other stuff.
On the other hand, I'm not sure settling in is on the agenda list. When we first arrived, we dashed around doing lots of networking and job hunting. Then we spent a couple of weeks just sleeping as much as possible. Now DOB has begun his bar preparation (interspersed with a lot of sleeping) and I am mostly trying to keep everyone else from interrupting. And, when I can, sleep.
The extra time with the kids means we have been doing a bit more school . . . but only if they are very good and help with the housework first. D1 is really taking off with reading, and also likes writing her own stories. Her spelling still being loosely phonetic, reading them is an invigorating challenge, rather like puzzling out Beowulf. "WOCT . . . hmm . . . oh, walked!"
We have also been studying the planets and anything else related to outer space that catches our fancy. They made some marbled paper with food coloring and oil and a lot of mess on the counter, and then they cut it out into suitably-colored and proportioned planets to post on our windows.
It's been clear and cold lately, but everyone was happy to see St. Nicholas had put mittens in their shoes on Sunday morning, so we bundle up at least once a day and go out to soak in a few minutes of sunshine. The challenge is finding it--I had forgotten just how low the sun is in the sky this far north. Even at noon the sun has to find a gap in the trees. When we are feeling very inspired, we bundle up at bedtime and go out to look at the stars. (If you want to get up at 2 a.m. on the 14th, there's supposed to be a great meteor shower, but I, for one, will not.)
Yesterday I managed to make three varieties of Christmas cookies with the older ducklings' assistance and didn't lose my mind once. The babies were not allowed to participate. However, they do get to sing with us, and D3 has taken to patting our mouths with her slobbery hand and insisting, "Song! Song!"
On the other hand, I'm not sure settling in is on the agenda list. When we first arrived, we dashed around doing lots of networking and job hunting. Then we spent a couple of weeks just sleeping as much as possible. Now DOB has begun his bar preparation (interspersed with a lot of sleeping) and I am mostly trying to keep everyone else from interrupting. And, when I can, sleep.
The extra time with the kids means we have been doing a bit more school . . . but only if they are very good and help with the housework first. D1 is really taking off with reading, and also likes writing her own stories. Her spelling still being loosely phonetic, reading them is an invigorating challenge, rather like puzzling out Beowulf. "WOCT . . . hmm . . . oh, walked!"
We have also been studying the planets and anything else related to outer space that catches our fancy. They made some marbled paper with food coloring and oil and a lot of mess on the counter, and then they cut it out into suitably-colored and proportioned planets to post on our windows.
It's been clear and cold lately, but everyone was happy to see St. Nicholas had put mittens in their shoes on Sunday morning, so we bundle up at least once a day and go out to soak in a few minutes of sunshine. The challenge is finding it--I had forgotten just how low the sun is in the sky this far north. Even at noon the sun has to find a gap in the trees. When we are feeling very inspired, we bundle up at bedtime and go out to look at the stars. (If you want to get up at 2 a.m. on the 14th, there's supposed to be a great meteor shower, but I, for one, will not.)
Yesterday I managed to make three varieties of Christmas cookies with the older ducklings' assistance and didn't lose my mind once. The babies were not allowed to participate. However, they do get to sing with us, and D3 has taken to patting our mouths with her slobbery hand and insisting, "Song! Song!"
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
D1 Explains Life
D1, at breakfast one day: "Hey, I figured it out: people get married and have kids, and then thur kids get married and have kids, and then thur kids get married and have kids. And people are born every day, and people die every day."
Today she asked me, "How do I know, when I'm listening, what is what I am thinking and what is what I am listening to?"
Today she asked me, "How do I know, when I'm listening, what is what I am thinking and what is what I am listening to?"
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Suitable for All Ages
We could put on serious faces and explain that the reason our children don't watch television is out of concern for their morals or mental development or the health of their eyes.
The real truth, though, is that we just hate children's television. If Dante had known about it, he probably would have peopled one of the less-serious levels of hell with images of singing, dancing, oversincere hosts spouting babble about Being Nice.
Unfortunately, from what I've read, it is exactly the programming that is most tedious for adults that actually has marginal benefit for children. The slow, boring, repetitive kind, not the kind with amusing in-jokes.
So we've simply operated on the assumption that we will let the children watch television when they are old enough to enjoy the kind of things we want to watch. This is tricky, since preschoolers don't process things as adults do. This was driven home to me when we got to the climactic scenes in Little House on the Prairie and D2 didn't want to read anymore. The realistic emotional strain of the tension between the settlers and the natives was too much for him, even though no actual harm ensued or was even directly threatened.
On the other hand, give him a story with tigers threatening to eat people up, poisoned apples, or sword-wielding knights, and he'll listen with glowing eyes. It's not about the degree of violence, it's about the safety of the delivery package.
We've discussed letting them watch a Christmas movie with us, but it was obvious that some "family favorites" would just not be suitable: It's a Wonderful Life, for instance, would be terrifying to small children. (We might settle on White Christmas; bombs falling is not such a big deal.)
But the other night we had promised D1 that she could sleep in the living room, and we also wanted to watch a dvd ourselves. And then we realized we had struck upon the perfect balance of suitability. The series we wanted to watch contained nothing frightening, no disturbing images or bad language or examples of children misbehaving.
Which is why D1 is now watching Jeeves and Wooster with us. Well, sure, technically there is all the lying, stealing, drinking, gambling, and skirt-chasing, but Wodehouse's ability to turn all that into eminently wholesome entertainment is one of the wonders of English literature. Mostly D1 appreciates the people falling into ponds and hiding under the furniture.
The real truth, though, is that we just hate children's television. If Dante had known about it, he probably would have peopled one of the less-serious levels of hell with images of singing, dancing, oversincere hosts spouting babble about Being Nice.
Unfortunately, from what I've read, it is exactly the programming that is most tedious for adults that actually has marginal benefit for children. The slow, boring, repetitive kind, not the kind with amusing in-jokes.
So we've simply operated on the assumption that we will let the children watch television when they are old enough to enjoy the kind of things we want to watch. This is tricky, since preschoolers don't process things as adults do. This was driven home to me when we got to the climactic scenes in Little House on the Prairie and D2 didn't want to read anymore. The realistic emotional strain of the tension between the settlers and the natives was too much for him, even though no actual harm ensued or was even directly threatened.
On the other hand, give him a story with tigers threatening to eat people up, poisoned apples, or sword-wielding knights, and he'll listen with glowing eyes. It's not about the degree of violence, it's about the safety of the delivery package.
We've discussed letting them watch a Christmas movie with us, but it was obvious that some "family favorites" would just not be suitable: It's a Wonderful Life, for instance, would be terrifying to small children. (We might settle on White Christmas; bombs falling is not such a big deal.)
But the other night we had promised D1 that she could sleep in the living room, and we also wanted to watch a dvd ourselves. And then we realized we had struck upon the perfect balance of suitability. The series we wanted to watch contained nothing frightening, no disturbing images or bad language or examples of children misbehaving.
Which is why D1 is now watching Jeeves and Wooster with us. Well, sure, technically there is all the lying, stealing, drinking, gambling, and skirt-chasing, but Wodehouse's ability to turn all that into eminently wholesome entertainment is one of the wonders of English literature. Mostly D1 appreciates the people falling into ponds and hiding under the furniture.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Deck the Halls
In a fit of temporary insanity, we promised the kids we would decorate the house the day after Thanksgiving. My mind filled with hazy memories of a peaceful, solitary day deep-cleaning and artistically arranging treasured ornaments, interspersed with raids on the fridge for Thanksgiving leftovers, all to the soundtrack of favorite Christmas CDs.
We forgot that we would arise exhausted, that the children would be exhausted and cranky (and yet insistent on continuing as promised) and that their ideas of decorating would be very different from mine. Specifically, the older two's idea was to set things out equally spaced in straight lines or simply in a stack. The babies' idea was to throw everything on the floor and step on it, which I allowed them to do with the nativity blocks and the Melmac plates.
Having begun, though, we had to continue, and the future looked brighter after a nap. Thanks to a kind extended family member, we had a coupon for a free tree at a local farm. Their Majesties accompanied us in the truck, and we tromped through the woods in a brief and not-too-picky quest for the perfect tree. (Still a definite step up from tromping through the aisles of the hardware store.)
Once we returned home and had done sufficient battle to erect and put lights on the tree, we could move forward with the real decorations.
As always, the beads were immensely popular. We stuck to the non-breakable decorations this year. The kids insisted on having the overhead lights out most of the time, and D3 especially enjoyed basking in the glow from the tree, exclaiming, "Light!" (Today D4 picked up the nativity block with the star on it and exclaimed, "Light!")
We wound up with some not-too-hot apple cider. And then we shoved everyone in bed very quickly and collapsed. Not quite Hallmark, but the kids seemed to enjoy it.
However, the idea of taking Advent slowly and adding the decorations gradually is looking better all the time.
We forgot that we would arise exhausted, that the children would be exhausted and cranky (and yet insistent on continuing as promised) and that their ideas of decorating would be very different from mine. Specifically, the older two's idea was to set things out equally spaced in straight lines or simply in a stack. The babies' idea was to throw everything on the floor and step on it, which I allowed them to do with the nativity blocks and the Melmac plates.Having begun, though, we had to continue, and the future looked brighter after a nap. Thanks to a kind extended family member, we had a coupon for a free tree at a local farm. Their Majesties accompanied us in the truck, and we tromped through the woods in a brief and not-too-picky quest for the perfect tree. (Still a definite step up from tromping through the aisles of the hardware store.)
Once we returned home and had done sufficient battle to erect and put lights on the tree, we could move forward with the real decorations.
As always, the beads were immensely popular. We stuck to the non-breakable decorations this year. The kids insisted on having the overhead lights out most of the time, and D3 especially enjoyed basking in the glow from the tree, exclaiming, "Light!" (Today D4 picked up the nativity block with the star on it and exclaimed, "Light!")We wound up with some not-too-hot apple cider. And then we shoved everyone in bed very quickly and collapsed. Not quite Hallmark, but the kids seemed to enjoy it.
However, the idea of taking Advent slowly and adding the decorations gradually is looking better all the time.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
We gather together
Wondergirl and the others on the farm have been working towards developing a massive, organic, sustainable garden, although one sometimes wonders if mortal flesh can sustain all that work. Naturally for Thanksgiving dinner we had to use as much homegrown produce as possible.
I volunteered for my share of the chopping and was directed out to the garden to dig the requisite vegetables. This didn't quite seem to fit with "all is safely gathered in," but that's what happens with a four-season garden. (Besides, why should New England define the appropriate seasonal weather?) Since it was a balmy day and not raining at the moment, it was a pleasant task.
We did not have turkey, since no one had raised one, but we had beef brisket, mashed potatoes, roasted all-kinds-of-vegetables (I meant to try the Brussels sprouts, but forgot), Waldorf salad, raw all-kinds-of-vegetables with dip, deviled eggs, green beans, pumpkin pie and pumpkin cake. Thanks to interstate commerce, we also had cranberry chutney (we drove the cranberries out from Wisconsin personally, though), ham, cheese biscuits, peanut butter cheesecake, pecan pie, and probably some more things I'm forgetting or failed to make room for. Oh, and three cans of olives, which were all devoured by small children.DOB found his calling in drawing up an elaborate menu for the event. I was pleased in that I did not sever any fingers or even fingernails. The ducklings, after the long, long wait, had a fabulous if somewhat hyper evening, and the older ones favored us with a brief Thanksgiving concert in cooperation with the cousins. As he headed for bed, D2 murmured, "I think I had too much wild today." But he seemed to enjoy it while it lasted.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
House of Pancakes
The Saturday morning pancake breakfast is a family tradition that dates back to when it hardly counted as a tradition and was more just something we did because, well, there we all were and we had to eat something for breakfast.
The pancakes in question are sourdough, but before you Nourishing Tradition people get all excited, let me assure you that they must be made with white flour (a brief flirtation with whole wheat was quickly abandoned) and drowned in peanut butter and cheap bulk syrup. Large quantities of scrambled eggs and link sausages--not to mention a few types of homemade jam for when peanut butter and syrup begins to pall--round out the menu. The basic goal is to sustain everyone through a day of hard labor on the farm so that it is not necessary to stop for lunch.
Now that we have returned to the Family Compound, the number of people has reached the point that a Grownup Table and Children's Table are necessary. This is nice, because the older cousins will help the older ducklings with cutting up their pancakes. It also provides fodder for competition.
The oldest cousin (C1) is a ten-year-old farm boy, with the appetite that implies, and hence the ability to regard eating as a competitive sport and still crawl through fences. After our first Saturday breakfast, he went around tallying the totals consumed by the Grownups and by the Children, and announced the Children as the winners, having consumed the most pancakes. There was some dispute over the legitimacy of this title, as he had counted the twins as Children even though they sat near the Grownup table, but the main trouble DOB saw was that he had not been warned about the competition until it was over.
The next time we gathered, DOB was prepared to show how old age and treachery could overcome youth and a high metabolism. (Not that DOB's metabolism has slowed down much yet.) Carefully DOB selected the smallest pancakes from the platter, thus consuming more numerically, certain he would push the Grownup total over what the Children could consume, especially when you factored in that after tummyaches on the previous occasion we had forbidden D1 and D2 from eating more than three or four each.
But this week, C1 never went around to get the tally from each table. Instead, he merely proudly announced his *personal* total of fifteen, which DOB had not been able to manage even in small pancakes.
We await further devious maneuvers as DOB tries to get ahead of the rule-changing.
The pancakes in question are sourdough, but before you Nourishing Tradition people get all excited, let me assure you that they must be made with white flour (a brief flirtation with whole wheat was quickly abandoned) and drowned in peanut butter and cheap bulk syrup. Large quantities of scrambled eggs and link sausages--not to mention a few types of homemade jam for when peanut butter and syrup begins to pall--round out the menu. The basic goal is to sustain everyone through a day of hard labor on the farm so that it is not necessary to stop for lunch.
Now that we have returned to the Family Compound, the number of people has reached the point that a Grownup Table and Children's Table are necessary. This is nice, because the older cousins will help the older ducklings with cutting up their pancakes. It also provides fodder for competition.
The oldest cousin (C1) is a ten-year-old farm boy, with the appetite that implies, and hence the ability to regard eating as a competitive sport and still crawl through fences. After our first Saturday breakfast, he went around tallying the totals consumed by the Grownups and by the Children, and announced the Children as the winners, having consumed the most pancakes. There was some dispute over the legitimacy of this title, as he had counted the twins as Children even though they sat near the Grownup table, but the main trouble DOB saw was that he had not been warned about the competition until it was over.
The next time we gathered, DOB was prepared to show how old age and treachery could overcome youth and a high metabolism. (Not that DOB's metabolism has slowed down much yet.) Carefully DOB selected the smallest pancakes from the platter, thus consuming more numerically, certain he would push the Grownup total over what the Children could consume, especially when you factored in that after tummyaches on the previous occasion we had forbidden D1 and D2 from eating more than three or four each.
But this week, C1 never went around to get the tally from each table. Instead, he merely proudly announced his *personal* total of fifteen, which DOB had not been able to manage even in small pancakes.
We await further devious maneuvers as DOB tries to get ahead of the rule-changing.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Where We Are and What We Are Doing
So now, I propose to give you all some idea of what we are actually doing now that we have arrived.
First, a rundown of the Family Compound is in order.
There is The House, wherein reside His and Her Majesty (i.e., my dad and his wife). We are living in their basement. His Majesty just got himself retired last week, but we are all skeptical as to how long that will last. Her Majesty teaches part-time.
There is The Farm (about ten minutes from The House), wherein resides Wondergirl and Bookworm (my sisters) in the house we all grew up in. Also my brother's (Techboy's) in-laws, in a trailer. Also all of our stuff, in a shed. Also a lot of cows, chickens, and organic produce.
In the back pasture of The Farm, there is a big hole in the ground that will someday be a house for my brother and family (the Cousins). Meanwhile they live at another house not quite as far down the road.
A mile or so further on, up the side of a precipitous hill, there is The Hill, wherein reside my grandparents and my Weird Aunt.
Another brother, Toolboy, and his wife live not terribly far away, but their house hasn't made it to compound status. My other brothers live far, far away now.
As for what we are doing, DOB is registered to take the Washington Bar in February. We would like for one of us to pick up part-time work until that is over, preferably something legal-ish. In the meantime, we are busy networking, which means we spend a couple of days a week talking to people and asking them about other people they know and What They Would Do If They Were Us. The other days of the week we spend setting things up and taking them down and dealing with paperwork related to moving and trying to get both computers working and hunting for things that got lost in the move and wondering why the kids can't just play quietly by themselves for five minutes. Sometimes we just give up and play with Legos.
As a result of talking to various people our current plans are that after DOB passes the bar (foregone conclusion, but of course other people don't know that) we will try to find an arrangement to work as an associate or just office-sharing with a solo practitioner or small firm, hopefully in a small town near here, to gain experience and clients as we work towards having our own firm. If all goes well I'll apply to take the July bar to get my license reactivated. We're still planning to homeschool, hopefully with both of us involved as well as finding some person highly competent in the things I am not (like, say, awareness of surroundings and organizational skills) to help out with the day-to-day things.
First, a rundown of the Family Compound is in order.
There is The House, wherein reside His and Her Majesty (i.e., my dad and his wife). We are living in their basement. His Majesty just got himself retired last week, but we are all skeptical as to how long that will last. Her Majesty teaches part-time.
There is The Farm (about ten minutes from The House), wherein resides Wondergirl and Bookworm (my sisters) in the house we all grew up in. Also my brother's (Techboy's) in-laws, in a trailer. Also all of our stuff, in a shed. Also a lot of cows, chickens, and organic produce.
In the back pasture of The Farm, there is a big hole in the ground that will someday be a house for my brother and family (the Cousins). Meanwhile they live at another house not quite as far down the road.
A mile or so further on, up the side of a precipitous hill, there is The Hill, wherein reside my grandparents and my Weird Aunt.
Another brother, Toolboy, and his wife live not terribly far away, but their house hasn't made it to compound status. My other brothers live far, far away now.
As for what we are doing, DOB is registered to take the Washington Bar in February. We would like for one of us to pick up part-time work until that is over, preferably something legal-ish. In the meantime, we are busy networking, which means we spend a couple of days a week talking to people and asking them about other people they know and What They Would Do If They Were Us. The other days of the week we spend setting things up and taking them down and dealing with paperwork related to moving and trying to get both computers working and hunting for things that got lost in the move and wondering why the kids can't just play quietly by themselves for five minutes. Sometimes we just give up and play with Legos.
As a result of talking to various people our current plans are that after DOB passes the bar (foregone conclusion, but of course other people don't know that) we will try to find an arrangement to work as an associate or just office-sharing with a solo practitioner or small firm, hopefully in a small town near here, to gain experience and clients as we work towards having our own firm. If all goes well I'll apply to take the July bar to get my license reactivated. We're still planning to homeschool, hopefully with both of us involved as well as finding some person highly competent in the things I am not (like, say, awareness of surroundings and organizational skills) to help out with the day-to-day things.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Friday, November 06, 2009
The Great American Hike
I wanted to wait to post this until we had pictures from the camera, but we seem to have lost the camera cord, along with half of the monitor and the entire contents of the medicine cabinet.
In fact, we harbor a deep suspicion that none of our stuff arrived here, and that our moving van was surreptitiously switched with someone else who had the organizational skills of a magpie. Except they had remarkably similar taste in furniture.
Anyway, on Wednesday we decided to take a break from all this and take the kids to a park. It was a glorious autumn day such as does actually occur in the Pacific Northwest, except that we prefer you continue to believe they do not. (It rained today.)
I, having grown up here, have never been to any of the local parks. So we selected one at random and drove there. The place was quite deserted, but we identified a trail which an inconveniently posted map indicated should lead to the beach. We headed off with all four children and a bag of lunch, down moderate grades on a broad, well-maintained trail.
The twins are just at that awkward age that has legs too short to walk and general mass too large to be carried, especially when they both wanted to be carried at once, which, being twins, was always. (I should note for our less-frequent readers that DOB has a foot condition which renders it unsafe for him to traverse unstable ground carrying a small child, which is why I will repeatedly figure as doing the heavy lifting.)
Nonetheless, we arrived at the beach in good time where we could all engage in the ever-popular activities of throwing rocks in the water, dropping bits of lunch for the seagulls, and being unable to function without flush toilets. We had a marvelous time, and then it was time to head back.
Naturally we did not wish to simply retrace our steps, when we clearly recalled the map had showed multiple routes to the water. Unfortunately, there were no maps near the water. There was a small trail--certainly smaller than the one we had come on, but quite clearly marked, and labeled with a "No Bikes" sign. No problem, we didn't have a bike.
We threaded our way through the underbrush for some distance until we encountered a rather muddy patch, which had to be crossed by the means of a few random sticks scattered across it. On the other side was a very steep staircase. The older ducklings made their way across, slowly and with some trepidation, then I took turns carrying the twins across, then DOB made his way across and noted with some displeasure the absence of underbrush to grab onto at his height.
Up the staircase we proceeded, until we encountered a fallen tree. Fortunately there was a large gap under the tree, tall enough for all of us to crawl under. Indeed, the twins could have walked under it, but preferred to simply stand under it as if they were inspecting it for a new home. We finally had to lift them over and pressed on through the thickening underbrush.
A bit further on we encountered an even larger fallen tree, this one smack on the ground. However, beyond it was a clear flat space, and then a flight of steps going up to the fence that marked the edge of the picnic area adjacent to the parking lot. Our goal was nearly in sight. We scaled the log, or went around it, as our leg lengths dictated.
It was a dead end. The flat clear space was a quagmire. A sinkhole cut off the approach to the steps. There was no opening in the fence from above; clearly from this end it was not considered a trail at all.
However, nearby there was a steep mudslide area down the side of the hill. We considered the prospect of retracing our steps and then having to go all the way back on the original trail, and decided to give the mudslide a try. As the most surefooted, I went first, a contented D4 tucked under one arm. I made it about two-thirds of the way up and determined that I could go no further. The mud on one side was nearly vertical; the other side was covered with blackberry brambles.
Then I looked back all the way down the hill, and then across the trees to the water, thought of all that long, long trail we had come down, and decided there had to be a way up. Still with D4 tucked under one arm, I carefully arranged the brambles in such a way that I could angle myself to where a few toeholds crossed the mud horizontally, to a grassy outcropping that came down lower on the other side.
Once I had made it to the top, there was still the challenge of everyone else and the lunch bag. D1, ever calm and resourceful, set off next, getting stuck midway, but by taking off her boots she was able to make it to the top. She then kept D4 on the far side of the fence while I returned down for D3, who was contentedly sitting in DOB's lap after they had slid a third of the way back down, an experience she thought quite amusing. Once I had D3 in hand, DOB and D2 decided to hazard the stairs, and somehow found their way around the sinkhole and up the stairs--many of them missing--tossing the lunch bag on ahead and catching any spare Tupperware that came tumbling back down the cliff.
And so we all made it to the top, safe and sound if rather muddy and very tired.
In fact, we harbor a deep suspicion that none of our stuff arrived here, and that our moving van was surreptitiously switched with someone else who had the organizational skills of a magpie. Except they had remarkably similar taste in furniture.
Anyway, on Wednesday we decided to take a break from all this and take the kids to a park. It was a glorious autumn day such as does actually occur in the Pacific Northwest, except that we prefer you continue to believe they do not. (It rained today.)
I, having grown up here, have never been to any of the local parks. So we selected one at random and drove there. The place was quite deserted, but we identified a trail which an inconveniently posted map indicated should lead to the beach. We headed off with all four children and a bag of lunch, down moderate grades on a broad, well-maintained trail.
The twins are just at that awkward age that has legs too short to walk and general mass too large to be carried, especially when they both wanted to be carried at once, which, being twins, was always. (I should note for our less-frequent readers that DOB has a foot condition which renders it unsafe for him to traverse unstable ground carrying a small child, which is why I will repeatedly figure as doing the heavy lifting.)
Nonetheless, we arrived at the beach in good time where we could all engage in the ever-popular activities of throwing rocks in the water, dropping bits of lunch for the seagulls, and being unable to function without flush toilets. We had a marvelous time, and then it was time to head back.
Naturally we did not wish to simply retrace our steps, when we clearly recalled the map had showed multiple routes to the water. Unfortunately, there were no maps near the water. There was a small trail--certainly smaller than the one we had come on, but quite clearly marked, and labeled with a "No Bikes" sign. No problem, we didn't have a bike.
We threaded our way through the underbrush for some distance until we encountered a rather muddy patch, which had to be crossed by the means of a few random sticks scattered across it. On the other side was a very steep staircase. The older ducklings made their way across, slowly and with some trepidation, then I took turns carrying the twins across, then DOB made his way across and noted with some displeasure the absence of underbrush to grab onto at his height.
Up the staircase we proceeded, until we encountered a fallen tree. Fortunately there was a large gap under the tree, tall enough for all of us to crawl under. Indeed, the twins could have walked under it, but preferred to simply stand under it as if they were inspecting it for a new home. We finally had to lift them over and pressed on through the thickening underbrush.
A bit further on we encountered an even larger fallen tree, this one smack on the ground. However, beyond it was a clear flat space, and then a flight of steps going up to the fence that marked the edge of the picnic area adjacent to the parking lot. Our goal was nearly in sight. We scaled the log, or went around it, as our leg lengths dictated.
It was a dead end. The flat clear space was a quagmire. A sinkhole cut off the approach to the steps. There was no opening in the fence from above; clearly from this end it was not considered a trail at all.
However, nearby there was a steep mudslide area down the side of the hill. We considered the prospect of retracing our steps and then having to go all the way back on the original trail, and decided to give the mudslide a try. As the most surefooted, I went first, a contented D4 tucked under one arm. I made it about two-thirds of the way up and determined that I could go no further. The mud on one side was nearly vertical; the other side was covered with blackberry brambles.
Then I looked back all the way down the hill, and then across the trees to the water, thought of all that long, long trail we had come down, and decided there had to be a way up. Still with D4 tucked under one arm, I carefully arranged the brambles in such a way that I could angle myself to where a few toeholds crossed the mud horizontally, to a grassy outcropping that came down lower on the other side.
Once I had made it to the top, there was still the challenge of everyone else and the lunch bag. D1, ever calm and resourceful, set off next, getting stuck midway, but by taking off her boots she was able to make it to the top. She then kept D4 on the far side of the fence while I returned down for D3, who was contentedly sitting in DOB's lap after they had slid a third of the way back down, an experience she thought quite amusing. Once I had D3 in hand, DOB and D2 decided to hazard the stairs, and somehow found their way around the sinkhole and up the stairs--many of them missing--tossing the lunch bag on ahead and catching any spare Tupperware that came tumbling back down the cliff.
And so we all made it to the top, safe and sound if rather muddy and very tired.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Theories of Job Searching
The Goldilocks Theory of Job Searching states that for any given job searcher, two kinds of job postings are listed:
Too Big: "Candidates must have three advanced degrees from extremely expensive colleges, thirty-five years' experience in espionage cases involving rare Peruvian wildlife, and fluency in Basque, Parsi, and !Kung. X-ray vision a plus. Salary starts at $1.5M"
Too Small: "Candidates must be a vertebrate form of life with at least five words in vocabulary. Absence of criminal record a plus. You pay us."
There will, of course, be an occasional listing that slips through that an ordinarily competent mortal might apply for, but never fear, those positions will have been filled before the posting was listed, and the post is merely kept up as a sadistic trick.
This is why you are not supposed to look for a job by answering job listings anymore, although everybody keeps doing it anyway. No, you are supposed to get a job by networking, which is exactly how people have always gotten jobs but now there is a fancy name for it. It is, of course, simply the process of finding out whose sister's neighbor's cousin has a job open. You just have to talk to an awful lot of people until you find out which one it is.
Another downside is you must (if you are male) wear a tie. Now, this is the West Coast. Senior partners in downtown firms do not wear ties to work. But struggling, starving (not us, you know, but someone) lawyers-to-be must come up with a tie, and a good one, too, and demonstrate their ability to tie it. The ability to comply with meaningless formalities is, after all, an essential legal skill.
Actually the real trouble we have encountered is that just taking care of the ducklings is in fact more than a full-time job for two people. This leaves little time left over for minor things like earning a living. And upon arrival in a new state there are thirty-nine essential things to do in the first thirty days, all involving paperwork that could not possibly be obtained within thirty days.
But at least I got the lost broccoli and smashed crackers cleaned out of the van.
Too Big: "Candidates must have three advanced degrees from extremely expensive colleges, thirty-five years' experience in espionage cases involving rare Peruvian wildlife, and fluency in Basque, Parsi, and !Kung. X-ray vision a plus. Salary starts at $1.5M"
Too Small: "Candidates must be a vertebrate form of life with at least five words in vocabulary. Absence of criminal record a plus. You pay us."
There will, of course, be an occasional listing that slips through that an ordinarily competent mortal might apply for, but never fear, those positions will have been filled before the posting was listed, and the post is merely kept up as a sadistic trick.
This is why you are not supposed to look for a job by answering job listings anymore, although everybody keeps doing it anyway. No, you are supposed to get a job by networking, which is exactly how people have always gotten jobs but now there is a fancy name for it. It is, of course, simply the process of finding out whose sister's neighbor's cousin has a job open. You just have to talk to an awful lot of people until you find out which one it is.
Another downside is you must (if you are male) wear a tie. Now, this is the West Coast. Senior partners in downtown firms do not wear ties to work. But struggling, starving (not us, you know, but someone) lawyers-to-be must come up with a tie, and a good one, too, and demonstrate their ability to tie it. The ability to comply with meaningless formalities is, after all, an essential legal skill.
Actually the real trouble we have encountered is that just taking care of the ducklings is in fact more than a full-time job for two people. This leaves little time left over for minor things like earning a living. And upon arrival in a new state there are thirty-nine essential things to do in the first thirty days, all involving paperwork that could not possibly be obtained within thirty days.
But at least I got the lost broccoli and smashed crackers cleaned out of the van.
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