How often do I say that phrase - going home? I say it to the kids when we've been on a long grocery trip or, less often, out to a big box store. I say it when we're at the park and need to leave, or when we've completed our fourth trip in four days down to the flooring store.
This week, though, that phrase has taken on a heavier meaning. Last week, Mike and I bravely took four children on a 420 mile journey. Being wimps, we split it into two days, but, to our credit, that also gave us a chance to spend a leisurely evening with Mike's Grandma. That was really nice. Our "plan" was to end that evening with a great swim at the hotel, but Mighty Mouse falling and smacking his head on the concrete near the pool put a quick end to that delightful escapade. Manly Mouse thought it was fine thing to be done, though, since he took one look at the pool and burst into tears for the rest of the "fun swimming time". Oy. The zoo the next day was a by far more popular event. Regardless of the circumstances, though, we were going home.
Maybe it's being a farm girl that makes my roots so very important to me. I'm not sure. In high school I spent evenings out on my parents' steps staring at the stars, petting our dog, pouting about being dateless. Last week I spent evenings out on the deck, staring at the stars, thinking about two friends who really, truly went home, to their final resting place, one early in the week, one later in the week. Against that backdrop, my high school musings seem silly all these years later. All these funerals later. So there I sat, missing my friends, crying for those they left behind, homesick for a time now gone.
It was good to be home. It was good to get back to this home. It was special today to go back to yet another place I got to call home for awhile.
It was hard to leave home on Monday. It was hard to leave that other home behind this afternoon after our visit there. I even went to our actual, physical, former, now-empty house and picked some plums from a tree planted in 2005. It was a good home.
Maybe all these tears that seem to keep dripping are evidence that our home really isn't anywhere around here after all. I know my two friends are both in their eternal home - Heaven - and I don't think they have to feel this homesickness for places and people and times they've loved and lost anymore.
"Perfect submission. All is at rest. I in my Savior am happy and blest. Watching and waiting, looking above, filled with His goodness, lost in His love"....How could one feel homesick when we really are totally filled with His goodness and lost in His love?! Perhaps that's what really going home feels like.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Independence Day
It's perhaps a bit late to blog about the Fourth of July, but I'm going to do it anyway. You can see our fruit dessert that had the kiddos cheering above and the star cutout watermelon popsicles below. They were cuter than they were yummy. Fun, though.
In another "pinterest inpsired failure" on my part, I dyed juice ice cubes red and blue and then added them into juice. It turned purple, but the girls thought it was an awesome reminder of "blue and red make purple". Such positive children! This is a very good thing for a mama who so often fails at anything "pinterest-inspired"!
Miss Mouse took the following three photos. I helped her set my camera settings before Mike took the girls to fireworks; we talked about what each setting did and why we set them how we did. She came home with some pretty impressive images for a seven-year-old, I thought. We printed them off, and she entered them in the fair. She came home with two blue ribbons and a red along with a "people's choice" award for one of the photos!!! On the topic of the fair, Sunny entered a fleece tied blanket and got a blue ribbon and a "people's choice" award, as well! People loved my children's art!!! Oh, happy mama!!!
I found Manly Mouse dressed like this on the Fourth.
It was not hard to see who did the dressing.
Our attempt at a family Independence Day photo. Mighty Mouse had been up all night on the third. Can you tell?
Really. If there was any doubt in the above photo, there's none here. This is one unhappy, tired, little boy.
Maybe some ages are easier to photograph than others....Manly doesn't always look concerned, but the newest photos I have of him looking cheery aren't on the computer yet. I love his cheeks in these, though. Can you tell that Sunny is in her element snuggling this little cuddlebug? They are peas.in.a.pod.
As I went through these photos tonight, I kind of couldn't believe how grown up the girls are looking.
I took these goofy shots on the 1st of July, but I wanted to include them to prove that following a half-way-decent night's sleep, Mighty Mouse is about the funniest little person and sweetest little boy anyone ever could meet!
He loves hats. He calls it an "at", and I'm searching desperately for a boyish one that will make him feel as happy as this pink one of Sunny's.
His latest "joke", as of August 16, is to point to himself and say "baby?" and then laugh hysterically. I laugh with him on the outside, but inside it hurts just a little because he really still IS a baby and has just had to grow up so fast that he no longer knows it.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
When I Grow Up
It's humbling needing help, accepting assistance. In my experience as a mom, even a mom of three young children, I found I could do most things myself. I became quite independent, and the kids and I functioned as a fairly well-oiled machine. Then came little Manly Mouse. Four children on one parent was my tipping factor, I guess. Even with the incredible amount of help that big sisters Miss Mouse and Sunny offer, there are just times that I cannot.do.it.myself. That's humbling for me.
However, it's not as discouraging to find I need help as I thought it might be. It's been truly ENcouraging and inspiring, in fact. Being the needy recipient of assistance has led me to decide that when I "grow up", that is when my children grow up, one thing I'm particularly excited about is being able to offer help to others. The children really don't have to be all that "grown up", either, to start being helpers themselves, and that's one thing, as I treasure these evenings of rocking my tiny baby and these days of walking hand-in-chubby-little-hand with Mighty Mouse, that I am very, very excited to share with the kiddos.
Here are some examples from my past year:
*Last fall, just as I was definitely beginning to look and feel pregnant again, Mighty had a wild night in church. He wasn't being naughty as much as just exuberant. Well, his exuberance tipped over his "non-spill" bowl of Cheerios. They went flying, several pews back. Of course we were right up front. Ugh. I decided to wait until after the service to pick them up, but before I could start, the family behind us had them all picked up. The two oldest children in the family, who I think were around 8 and 10, and their father had picked up our entire bowl of spilled cereal.
*Last spring we attended a going-away party for the family who picked up said Cheerios. Manly Mouse was three weeks old, and it was basically our first time out in public as a family of six. Mighty Mouse found what his sisters termed "the playground" at the house of the people hosting the party, so Mike was supervising him while I attempted to balance the car seat and plates of food for myself and each of the girls. A friend whose daughters are around our girls' ages and a bit older refused to let me get the food myself and instead waited on me, bringing us everything we needed to our table. On our way home from the party I told Mike I thought that would be one of the best things about having children who are a little older. So many times we focus on how they aren't "babies" anymore, but how fun will it be to teach them to help out other people?!
*Our second Sunday at church as a fivesome (Mike was down south, and the girls had had just more than enough of skipping worship "because Daddy's not going to be there today".....I wasn't being let off the hook by them any longer!), Mighty did great through the entire sermon. Then came Communion, and I honestly had no idea what to do with the wiggly toddler who needed mama to carry him up for Communion (because he was actually really needing mama to put him down for a nap) while I also was holding a sleeping, 7-week-old Manly Mouse. I figured I'd manage, but then as I attempted to put Mighty's shoes back on one-handed while holding Manly (we do outdoor worship in the summer, and Mighty had managed to squirm out of his shoes during the sermon...it was good entertainment for him for that portion of the service...), a friend stepped in and asked to take Manly. I happily handed off the sleeping bundle-of-snuggles and was able to hold Mighty and get myself and the "big three" up for Communion. Manly joined our friend's family to be blessed that Sunday. It reminded me of the phrase that "it takes a village to raise a child". I was thankful for my youngest son being cared for by "the village" so that I could give a little more of me to my other little boy who needed more of me that day.
*The other day we needed groceries on perhaps the hottest day in July. It was stifling hot, but we were out of almost every snack and basic food in the house. Sure, we had lots of frozen meat, but that was really about it! So, after Mighty's nap, we headed to the grocery store. We have a very particular system going for shopping these days. It involves Miss Mouse pushing the cart; Sunny sometimes takes a turn. Mighty rides in the stroller; Manly rides in his carseat in the stroller, while I push the stroller. We are thankful for the drive-up option to pick up our groceries because I don't allow Miss Mouse to push the loaded cart in the parking lot. Neither do the store employees. I had planned to have her try it one day last spring, and the young men at the check out line decided they would not let her do that and instead carried our groceries out themselves (for some reason the drive-up was closed)! Very sweet! Anyway, that particular hot day reflected Mighty's mood perfectly. He was grouchy. We got near the watermelon, and he started saying "apple". I explained they were watermelon and that we'd have to pay for them. Things went downhill from there, so we shopped the produce section with a toddler shouting "apple! apple!" in the most pathetic "please-can't-I-have-an-apple" tone that you ever did hear. I stayed fairly calm on the outside but had made the decision to get a few produce items and beat it out of the store. Until we got over to the grapefruit/orange section and an elderly woman leaned down to Mighty, who was in tears, and told him his shirt was "sure nice" and asked him where he got it. As Mighty's tearful shouts of "apple" subsided, my tears nearly fell because the woman reminded me of how my grandma might have calmly talked to a little person in a store. Mighty didn't answer the lady, but he smiled and calmed down after she visited with him. I guess he just needed his mind taken off the forbidden "apple". We ended up getting our entire list, thanks to that kind woman who helped out a sad little boy instead of just staring and shaking her head or something. I hear other people getting that kind of reaction, and I wonder if I just don't notice when it happens to me or if I'm just somehow blessed to find all these really kind people in my path! Either way, I want to be like that elderly woman someday.
*Today we proudly gathered up a summer's worth of library program projects and headed to the library to fulfill our program requirements. The girls spent hours and hours on this for the reward of having their pictures in the paper. When we got there, Manly had not yet fallen asleep for his carseat nap the way I had hoped and planned. While the girls waited in line to turn in their projects, I walked Manly and Mighty around in the stroller, hoping Manly would close his eyes and have a cat nap. No such luck. We waited behind a family trying to get a library card, and then we let a young mom go ahead of us to rent a movie; her baby and husband had already gone out to the car because apparently that baby wasn't taking his or her carseat nap either! Finally it was our turn. The girls proudly laid their drawings and coloring sheets and projects on the counter along with wallet-size smiling pictures of themselves.....and were promptly told that they hadn't done everything they needed. The young man at the counter obviously was not a parent...nor probably an uncle...or a babysitter, even, and he just insisted that even though the "challenge question" sheet said, "parent may tailor to child's ability", it had to all be filled out in order to qualify. He didn't look at the drawings the girls had spent two entire afternoons on. He didn't ask what "special powers" they gave their robots that they were supposed to come up with. He just insisted and insisted that the spots they'd left blank - that were blank because I followed the instruction allowing me to tailor the questions to their abilities and ages - disqualified them from completing the program. He suggested I go google the answers and have them write them in the blank. Never mind that I had intentionally NOT let the girls just google the answers to these questions because I try to teach them that the best research is done by reading books rather than trusting wikipedia; never mind that we had a baby who had begun to fuss his little heart out; never mind that Mighty was standing, by this time, in his stroller trying to figure out why his biggest sister had alligator tears dripping down her face; never mind that in my opinion, my googling the answer and then writing it in for them, because that's what I'd have had to do with the limited time we had, constitutes cheating......It was really horrible. Miss Mouse was sobbing by the time we reached the computer kiosks, which it turned out I didn't even know how to log onto; I was crying by the time I figured out how to log in; Manly was screaming bloody murder by this time.....Into the middle of this, a kind woman who'd been in line behind us came over with a scrap of paper on which she'd written the author and name of a children's book series that she said her now-grown children had enjoyed. She quietly said how sorry she was and how she could tell the girls had worked so hard on their drawings - the drawings the librarian hadn't even looked at. I told her I'd never have expected them to be able to leave blanks on their sheets, except for that little note about parents being able to make it age-appropriate for their children. She just nodded and said again how sorry she was and how she wished she could do something. I pulled myself together and thanked her for the book suggestions and her kindness. We left the library without having been able to get the girls' sheets filled out. Miss Mouse cried so hard I didn't have the heart to take her on the grocery store run I had planned. In attempt to show her some "solidarity" or something - perhaps my own silent protest - I refused to turn in my adult summer library program sheet that I'd brought with in order to win a cool water bottle. That'll show...somebody...something. Or not. In all it was a really awful culmination to an entire summer's worth of effort, but the sting was softened so much by the kindness of a person who could have easily looked at us and wondered why in the world I would bring a fussy baby into a library to turn in half-complete sheets. I want to be like her when my children are grown; I want to offer the mom of younger children suggestions for fun books, and I want to see beyond the appearance of chaos to the carefully drawn and colored pictures, works of art from the hearts of little girls.
I'm planning to email the children's librarian about the situation, but rather than spend more time than I already have fuming about the situation, I decided to incorporate it into this post that I've wanted to write for quite awhile. Because really, it ended up being a lesson for the girls and me about how to be kind to others when they need a friend; and maybe that lesson is even more important than having one's picture featured in the paper......
However, it's not as discouraging to find I need help as I thought it might be. It's been truly ENcouraging and inspiring, in fact. Being the needy recipient of assistance has led me to decide that when I "grow up", that is when my children grow up, one thing I'm particularly excited about is being able to offer help to others. The children really don't have to be all that "grown up", either, to start being helpers themselves, and that's one thing, as I treasure these evenings of rocking my tiny baby and these days of walking hand-in-chubby-little-hand with Mighty Mouse, that I am very, very excited to share with the kiddos.
Here are some examples from my past year:
*Last fall, just as I was definitely beginning to look and feel pregnant again, Mighty had a wild night in church. He wasn't being naughty as much as just exuberant. Well, his exuberance tipped over his "non-spill" bowl of Cheerios. They went flying, several pews back. Of course we were right up front. Ugh. I decided to wait until after the service to pick them up, but before I could start, the family behind us had them all picked up. The two oldest children in the family, who I think were around 8 and 10, and their father had picked up our entire bowl of spilled cereal.
*Last spring we attended a going-away party for the family who picked up said Cheerios. Manly Mouse was three weeks old, and it was basically our first time out in public as a family of six. Mighty Mouse found what his sisters termed "the playground" at the house of the people hosting the party, so Mike was supervising him while I attempted to balance the car seat and plates of food for myself and each of the girls. A friend whose daughters are around our girls' ages and a bit older refused to let me get the food myself and instead waited on me, bringing us everything we needed to our table. On our way home from the party I told Mike I thought that would be one of the best things about having children who are a little older. So many times we focus on how they aren't "babies" anymore, but how fun will it be to teach them to help out other people?!
*Our second Sunday at church as a fivesome (Mike was down south, and the girls had had just more than enough of skipping worship "because Daddy's not going to be there today".....I wasn't being let off the hook by them any longer!), Mighty did great through the entire sermon. Then came Communion, and I honestly had no idea what to do with the wiggly toddler who needed mama to carry him up for Communion (because he was actually really needing mama to put him down for a nap) while I also was holding a sleeping, 7-week-old Manly Mouse. I figured I'd manage, but then as I attempted to put Mighty's shoes back on one-handed while holding Manly (we do outdoor worship in the summer, and Mighty had managed to squirm out of his shoes during the sermon...it was good entertainment for him for that portion of the service...), a friend stepped in and asked to take Manly. I happily handed off the sleeping bundle-of-snuggles and was able to hold Mighty and get myself and the "big three" up for Communion. Manly joined our friend's family to be blessed that Sunday. It reminded me of the phrase that "it takes a village to raise a child". I was thankful for my youngest son being cared for by "the village" so that I could give a little more of me to my other little boy who needed more of me that day.
*The other day we needed groceries on perhaps the hottest day in July. It was stifling hot, but we were out of almost every snack and basic food in the house. Sure, we had lots of frozen meat, but that was really about it! So, after Mighty's nap, we headed to the grocery store. We have a very particular system going for shopping these days. It involves Miss Mouse pushing the cart; Sunny sometimes takes a turn. Mighty rides in the stroller; Manly rides in his carseat in the stroller, while I push the stroller. We are thankful for the drive-up option to pick up our groceries because I don't allow Miss Mouse to push the loaded cart in the parking lot. Neither do the store employees. I had planned to have her try it one day last spring, and the young men at the check out line decided they would not let her do that and instead carried our groceries out themselves (for some reason the drive-up was closed)! Very sweet! Anyway, that particular hot day reflected Mighty's mood perfectly. He was grouchy. We got near the watermelon, and he started saying "apple". I explained they were watermelon and that we'd have to pay for them. Things went downhill from there, so we shopped the produce section with a toddler shouting "apple! apple!" in the most pathetic "please-can't-I-have-an-apple" tone that you ever did hear. I stayed fairly calm on the outside but had made the decision to get a few produce items and beat it out of the store. Until we got over to the grapefruit/orange section and an elderly woman leaned down to Mighty, who was in tears, and told him his shirt was "sure nice" and asked him where he got it. As Mighty's tearful shouts of "apple" subsided, my tears nearly fell because the woman reminded me of how my grandma might have calmly talked to a little person in a store. Mighty didn't answer the lady, but he smiled and calmed down after she visited with him. I guess he just needed his mind taken off the forbidden "apple". We ended up getting our entire list, thanks to that kind woman who helped out a sad little boy instead of just staring and shaking her head or something. I hear other people getting that kind of reaction, and I wonder if I just don't notice when it happens to me or if I'm just somehow blessed to find all these really kind people in my path! Either way, I want to be like that elderly woman someday.
*Today we proudly gathered up a summer's worth of library program projects and headed to the library to fulfill our program requirements. The girls spent hours and hours on this for the reward of having their pictures in the paper. When we got there, Manly had not yet fallen asleep for his carseat nap the way I had hoped and planned. While the girls waited in line to turn in their projects, I walked Manly and Mighty around in the stroller, hoping Manly would close his eyes and have a cat nap. No such luck. We waited behind a family trying to get a library card, and then we let a young mom go ahead of us to rent a movie; her baby and husband had already gone out to the car because apparently that baby wasn't taking his or her carseat nap either! Finally it was our turn. The girls proudly laid their drawings and coloring sheets and projects on the counter along with wallet-size smiling pictures of themselves.....and were promptly told that they hadn't done everything they needed. The young man at the counter obviously was not a parent...nor probably an uncle...or a babysitter, even, and he just insisted that even though the "challenge question" sheet said, "parent may tailor to child's ability", it had to all be filled out in order to qualify. He didn't look at the drawings the girls had spent two entire afternoons on. He didn't ask what "special powers" they gave their robots that they were supposed to come up with. He just insisted and insisted that the spots they'd left blank - that were blank because I followed the instruction allowing me to tailor the questions to their abilities and ages - disqualified them from completing the program. He suggested I go google the answers and have them write them in the blank. Never mind that I had intentionally NOT let the girls just google the answers to these questions because I try to teach them that the best research is done by reading books rather than trusting wikipedia; never mind that we had a baby who had begun to fuss his little heart out; never mind that Mighty was standing, by this time, in his stroller trying to figure out why his biggest sister had alligator tears dripping down her face; never mind that in my opinion, my googling the answer and then writing it in for them, because that's what I'd have had to do with the limited time we had, constitutes cheating......It was really horrible. Miss Mouse was sobbing by the time we reached the computer kiosks, which it turned out I didn't even know how to log onto; I was crying by the time I figured out how to log in; Manly was screaming bloody murder by this time.....Into the middle of this, a kind woman who'd been in line behind us came over with a scrap of paper on which she'd written the author and name of a children's book series that she said her now-grown children had enjoyed. She quietly said how sorry she was and how she could tell the girls had worked so hard on their drawings - the drawings the librarian hadn't even looked at. I told her I'd never have expected them to be able to leave blanks on their sheets, except for that little note about parents being able to make it age-appropriate for their children. She just nodded and said again how sorry she was and how she wished she could do something. I pulled myself together and thanked her for the book suggestions and her kindness. We left the library without having been able to get the girls' sheets filled out. Miss Mouse cried so hard I didn't have the heart to take her on the grocery store run I had planned. In attempt to show her some "solidarity" or something - perhaps my own silent protest - I refused to turn in my adult summer library program sheet that I'd brought with in order to win a cool water bottle. That'll show...somebody...something. Or not. In all it was a really awful culmination to an entire summer's worth of effort, but the sting was softened so much by the kindness of a person who could have easily looked at us and wondered why in the world I would bring a fussy baby into a library to turn in half-complete sheets. I want to be like her when my children are grown; I want to offer the mom of younger children suggestions for fun books, and I want to see beyond the appearance of chaos to the carefully drawn and colored pictures, works of art from the hearts of little girls.
I'm planning to email the children's librarian about the situation, but rather than spend more time than I already have fuming about the situation, I decided to incorporate it into this post that I've wanted to write for quite awhile. Because really, it ended up being a lesson for the girls and me about how to be kind to others when they need a friend; and maybe that lesson is even more important than having one's picture featured in the paper......
Sunday, August 3, 2014
Of Mice....And A Man
What an exciting day we had here today! It started out slowly. Mike needed to be two hours away for church this morning, which gave me, unfortunately, an excuse to stay home this morning. But I enjoyed my coffee on our cracked patio while watching the big three play in the yard, and I enjoyed reading to the girls, finishing up The Trumpet of the Swan, while the boys napped in the early afternoon. It was a lazy, idyllic sort of day.
Manly Mouse is trying his hardest to nap in his bassinet these days. Usually he can do about 30-45 minutes at a shot during the day, but if I can get him in there without nursing, with just snuggles and shushing and singing and rocking, then I figure that's a success. It's such fun to see him wake up smiling and cooing, which he doesn't do as readily if he's eaten himself to sleep. Shorter naps from him does make it seem like I'm constantly putting him down for a nap, but if he naps, even for those short periods, in his crib, then it does give me two free hands to attend to the other kiddos. This is a good thing. So is holding a sleeping, sweet, toothless little fellow. Win, win, either way, I guess.
Anyway, my point was that Manly was napping in his crib late this afternoon, so I decided to put the other three out in the yard, turn on the sprinkler, and have some fun watching them get soaking wet while doing some much-needed garden-weeding myself. By the time I got all three herded into swimming suits and sunscreened and got the sprinkler turned on, I figured I had already used up half of Manly's naptime, but still, it was sort of exciting to put on my gardening gloves and head out to the garden.
It was going along splendidly. The weeds, though taller than I am, were pulling out beautifully, and I was pumped to see that some of our turnips really did come up! Along I went, pulling, pulling, pulling, until I noticed some fuzz in the soil. Well, I thought, that looks like Jola (pronounced Joe-lah) the rabbit has been laying in our garden. She's our "pet" wild rabbit that we watch in the yard. Mighty thinks she's a cat and meows at the door whenever he sees her. Strange, thought I, that a rabbit would stay in the garden long enough to lose that amount of hair.
All these thoughts ran through my mind in quick succession and I brushed my fingers against the furry spot.....and suddenly jolted away with a screech when I saw tiny little moving creatures in what I immediately identified as a mouse nest!!!!
Goodness. What a fright. What a startle.
The girls were overjoyed, of course. Little furry creatures with twitching ears? Babies? Um, yeah, right up these girls' alley. Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear. We have a mouse nest full of little baby mice in the middle of our jungle of a garden.
Impressively I never did start to shake. Got a bit dizzy as the shock wore off. Thanked God that I had my gardening gloves on. But no shaking.
To my Mom's and sister's (and maybe everyone else who is reading this's) dismay, the girls and I decided to really hope Mike would not insist on killing the family of mice. The girls kept going over to the garden to check on them. Mighty went over periodically and said, "Ohhhhhh", though I'm pretty sure he didn't see the little family given that they were still fairly camoflauged. Miss Mouse tried valiantly to take a picture of the mouse family, but all she kept getting was the furry nest. I, um, chose not to go back over to look at the squirmy little things.
For some reason, though, as disgusted as I was to have nearly grabbed a handful of mice, their little wriggling bodies all cuddled together and covered with their mama's fur made me smile. And it hurt my stomach to think of Mike killing them. After all, if I'd have kept the garden weeded, little Mouse Mama probably wouldn't have thought it looked like an abandoned jungle, perfect in which to raise her brood. Plus, the girls love all things gross like that - currently we are owners of an ant farm, a wormery (which I somehow end up watering every now and then because I happen to love worms as much as Sunny does!), a jar with a caterpillar and a chrysalis, and, now, a garden-mouse-nest. I'd have laughed if someone had painted my life before my eyes like this in high school. Laughed.
However, even back then I'd have cried about a mouse losing her life protecting her babies. Sheesh. It's only been in recent years I've been able to handle driving by road kill.
Anyway, back to our afternoon. I texted Mike something along the lines of "I have a story for you!!", so he came in the door ready for an earful. I described the incident to him, resulting in more than a few chuckles on his part as he imagined the scene in his mind. Then I asked if he would consider not terminating the mouse family. Well, that gained me quite a look and the response of, "They're outside. Why would I kill them?". We decided to leave the mouse tenants in the garden alone, though I'm not sure whether or not Miss Mouse and Sunny will now be able to donate their produce from that garden to the food bank.....I thought of ways to sterilize the produce, but it didn't seem any safer or friendlier to give bleach-washed-produce to hungry people than to give them food mice had trounced all over.....
So, for now, the mice stay where they are. I explained to the girls that if they stay outside, they are our friends, and they can stay. Just like the ants we spent several weeks learning about. If they stay outside, we can be happy to see them (at least the kind we have up here). But if they come inside, I will melt their exoskeletons with essential oil/alcohol spray faster than they can take a breath. And I won't feel bad about it. Not one bit. Same goes for mice. If they stay in the yard, they're welcome. If they venture into our garage, vehicles, or house, that means war. My fingers are crossed that the three random cats we have patrolling our yard will also help with this endeavour. Honestly, I think that there are probably mice all over the city, and we just don't often run across their abodes. These particular nesting rodents cannot be the first to have summered in our yard. Thankfully we haven't had a mouse problem even so. I am prepared to take public blame if we suddenly have an influx of rodents this winter.
Interestingly, I asked Mike tonight what he'd have done if I had begged him to go terminate them as soon as he got home. He smiled and said, "I'd have handed you a hammer and told you to do it yourself if it was that important.". So, apparently, my great hunter has his limits. The two bears on our walls in the basement, and the several more that have been in our freezers, the rattlesnake that is still frozen out in the garage freezer, and the countless (no, not countless - he has a running tab) four legged creatures that we've eaten are purposeful hunts. Apparently killing rodent families isn't so much in his recreational ideal. I told him I loved him so much more for it.
And then Manly made the biggest burping sound he's ever made, and Mike told me I had disgusted my son with my mushy-romantic talk.
Incidentally, my grandpa, Papa, told of having seen a mama shrew carrying her babies frantically ahead of his tractor as he was plowing a field. He recalled thinking how easily he could have just kept going and run right over her, but he chose instead to slow the tractor and let her get out of that particular row before continuing on. He said he just couldn't run over a mama trying to save her babies.
Similarly, my own Dad had a raccoon problem in a barn last year. Mama raccoon had gotten into the attic of the barn and had a litter (litter?) of raccoon babies. Dad knew where he could block the mama from getting back to her babies. It would have been easy to do - babies would have starved to death, exterminating a potential problem. A dangerous potential problem, really. But Dad couldn't - wouldn't - do it. He let the mama raccoon come and go and raise her little ones. I have a feeling I know how the story ends and that it did not end well for the raccoon family, but it ended a whole lot more sportingly than letting baby animals of any kind starve to death in the attic of a barn.
So now, tonight, Mike made a choice that his daughters will tell their children about - the time when Mom found the mouse nest in the garden, and Dad refused to kill the mice. Hopefully the story doesn't end in Mom and kiddos moving out of the house for a period of time in November so that Daddy could get rid of the mouse infestation then. But, I'm proud tonight and so much more in love than fourteen years ago when I *thought* I was really in love.
**I did check on the mouse nest tonight, and Mama Mouse has moved some of the fur I accidentally scraped off back on top of her nest. The mice are not visible, but you can see the fur covering moving in and out in the rhythm of their breathing.
Manly Mouse is trying his hardest to nap in his bassinet these days. Usually he can do about 30-45 minutes at a shot during the day, but if I can get him in there without nursing, with just snuggles and shushing and singing and rocking, then I figure that's a success. It's such fun to see him wake up smiling and cooing, which he doesn't do as readily if he's eaten himself to sleep. Shorter naps from him does make it seem like I'm constantly putting him down for a nap, but if he naps, even for those short periods, in his crib, then it does give me two free hands to attend to the other kiddos. This is a good thing. So is holding a sleeping, sweet, toothless little fellow. Win, win, either way, I guess.
Anyway, my point was that Manly was napping in his crib late this afternoon, so I decided to put the other three out in the yard, turn on the sprinkler, and have some fun watching them get soaking wet while doing some much-needed garden-weeding myself. By the time I got all three herded into swimming suits and sunscreened and got the sprinkler turned on, I figured I had already used up half of Manly's naptime, but still, it was sort of exciting to put on my gardening gloves and head out to the garden.
It was going along splendidly. The weeds, though taller than I am, were pulling out beautifully, and I was pumped to see that some of our turnips really did come up! Along I went, pulling, pulling, pulling, until I noticed some fuzz in the soil. Well, I thought, that looks like Jola (pronounced Joe-lah) the rabbit has been laying in our garden. She's our "pet" wild rabbit that we watch in the yard. Mighty thinks she's a cat and meows at the door whenever he sees her. Strange, thought I, that a rabbit would stay in the garden long enough to lose that amount of hair.
All these thoughts ran through my mind in quick succession and I brushed my fingers against the furry spot.....and suddenly jolted away with a screech when I saw tiny little moving creatures in what I immediately identified as a mouse nest!!!!
Goodness. What a fright. What a startle.
The girls were overjoyed, of course. Little furry creatures with twitching ears? Babies? Um, yeah, right up these girls' alley. Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear. We have a mouse nest full of little baby mice in the middle of our jungle of a garden.
Impressively I never did start to shake. Got a bit dizzy as the shock wore off. Thanked God that I had my gardening gloves on. But no shaking.
To my Mom's and sister's (and maybe everyone else who is reading this's) dismay, the girls and I decided to really hope Mike would not insist on killing the family of mice. The girls kept going over to the garden to check on them. Mighty went over periodically and said, "Ohhhhhh", though I'm pretty sure he didn't see the little family given that they were still fairly camoflauged. Miss Mouse tried valiantly to take a picture of the mouse family, but all she kept getting was the furry nest. I, um, chose not to go back over to look at the squirmy little things.
For some reason, though, as disgusted as I was to have nearly grabbed a handful of mice, their little wriggling bodies all cuddled together and covered with their mama's fur made me smile. And it hurt my stomach to think of Mike killing them. After all, if I'd have kept the garden weeded, little Mouse Mama probably wouldn't have thought it looked like an abandoned jungle, perfect in which to raise her brood. Plus, the girls love all things gross like that - currently we are owners of an ant farm, a wormery (which I somehow end up watering every now and then because I happen to love worms as much as Sunny does!), a jar with a caterpillar and a chrysalis, and, now, a garden-mouse-nest. I'd have laughed if someone had painted my life before my eyes like this in high school. Laughed.
However, even back then I'd have cried about a mouse losing her life protecting her babies. Sheesh. It's only been in recent years I've been able to handle driving by road kill.
Anyway, back to our afternoon. I texted Mike something along the lines of "I have a story for you!!", so he came in the door ready for an earful. I described the incident to him, resulting in more than a few chuckles on his part as he imagined the scene in his mind. Then I asked if he would consider not terminating the mouse family. Well, that gained me quite a look and the response of, "They're outside. Why would I kill them?". We decided to leave the mouse tenants in the garden alone, though I'm not sure whether or not Miss Mouse and Sunny will now be able to donate their produce from that garden to the food bank.....I thought of ways to sterilize the produce, but it didn't seem any safer or friendlier to give bleach-washed-produce to hungry people than to give them food mice had trounced all over.....
So, for now, the mice stay where they are. I explained to the girls that if they stay outside, they are our friends, and they can stay. Just like the ants we spent several weeks learning about. If they stay outside, we can be happy to see them (at least the kind we have up here). But if they come inside, I will melt their exoskeletons with essential oil/alcohol spray faster than they can take a breath. And I won't feel bad about it. Not one bit. Same goes for mice. If they stay in the yard, they're welcome. If they venture into our garage, vehicles, or house, that means war. My fingers are crossed that the three random cats we have patrolling our yard will also help with this endeavour. Honestly, I think that there are probably mice all over the city, and we just don't often run across their abodes. These particular nesting rodents cannot be the first to have summered in our yard. Thankfully we haven't had a mouse problem even so. I am prepared to take public blame if we suddenly have an influx of rodents this winter.
Interestingly, I asked Mike tonight what he'd have done if I had begged him to go terminate them as soon as he got home. He smiled and said, "I'd have handed you a hammer and told you to do it yourself if it was that important.". So, apparently, my great hunter has his limits. The two bears on our walls in the basement, and the several more that have been in our freezers, the rattlesnake that is still frozen out in the garage freezer, and the countless (no, not countless - he has a running tab) four legged creatures that we've eaten are purposeful hunts. Apparently killing rodent families isn't so much in his recreational ideal. I told him I loved him so much more for it.
And then Manly made the biggest burping sound he's ever made, and Mike told me I had disgusted my son with my mushy-romantic talk.
Incidentally, my grandpa, Papa, told of having seen a mama shrew carrying her babies frantically ahead of his tractor as he was plowing a field. He recalled thinking how easily he could have just kept going and run right over her, but he chose instead to slow the tractor and let her get out of that particular row before continuing on. He said he just couldn't run over a mama trying to save her babies.
Similarly, my own Dad had a raccoon problem in a barn last year. Mama raccoon had gotten into the attic of the barn and had a litter (litter?) of raccoon babies. Dad knew where he could block the mama from getting back to her babies. It would have been easy to do - babies would have starved to death, exterminating a potential problem. A dangerous potential problem, really. But Dad couldn't - wouldn't - do it. He let the mama raccoon come and go and raise her little ones. I have a feeling I know how the story ends and that it did not end well for the raccoon family, but it ended a whole lot more sportingly than letting baby animals of any kind starve to death in the attic of a barn.
So now, tonight, Mike made a choice that his daughters will tell their children about - the time when Mom found the mouse nest in the garden, and Dad refused to kill the mice. Hopefully the story doesn't end in Mom and kiddos moving out of the house for a period of time in November so that Daddy could get rid of the mouse infestation then. But, I'm proud tonight and so much more in love than fourteen years ago when I *thought* I was really in love.
**I did check on the mouse nest tonight, and Mama Mouse has moved some of the fur I accidentally scraped off back on top of her nest. The mice are not visible, but you can see the fur covering moving in and out in the rhythm of their breathing.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Gladiators
We're entering into Roman history with our Story of the World book this week. I ordered a few library books to supplement our SOTW reading. While we were at the library, Sunny saw me checking out one about the ten worst things about living in the Roman Empire and asked what it was about. I just said, "Rome". Well, at lunch, she told Miss Mouse that she wanted to read "that book about Jerome" after lunch. She was very thoughtful while we began reading her chosen book, and finally, she said, "I thought you said this was about someone named Jerome, but it must be about the city of Rome?".
Well, continuing on with my Roman theme, the girls learned a bit - a very, very little bit - about gladiators today. Basically, we talked about that they were invited to a huge feast the day before they were to fight, and that the people giving the feast got a kick out of knowing that half the gladiators would probably be dead the next day. Sick. We also talked about how once the gladiator raised a finger of his left hand to beg for mercy, the emperor either put his thumb up, meaning the gladiator lived, or his thumb down, meaning the gladiator died. Sick, again. The girls were pretty grossed out and kept repeating how glad they are to live now instead of back then. It was a mantra through the day.
But then after supper, we turned the tv on. This is a rare occasion in our house; usually the 7 o'clock hour is reading hour, but I was completely fried from poor little Manly fussing for 15 hours nearly straight (of course, today was the day he had his 3 month photos at the mall....which I sort of wish I'd never started and just had always done myself...but I digress....). So, I tentatively let the tv stay on past Wheel of Fortune. The kids had taken my kindle to Mighty's room to watch Mr. Rogers during Wheel, so they were surprised to find the box still glowing when they came out. Incidentally, they put Mighty in his crib and watch it that way so that he's "contained"....they also shut the light off for a more realistic "movie theater" experience. Anyway, America's Got Talent was the 7 o'clock show tonight, and it got me thinking. The girls and I had all been fairly self-righteously horrified that people back in Roman times found it entertaining and edifying to watch other humans kill each other or be killed. It's horrific. It's sick. It's horrid. It's wrong.
Then, on my television, in front of millions of viewers, a 12-year-old little boy broke down in tears because he and his partner, a 12-year-old little girl with braces and a squeaky, baby voice, had messed up on their dance routine. Messed up on the routine they worked on six hours a day, six days a week. Little Girl squeaked out, "I know we messed up. But I, well, I hope they....I hope they still like us. Um, maybe they didn't see?", which is when Little Boy burst into tears. And right then two sets of big eyes turned to me and asked if those kids didn't know that the winning wasn't the most important thing. If they didn't know that just performing and making others happy by showing them a beautiful dance was the point of it all. Oh, girls. It's you who don't know, I'm afraid.
And I sort of wanted to hang my head in shame. Because even though we don't watch others slaughter each other physically anymore, we still hang on every word and every tear and every heart-wrenching sob story of reality tv. We really aren't that different than the Romans. I't's just that we don't want to watch the physical body be killed. We want to watch the spirit die.
Of course there's the argument that the story of the winner will be the story of a hero. The story of someone fighting his or her way up from the bottom, working their hind end off, and pulling himself or herself up by the bootstraps. I get that. I cry happy tears with the winner, too.
But I also feel a twinge of sadness when a couple of bands choose to do original songs and are met with comments like, "Oh (say it with the same inflection you'd give "eeww"). An original. Humph. You know THAT'S a risk, right?" or, after the heartfelt performance, "So, now you've done an original...do you think it worked for you?". I know musicians and artists, and I know they put their live hearts out on a platter when they present original works. At least one of these particular original songs was quite good, too, but congratulating people for their hard work, giving some constructive feedback, and cheering them on to higher heights just must not pull in ratings, I suppose. *Sigh* After those bands performed, the girls asked why the judges seemed not to like anyone's songs and commented that even though each band sounded a little different, they all sounded nice. Maybe the world wouldn't work if everyone saw life through children's eyes, but I'm just going to enjoy this time before they realize that "second place is just the first loser". I spent most of my teenage and young twenties believing that, to the point of feeling ashamed of the marathon time I achieved while running with separated rib cartilage. It's refreshing to be around people who don't think that way, or who at least don't think that way yet. People who really don't want to see the physical - or spiritual - slaying of others.*
*If you love America's Got Talent, I mean no offense. I'm probably overtired and overanalyzing the whole thing, but the parallel between the Roman gladiators and our modern-day obsession with kicking people off shows just grabbed me today.
Well, continuing on with my Roman theme, the girls learned a bit - a very, very little bit - about gladiators today. Basically, we talked about that they were invited to a huge feast the day before they were to fight, and that the people giving the feast got a kick out of knowing that half the gladiators would probably be dead the next day. Sick. We also talked about how once the gladiator raised a finger of his left hand to beg for mercy, the emperor either put his thumb up, meaning the gladiator lived, or his thumb down, meaning the gladiator died. Sick, again. The girls were pretty grossed out and kept repeating how glad they are to live now instead of back then. It was a mantra through the day.
But then after supper, we turned the tv on. This is a rare occasion in our house; usually the 7 o'clock hour is reading hour, but I was completely fried from poor little Manly fussing for 15 hours nearly straight (of course, today was the day he had his 3 month photos at the mall....which I sort of wish I'd never started and just had always done myself...but I digress....). So, I tentatively let the tv stay on past Wheel of Fortune. The kids had taken my kindle to Mighty's room to watch Mr. Rogers during Wheel, so they were surprised to find the box still glowing when they came out. Incidentally, they put Mighty in his crib and watch it that way so that he's "contained"....they also shut the light off for a more realistic "movie theater" experience. Anyway, America's Got Talent was the 7 o'clock show tonight, and it got me thinking. The girls and I had all been fairly self-righteously horrified that people back in Roman times found it entertaining and edifying to watch other humans kill each other or be killed. It's horrific. It's sick. It's horrid. It's wrong.
Then, on my television, in front of millions of viewers, a 12-year-old little boy broke down in tears because he and his partner, a 12-year-old little girl with braces and a squeaky, baby voice, had messed up on their dance routine. Messed up on the routine they worked on six hours a day, six days a week. Little Girl squeaked out, "I know we messed up. But I, well, I hope they....I hope they still like us. Um, maybe they didn't see?", which is when Little Boy burst into tears. And right then two sets of big eyes turned to me and asked if those kids didn't know that the winning wasn't the most important thing. If they didn't know that just performing and making others happy by showing them a beautiful dance was the point of it all. Oh, girls. It's you who don't know, I'm afraid.
And I sort of wanted to hang my head in shame. Because even though we don't watch others slaughter each other physically anymore, we still hang on every word and every tear and every heart-wrenching sob story of reality tv. We really aren't that different than the Romans. I't's just that we don't want to watch the physical body be killed. We want to watch the spirit die.
Of course there's the argument that the story of the winner will be the story of a hero. The story of someone fighting his or her way up from the bottom, working their hind end off, and pulling himself or herself up by the bootstraps. I get that. I cry happy tears with the winner, too.
But I also feel a twinge of sadness when a couple of bands choose to do original songs and are met with comments like, "Oh (say it with the same inflection you'd give "eeww"). An original. Humph. You know THAT'S a risk, right?" or, after the heartfelt performance, "So, now you've done an original...do you think it worked for you?". I know musicians and artists, and I know they put their live hearts out on a platter when they present original works. At least one of these particular original songs was quite good, too, but congratulating people for their hard work, giving some constructive feedback, and cheering them on to higher heights just must not pull in ratings, I suppose. *Sigh* After those bands performed, the girls asked why the judges seemed not to like anyone's songs and commented that even though each band sounded a little different, they all sounded nice. Maybe the world wouldn't work if everyone saw life through children's eyes, but I'm just going to enjoy this time before they realize that "second place is just the first loser". I spent most of my teenage and young twenties believing that, to the point of feeling ashamed of the marathon time I achieved while running with separated rib cartilage. It's refreshing to be around people who don't think that way, or who at least don't think that way yet. People who really don't want to see the physical - or spiritual - slaying of others.*
*If you love America's Got Talent, I mean no offense. I'm probably overtired and overanalyzing the whole thing, but the parallel between the Roman gladiators and our modern-day obsession with kicking people off shows just grabbed me today.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Hickory Smoke
We're looking at - hoping to? - thinking about? - planning to? - remodeling our kitchen. Miss Mouse has picked out her favorite countertop swatch; it isn't the favorite of the adults, but it is called "hickory smoke". Just keep this in mind while reading about our day.
The morning began with me laying Manly Mouse back in his crib after apparently snuggling him. I don't remember when he came in for a snuggle; normally I have a really strange ability to glance at the clock and remember exact times (i.e., "Manly was up last night at 3:14 and 5:23"). My sister says it's weird, but it's how my brain works. Well, the clock is currently plugged into the outlet attached to the light switch, so we're footloose and fancy free at 3:14 a.m. and have no idea what time it is. It must be having this fourth baby has made me loosen up because I would NEVER have been okay with a bedroom where I didn't have immediate access to a clock before we had Manly. To be honest, I still prefer to have the clock available, and I have my phone by the bed to check in case Sunny wakes up at a ridiculous hour. But having to look on my phone for a clock is a really huge step for me. Anyway, I put Manly back in his crib, and somehow made it out to the living room to snuggle Sunny in the recliner. The ticking, analog clock in the living room told me it was close to 7, but my eyes couldn't focus. So, I just kept leaning over on Sunny and cuddling up to her, essentially using her as a pillow. As I drifted in and out of wakefulness, I could hear her giggling at me and telling me I was making her "too warm, Mommy!". Mike was on the couch zonked out after another night of Mighty's nightmares, and I think Sunny was quite enjoying being the only conscious person in the room!
Somehow we got Miss Mouse off to dance camp on time, though I will admit it was the second day in a row that I drove her there in my pajamas.
We got out for our morning walk after dance, before the day heated up too high, and had a lovely time. There might not be much more pleasant than a walk with my kiddos down shady streets on a summer morning with a light, cool breeze blowing.
For perhaps the first time in 14 weeks, the boys napped at the same time this afternoon, and I was not needed to hold either one of them! I certainly don't mind rocking and snuggling, but it did feel good to get some organizing done in the basement with the girls while the boys napped. I'm trying to turn the spare room into a school room, and, though we have a long ways to go, we got an incredible start today.
Our evening was possibly the most interesting part of our day. We struck out on collecting milkweed for our butterfly jar, but we have high hopes that Mike can score us some tomorrow. There's a ton of it in the ditches north of town....but apparently 4:30 p.m. is NOT the time to go if you want to park alongside the road and inconspicuously pick ditch weeds. Note to self for future reference!
However, we did score ourselves the last parking spot anywhere near the art gallery downtown and had an incredible, amazing, super-fun time at the Community Art Evening (I can't remember the official title) tonight! It was spectacular. Really. Spectacular. We started off in one of the galleries where the girls helped hand-weave on a giant loom. The artist makes rug-like structures that are going to be used for something....not sure what, but they'd sure make great rugs. Well, if you want your guests to just stand in one place and squish their toes into your rug their whole visit. They're that soft and comfy. There were multiple woven pieces on the floor for display. While the girls were weaving with the artist - and they did this for a loooooong time since we were on the early side for the program which meant they didn't have to share this station with any other participants for quite some time - Mighty and I explored the other displays. He initially just wanted to touch the woven pieces, but they were so soft, he suddenly flopped himself down on one. When the artist heard my admonition to him that he needed to get up, she told him he could stay because "that's what they're for; they're supposed to be touched". He was thrilled and flopped backwards, laying down on one and telling her "bed! bed!". It was a pretty impressive compliment from a one-year-old, I think.
Another station he really liked was a map of the city. It was drawn partly on the floor and partly on the wall, and you were supposed to put a sticker on it for something special in town. I wanted to put one on the church's location for "a place where I feel spiritually connected", but with Mighty joyfully jumping all over the map, I wasn't able to concentrate closely enough to find the exact location. I thought it might be strange to put it a street or so off and end up saying I felt "spiritually connected" at the Loaf-n-Jug or something. So, we just jumped on the map and didn't add a sticker. So cool, though, that it was FOR jumping on and pointing to and touching. There aren't many galleries where one can take one's one-year-old and just let him go to town like that!! I think his favorite station was the marimbas made out of gourds. There were two mallets to hit them with, and he absolutely adored it. He sat in his stroller and made music, music, music!
By that time, Manly was awake from his catnap and wondering what the whole stalling thing was about. He prefers to move in the stroller! The girls were just finishing up making wire-art where they got to cut as much wire as they wanted from a giant roll and then turn it into a sculpture. Miss Mouse made a really large heart with circles hanging on it. It was cute and made me so proud of my little "I-must-have-rules-to-be-creative" child, because she came up with it without any ideas from anyone else or any instructions. Sunny, who I thought would love the station, got frustrated and decided to turn her butterfly into a caterpillar. She would have needed more time than Manly could have given her for that station, and I think she knew it.
So, after spending 35 minutes in the gallery, we headed out to the parking lot where there was a band warming up, a pick-a-cast-off-plate-and-paint-it art project, and an ice cream bicycle. Yes, I just wrote "ice cream bicycle". The sun had sunk below the buildings downtown by this point; the wind was just strong enough to keep any bugs away; and there was enough of a crowd to ensure the museum keeps offering these programs, but not enough that anyone was fighting over cast-off plates or paint for their palettes at all. It was gorgeous. Someday soon I'm going to start carrying my camera again. Maybe I couldn't have captured it well enough anyway. Manly was still awake and beginning to be unhappy, but when the music started, he sort of forgot that he was supposed to be fussy and teething. That gave the girls time to not feel rushed on their projects; Miss Mouse painted a plate, just the way I would have, with a few designs in an orderly fashion all around the rim. Sunny started with splotches of color all over the inside of her bowl.....then before I knew what happened, the splotches had merged together and swirled around and mixed together. The rim on the outside is sort of bleeding green, but the inside is completely covered in a mixture of colors. On first glance it might look random and impatiently messy, but it took each girl about the same amount of time to paint. I love seeing how their different personalities come out in their differently creative styles!
Mighty, for his part, also got a plate. He painted his diligently with orange paint, and it looks actually really "modern" and artsy. Or it looks like a one-year-old did it. I guess it depends on your mindset at the moment, but I was incredibly proud of my little guy who hasn't slept a solid night since Saturday and was getting ravenously hungry. He did a great job being patient and even participating.
Before we left, I just HAD to go over and look at the flavors of the ice cream. I had no intention of buying any because it was nearly six o'clock, but I'd never seen an ice cream bicycle. Wow. I'd also never seen flavors like: brown sugar bacon, white chocolate lemon, dark chocolate lavendar, salted caramel (okay, I've had that at Cherry Berry), pistachio (probably heard of that one before, too), rhubarb (yep, that's familiar), hickory smoked vanilla. So, not only were the flavors bizarre, but they were all push-ups! Do I live under a rock that I haven't been exposed to this stuff before? Quite possible. So, please stop laughing at me if the rest of the world has already experienced and become immune to a brown sugar bacon ice cream push-up. But since I'm not, I couldn't resist. The ice cream man assured me that I had 20-30 minutes before they turned to soup, so with the girls assent to help us get the car loaded ASAP, we bought four push-ups for dessert. Mike got brown sugar bacon (the look on his face when I presented it to him at home was PRICELESS....I wished my brother-in-law was in town because I think he'd have given me the same look); Sunny chose rhubarb, which she ended up not liking and "donating" to her Dad; I chose dark chocolate lavender (which I'll be eating one spoonful at a time so as to hopefully not upset Manly's tummy!); and Miss Mouse chose - gleefully - hickory smoke vanilla. I could not figure out why she looked like a canary-eating cat when she chose her flavor. Then she told me "Well, I figured since I've chosen Hickory Smoke as the countertop I love the most, and I won't be getting THAT, then I might as well get hickory smoke ice cream!!". Oh, sweet girl. And she loved it. LOVED it. I sampled a taste, as in half a spoonful, and nearly vomited. It tastes like sausage ice cream. She LOVED every bite.
Good thing. She's right that she won't be getting hickory smoke countertops. We're not sure if or when I'm going to get my "platinum" or "bella capri" countertops, either......but maybe I can find some ice cream with those names......hm!
The morning began with me laying Manly Mouse back in his crib after apparently snuggling him. I don't remember when he came in for a snuggle; normally I have a really strange ability to glance at the clock and remember exact times (i.e., "Manly was up last night at 3:14 and 5:23"). My sister says it's weird, but it's how my brain works. Well, the clock is currently plugged into the outlet attached to the light switch, so we're footloose and fancy free at 3:14 a.m. and have no idea what time it is. It must be having this fourth baby has made me loosen up because I would NEVER have been okay with a bedroom where I didn't have immediate access to a clock before we had Manly. To be honest, I still prefer to have the clock available, and I have my phone by the bed to check in case Sunny wakes up at a ridiculous hour. But having to look on my phone for a clock is a really huge step for me. Anyway, I put Manly back in his crib, and somehow made it out to the living room to snuggle Sunny in the recliner. The ticking, analog clock in the living room told me it was close to 7, but my eyes couldn't focus. So, I just kept leaning over on Sunny and cuddling up to her, essentially using her as a pillow. As I drifted in and out of wakefulness, I could hear her giggling at me and telling me I was making her "too warm, Mommy!". Mike was on the couch zonked out after another night of Mighty's nightmares, and I think Sunny was quite enjoying being the only conscious person in the room!
Somehow we got Miss Mouse off to dance camp on time, though I will admit it was the second day in a row that I drove her there in my pajamas.
We got out for our morning walk after dance, before the day heated up too high, and had a lovely time. There might not be much more pleasant than a walk with my kiddos down shady streets on a summer morning with a light, cool breeze blowing.
For perhaps the first time in 14 weeks, the boys napped at the same time this afternoon, and I was not needed to hold either one of them! I certainly don't mind rocking and snuggling, but it did feel good to get some organizing done in the basement with the girls while the boys napped. I'm trying to turn the spare room into a school room, and, though we have a long ways to go, we got an incredible start today.
Our evening was possibly the most interesting part of our day. We struck out on collecting milkweed for our butterfly jar, but we have high hopes that Mike can score us some tomorrow. There's a ton of it in the ditches north of town....but apparently 4:30 p.m. is NOT the time to go if you want to park alongside the road and inconspicuously pick ditch weeds. Note to self for future reference!
However, we did score ourselves the last parking spot anywhere near the art gallery downtown and had an incredible, amazing, super-fun time at the Community Art Evening (I can't remember the official title) tonight! It was spectacular. Really. Spectacular. We started off in one of the galleries where the girls helped hand-weave on a giant loom. The artist makes rug-like structures that are going to be used for something....not sure what, but they'd sure make great rugs. Well, if you want your guests to just stand in one place and squish their toes into your rug their whole visit. They're that soft and comfy. There were multiple woven pieces on the floor for display. While the girls were weaving with the artist - and they did this for a loooooong time since we were on the early side for the program which meant they didn't have to share this station with any other participants for quite some time - Mighty and I explored the other displays. He initially just wanted to touch the woven pieces, but they were so soft, he suddenly flopped himself down on one. When the artist heard my admonition to him that he needed to get up, she told him he could stay because "that's what they're for; they're supposed to be touched". He was thrilled and flopped backwards, laying down on one and telling her "bed! bed!". It was a pretty impressive compliment from a one-year-old, I think.
Another station he really liked was a map of the city. It was drawn partly on the floor and partly on the wall, and you were supposed to put a sticker on it for something special in town. I wanted to put one on the church's location for "a place where I feel spiritually connected", but with Mighty joyfully jumping all over the map, I wasn't able to concentrate closely enough to find the exact location. I thought it might be strange to put it a street or so off and end up saying I felt "spiritually connected" at the Loaf-n-Jug or something. So, we just jumped on the map and didn't add a sticker. So cool, though, that it was FOR jumping on and pointing to and touching. There aren't many galleries where one can take one's one-year-old and just let him go to town like that!! I think his favorite station was the marimbas made out of gourds. There were two mallets to hit them with, and he absolutely adored it. He sat in his stroller and made music, music, music!
By that time, Manly was awake from his catnap and wondering what the whole stalling thing was about. He prefers to move in the stroller! The girls were just finishing up making wire-art where they got to cut as much wire as they wanted from a giant roll and then turn it into a sculpture. Miss Mouse made a really large heart with circles hanging on it. It was cute and made me so proud of my little "I-must-have-rules-to-be-creative" child, because she came up with it without any ideas from anyone else or any instructions. Sunny, who I thought would love the station, got frustrated and decided to turn her butterfly into a caterpillar. She would have needed more time than Manly could have given her for that station, and I think she knew it.
So, after spending 35 minutes in the gallery, we headed out to the parking lot where there was a band warming up, a pick-a-cast-off-plate-and-paint-it art project, and an ice cream bicycle. Yes, I just wrote "ice cream bicycle". The sun had sunk below the buildings downtown by this point; the wind was just strong enough to keep any bugs away; and there was enough of a crowd to ensure the museum keeps offering these programs, but not enough that anyone was fighting over cast-off plates or paint for their palettes at all. It was gorgeous. Someday soon I'm going to start carrying my camera again. Maybe I couldn't have captured it well enough anyway. Manly was still awake and beginning to be unhappy, but when the music started, he sort of forgot that he was supposed to be fussy and teething. That gave the girls time to not feel rushed on their projects; Miss Mouse painted a plate, just the way I would have, with a few designs in an orderly fashion all around the rim. Sunny started with splotches of color all over the inside of her bowl.....then before I knew what happened, the splotches had merged together and swirled around and mixed together. The rim on the outside is sort of bleeding green, but the inside is completely covered in a mixture of colors. On first glance it might look random and impatiently messy, but it took each girl about the same amount of time to paint. I love seeing how their different personalities come out in their differently creative styles!
Mighty, for his part, also got a plate. He painted his diligently with orange paint, and it looks actually really "modern" and artsy. Or it looks like a one-year-old did it. I guess it depends on your mindset at the moment, but I was incredibly proud of my little guy who hasn't slept a solid night since Saturday and was getting ravenously hungry. He did a great job being patient and even participating.
Before we left, I just HAD to go over and look at the flavors of the ice cream. I had no intention of buying any because it was nearly six o'clock, but I'd never seen an ice cream bicycle. Wow. I'd also never seen flavors like: brown sugar bacon, white chocolate lemon, dark chocolate lavendar, salted caramel (okay, I've had that at Cherry Berry), pistachio (probably heard of that one before, too), rhubarb (yep, that's familiar), hickory smoked vanilla. So, not only were the flavors bizarre, but they were all push-ups! Do I live under a rock that I haven't been exposed to this stuff before? Quite possible. So, please stop laughing at me if the rest of the world has already experienced and become immune to a brown sugar bacon ice cream push-up. But since I'm not, I couldn't resist. The ice cream man assured me that I had 20-30 minutes before they turned to soup, so with the girls assent to help us get the car loaded ASAP, we bought four push-ups for dessert. Mike got brown sugar bacon (the look on his face when I presented it to him at home was PRICELESS....I wished my brother-in-law was in town because I think he'd have given me the same look); Sunny chose rhubarb, which she ended up not liking and "donating" to her Dad; I chose dark chocolate lavender (which I'll be eating one spoonful at a time so as to hopefully not upset Manly's tummy!); and Miss Mouse chose - gleefully - hickory smoke vanilla. I could not figure out why she looked like a canary-eating cat when she chose her flavor. Then she told me "Well, I figured since I've chosen Hickory Smoke as the countertop I love the most, and I won't be getting THAT, then I might as well get hickory smoke ice cream!!". Oh, sweet girl. And she loved it. LOVED it. I sampled a taste, as in half a spoonful, and nearly vomited. It tastes like sausage ice cream. She LOVED every bite.
Good thing. She's right that she won't be getting hickory smoke countertops. We're not sure if or when I'm going to get my "platinum" or "bella capri" countertops, either......but maybe I can find some ice cream with those names......hm!
Friday, July 18, 2014
Be Still
About five years ago, I remember writing a blog post by this title. It was focused on how little Sunny's constant need to be held and snuggled was forcing me to just "be still" and what an interesting and important experience that was. Apparently, though, I didn't learn much about being still because within a few months of her birth, I was back at my crazy-hectic pace of trying to start a home business making crocheted hats and other cutesie items while [thinking about] being a supportive wife to a hubby who worked 70+ hour weeks and a mama to two little girls. At the height of my craze, I was crocheting at least 21 hours per week, feeling the stress on my carpal tunnel area (which I know nothing about except how it feels when it is under duress!!), communicating with my husband either via snapping or random bursts of waterworks, feeling anxious and irritated with my girlies when they wouldn't/couldn't settle down for bed or naptimes when I needed them to so that I could pick up the ever-important crochet hook, attempting to bake every morsel of bread we ate by hand, and basically doing anything but being "still". Yeah, still was about the only thing I wasn't. Depressed? Check. Anxious? Check. Irritable? Check. Sad? Lonely? Isolated? Check, check, and check. Yep, unfortunately that lesson I thought I learned while holding little Sunny's tiny baby-body on my chest and catching any catnaps I could didn't last long. Once she started sleeping more than 45 minutes a shot, I took off like a shot, sure that it was of utmost importance to be something other than just these girls' mom and Mike's wife. And it felt really good to tell people that my creations were sold and such and such store in town, and it felt even better when such and such store called me to let me know I had a check waiting for items sold. Truly, if a person can run a home business and enjoy it, I will be the first to cheer for her (and probably buy her stuff!). But this perceived success was bringing anything but joy into our household. As the year 2009 spiraled downhill in professional stress for Mike, extreme sleeplessness for me and little Sunny, episodes of depression thrown in for both of us, and a confusing adjustment time for Miss Mouse, my pursuit of something "more" for my life was adding to the pile of stress threatening to bury us. It doesn't seem that I learned much about being still and knowing that God is God.
Fast forward five years, and here I sit most nights with another tiny child who loves to be rocked and held and snuggled and touched. This little boy is, if anything, perhaps MORE snuggly than his big sister! There are nights when, if he's fussy, I lay him on the couch or bed and put my cheek on his cheek.....and he settles. Sweet, sweet, sweet. BUT, it means that most of his naps are either: 1. in his car seat on our newly-instituted morning walk/bike ride, which is incredibly awesome and heart-warming and like a breath of fresh air to me to be able to get out with all four kiddos and enjoy our neighborhood and weather! or 2. in his car seat while we grocery shop, which has resulted in me actually shoplifting a tube of toothpaste when he woke up and cried pitifully (we went back in and paid for it when Miss Mouse realized we had walked out with it - that's how distracted I was - my seven year old had to notice and remind me!!!) or 3. in my arms as I pace through the house and watch the bigger kids play in the yard....without being able to play with them like I could if I could lay Baby Boy down. What is great, though, is that this time, I'm enjoying this! Whereas with Sunny, I contemplated the idea that she would really never sleep on her own without me holding her and got really stressed about it, with Manly I'm not worried that he'll still be napping in my arms when he's twenty. This time I am looking ahead to when I CAN lay him down in his crib and have some nap play time with the "big" kids while at the same time, I'm loving every minute of being pretty much the only person in the world who knows e.x.a.c.t.l.y how Manly Mouse likes being held. We're not doing much running this summer - physically or figuratively! We're quite "still", really, compared to how we usually squeeze in as many library program presentations as possible, spend time at the splash pad, head off to the park, or spend time at our parents' places (and we do miss all of these things!). This summer we're mostly doing lots of reading and playing in our own yard. And we're being still. And finding that it's wonderful in it's own way. Miss Mouse reads our evening devotion; she spends time in her bed in the morning reading a Bible she thinks she stole from our bedroom. Sunny and Miss Mouse slept together this week, and Sunny prayed her big sister to sleep. So, maybe, just maybe, these babies will learn about being still, breathing, exhaling sooner than their mama did. I'm so thankful for one more little baby to rock, one more time to be forced to slow down and just be.
Fast forward five years, and here I sit most nights with another tiny child who loves to be rocked and held and snuggled and touched. This little boy is, if anything, perhaps MORE snuggly than his big sister! There are nights when, if he's fussy, I lay him on the couch or bed and put my cheek on his cheek.....and he settles. Sweet, sweet, sweet. BUT, it means that most of his naps are either: 1. in his car seat on our newly-instituted morning walk/bike ride, which is incredibly awesome and heart-warming and like a breath of fresh air to me to be able to get out with all four kiddos and enjoy our neighborhood and weather! or 2. in his car seat while we grocery shop, which has resulted in me actually shoplifting a tube of toothpaste when he woke up and cried pitifully (we went back in and paid for it when Miss Mouse realized we had walked out with it - that's how distracted I was - my seven year old had to notice and remind me!!!) or 3. in my arms as I pace through the house and watch the bigger kids play in the yard....without being able to play with them like I could if I could lay Baby Boy down. What is great, though, is that this time, I'm enjoying this! Whereas with Sunny, I contemplated the idea that she would really never sleep on her own without me holding her and got really stressed about it, with Manly I'm not worried that he'll still be napping in my arms when he's twenty. This time I am looking ahead to when I CAN lay him down in his crib and have some nap play time with the "big" kids while at the same time, I'm loving every minute of being pretty much the only person in the world who knows e.x.a.c.t.l.y how Manly Mouse likes being held. We're not doing much running this summer - physically or figuratively! We're quite "still", really, compared to how we usually squeeze in as many library program presentations as possible, spend time at the splash pad, head off to the park, or spend time at our parents' places (and we do miss all of these things!). This summer we're mostly doing lots of reading and playing in our own yard. And we're being still. And finding that it's wonderful in it's own way. Miss Mouse reads our evening devotion; she spends time in her bed in the morning reading a Bible she thinks she stole from our bedroom. Sunny and Miss Mouse slept together this week, and Sunny prayed her big sister to sleep. So, maybe, just maybe, these babies will learn about being still, breathing, exhaling sooner than their mama did. I'm so thankful for one more little baby to rock, one more time to be forced to slow down and just be.
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