RIP Prudence

I never noticed the baby's strike-pose in this
picture of happier times with our dog.

Yesterday, Prudence was hit by a car and died.

The plucky dog-walker from down the street, who rescued our beagle once before, discovered our dead dog and delivered the news with a lecture to me about how I should've altered the fence to prevent Prudence from digging any escape holes.  What could I say? Many of her criticisms were accurate, but they were hard to hear at that moment. When I saw Prudence, I burst into tears.  My sobs softened the angry dog-walker.  She even gave me a hug then toned down her tirade.

I fetched my oldest two to help me collect our dog and bring her home. The three of us circled around our dog, crying our eyes out.  The 13 year old and I tried but failed to lift up the still warm, limp dog.  With the blood streaming out of her ear, some teeth knocked out, and a bit of an organ poking through her abdomen, we were afraid to lift her up only to have her fall apart.  Besides, we were just too emotional to see her like that.

I called my neighbors who immediately ran down the street to our aid.  They took charge, allowing the kids and me to dumbly stand there watching them.  The wife spoke loving words to Prudence while she swaddled her in towels and scooped up our dog in her arms.  The tenderness comforted us.

Back at the house, my neighbor instructed us on how to bury our pet.  I'm so glad she did, because I have never buried anything before.  (Unless you count the half-eaten birds left over from my neighbors' cat's meal.  As kids, my sister and I unsuccessfully buried these birds that were soon dug up and scattered.)

Bundled in towels with her collar resting on top, Prudence is now buried in a plastic box with cinder blocks on the lid to prevent animals from digging her up or opening the box.

At the beginning of our long dig session.

Of all the children, my 5 year old has taken the news the hardest.  Throughout the day, she bursts into tears about missing Prudence.  She also keeps asking me to buy them another girl beagle named Prudence.  (Stay strong.  Keep saying no!) Heartbroken, my girl and I hug until her little mind wanders onto some new distraction.

Who could've imagined our dog dying?  Certainly, I didn't.  Last week, I ordered beagle stuffed animals for the youngest kids as Christmas presents.  Thinking how cute it is that 2011 was our year of the beagle, I wanted to commemorate the addition to our family.  Now those toys seem like memorials, and I'm waffling on whether to still gift the kids these reminders of their dead dog.

Perhaps kids are more resilient than what I give them credit for.  The oldest think I should still gift these toys.  Besides, they are already planning out the supposed flock of chicken we will buy come spring.  I'm not ready for more pets. In fact, I'm beginning to feel like animals come here to die.

A Trip to the ER

10 little monkeys jumping on the bed,

one fell off and knocked his head,

Momma called the doctor and the doctor said,

"No more monkeys jumping on the bed!"

Har, har, har.  I know what you are thinking.  "5 kids, 10 kids, same thing."  Well, it's not.  I only have 5. And today, one of my little monkeys jumped on the couch, fell onto the coffee table, and knocked her head.  She knocked her head so hard that her teeth almost poked through the lip, some teeth loosened, and she might have a gap in her pearly whites a little earlier than normal.

Since she split her lip, the amount of blood pouring out terrified us all a little bit.  Her pj's absorbed so much blood that her injury looked much more serious than it was.  My stoic 13 year old typically takes charge whenever any of the other kids has an injury.  Today, she tried her best to disinfect the wound, but the blood kept pumping all over the sink and bathroom floor.

She liked looking at the pictures I took of her.
It distracted her from the pain.

As the bloody girl and I walked into the ER, ambulance workers stopped pushing a gurney to nudge each other and point at her.  People on the sidewalk stopped walking and stepped aside to stare at us walking past them.  The ER staff saw her and ran from whatever they were doing to see what was wrong.  The amount of blood on her was impressive.  This was not the red carpet attention I was looking for.

Of course, my little patient was more stoic than her mother.  I didn't have the stomach to look at her wound at home nor did I have the stomach for it at the hospital.  My queasy reactions when they probed her lip prompted them to get me to sit down and prevent, "a second patient."  Silly, medical staff.  I don't pass out.  I just gross out and make everyone wish that I would just pass out.

Better than any anesthetic, my girl was glued to the TV.  She watched PBS and the Disney channel with undivided attention. Without TV channels at home, she isn't bored by these shows.  Her eyes never once left the TV screen while the doctor described the needles or the stitching until he mentioned popsicles. Once he said the word popsicles, her eyes momentarily flashed towards me as her eyebrows shot up.  That made the doctor and me laugh. Finally a reaction!

She watched the TV through that hole in the sheet thingee.

Well, my girl took the needles, the pain, the tugging, and the sewing all with minimal whimpering.  Anytime she cried out in pain, I kept reminding her that we'd hit the dollar store for a prize.  Of course, afterwards I tried to back out of it, "Can we just get a toy from the grocery store since I need to buy you some soft food anyway?" Nope.  I'd promised the dollar store during that pain, therefore to the dollar store we went.

She chose something that broke as soon as we got home, but she was happy.  A little children's Advil for the swelling and she was good to go, running around the house like nothing happened before.  One time she bonked her head on a door which made her sister and me look at each other in disbelief.  Will this girl send us back to the ER so soon?  Let's hope not.

10 stitches

Advent Traditions

Kids love routine. The need structure.  They adore traditions.  But as the one in charge of the schedule, I feel like Sisyphus who was condemned to roll the boulder up the hill for eternity.  Maintaining order gives me such pleasure. But...what? I'm supposed to maintain order day after day?  I don't think so. Instead of continually pushing that boulder, I've chosen to just step aside and let the stone roll down the hill.

Ok, so I'm horrible at daily routines.  Can you really expect me to do the same thing 365 times in a row? I won't expect myself to do that.  However, Christmas is different.  It's only 24 days (and I still can't be consistent!).

We have a few simple traditions that I keep for our advent season.  Most important is the chocolate advent calendar.  Chocolate.  See why I keep this one going? I never forget to pull out the chocolate every day. Yum, yum.

Chocolate Advent: best invention

Chocolate comes after we've read the day's Advent devotional.  After the reading, the children take turns putting an ornament that correlates with the story onto a table sized Christmas tree.

Lastly, we have Christmas books wrapped under the tree.  One book is chosen and unwrapped each time we gather to read.  Throughout the year, I'd like to find more and better books to add to our new and sparse collection of seasonal books.

Three simple traditions that I don't have to maintain for 12 months.  In fact, I often miss days even though Advent lasts only 24 days.  But who cares?  If three days are missed, we all get to eat 4 chocolate squares to catch up.  That's my kind of tradition!

Christmas Lights

Darkness each day overtakes more minutes of sunlight.  For someone like me, the lack of sunlight makes me a bid sad.  I hear that I can replace all of my light bulbs with full spectrum light bulbs.  Well, I just might do that.

In the meantime, I'm decking the house with Christmas lights.  Who needs chachkies on every shelf. Storing ornaments is enough clutter for this girl.  But, ah, Christmas lights.  Christmas lights are happy.  They make the whole house sparkle with tiny little colors.  The kids love them too.

 

I just might need to keep these lights up until Valentine's Day!

My Kids' Mother is a Sucker

It's all about making a good offer -- something I still need to master.  A negotiator, I am not.  A bargainer, I am not.  At the marketplace, I'm a merchandizer's dream. Typically, I return the sale items and keep the full priced buys.  I arrive the day before or the day after the sale and figure, "Well, when else will I get out of the house to finally buy this?"

My poor bargaining skills have left me holding the short end of the stick at home too. Alas, my children know me too well.  Sure, I homeschool in order to know my children.  But did I think about the consequences of them knowing me?

Living on 2 acres requires a lot of yard work.  With all of these kids, the natural conclusion is that I should be lounging on the porch sipping Mai Tais. Or at a minimum, I'm sure you conjure up visions of the baby giggling as he throws leaves in the air while the rest of us clear the lawn of sticks and mow it with the tractor.  Smiling children rake the leaves from hard to reach areas along side a proud mother who accomplishes the Herculean task in matter of mere hours. Fresh squeezed lemonade in a glass picture awaits us on the deck table.  The sky is blue.  Singing birds land on my shoulder. Everyone is so happy to be alive for this one task.

In reality, I'm out there alone. I tried to assign the yard as a chore.  Somehow they weaseled out of that due to complaints of needing time for schoolwork.  Then I tried to bribe them.  After 2 payments, the kids decided that I couldn't pay them enough to do that job. One time I even did more than half of the job for a child that received payment. (That kid is going places!)  Occasionally, I'm able to strong arm them into helping with one of the secondary jobs so that I can zoom by faster on the tractor. But I've really lost my mode of incentives for them.

So here you go.  Here's your time to gloat.  Tell me how awesome you are at keeping on top of your children's chores.  Tell me how your amazing payment systems motivate your children to work.  While I'm rolling my eyes, I might actually glean a tip or two.

Wherefore Art Thou, Brown Bag?

This year, I made some crafts with the kids in honor of Thanksgiving.  We did the traditional hand transformed into turkey craft.  But when I wanted to make them fringed Indian vests with matching headbands made from brown paper bags, I realized that we don't really have any of those types of bags.  Unless you shop at Trader Joe's or Whole Foods, you probably don't have a huge supply of brown bags like you did when you were a kid.  Remind me again why those fell out of favor?

Bored with the hand turkey, we also made snowflakes.

Like Mother Like Daughter

Rut-roh.  My oldest dropped her phone in the toilet.  Does this happen more often than people are willing to admit?  Right now, it's dehydrating in a bag of rice. Let's hope the grain resurrects it.

Last week marked 365 consecutive days of a pee-pee free phone for me.  Let's hope that my daughter can follow that example of mine too.

Shoes? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Shoes!

Here in Virginia, the days are getting colder.  Cold weather, cold feet. To me, cold feet must be covered with at least socks and preferably shoes when I walk outside.

Often I forget to remind the kids to put on shoes before leaving the house because to mention this seems too obvious.  Hot weather, cold weather, it doesn't matter.  Most of my kids want to be barefoot.


This explains why I didn't learn that my youngest girl was barefoot with no shoes packed until we were 3 hours into our 6 hour drive.  With no time to turn around, an emergency trip to WalMart was needed before we could eat at Chick Fil-A.

Another time, we arrived at class to find the youngest boy without shoes.  But in that case, his footed sleeper pajamas covered his feet.  Inside a building, that counts as footwear, right?

And don't get me started about my oldest.  I think that girl is part Hobbit by the way her barefoot feet don't notice cold, wet, or rocky terrain.

Did I reject shoes this much as a child?  I can't remember.  But I'm put at ease by the stories of other families whose children also seem to repel footwear.

I remember a friend telling me the tale of when her family was stationed in Alaska.  It was winter, the snow was deep, and this family decided to go through the drive-thru for dinner.  With their car in the garage, they never needed to leave the warmth of their house.  The kids piled into their van without socks, shoes, or coats.

Normally, going from a warm house to a warm van wouldn't require winter clothes, but that day was different because the car broke down. There they were on the side of the road as they froze waiting for help to come.

To you without kids, this might appear easily avoidable.  If this is how you feel, remember that those without fault can cast the first shoe.

Update: Captain II Died

Yesterday we left a swimming fish at the house; hours later we returned to find a fish laying on the bottom of the tank.

Our first reaction was to tap the glass.  Then we banged on it.  Finally we took both hands and shook the tank.  Funny, each of us kind of went through the stages of disbelief in the same way.

This time though, we couldn't hide the news from the 5 year old.  Whereas we were able to shield her from the death of her birthday present by buying and replacing the fish without her notice, our realization of the second death happened right in front of her.

The poor girl burst into uncontrollable sobs.  Never mind the fact that she'd ignored the fish for weeks.  Once this fish died, it became her favorite pet.

Walking around with that tank filled with yucky dead fish water and a limp Captain II, we all worried she might let that gross water spill all over the floor.  She'd set it down on the coffee table as close to the edge as possible and look at her fish.  "Is Captain laying down or dead?" she asked me a few times.  

Through those tears came a silver lining to her sadness.  The rest of us now know what Santa is to bring the distraught little girl: a girl fish.  Plus, our household has a few weeks without caring for something that we feel doomed to die.  Because after these two deaths, we've become jaded with owning a beta fish.

Beta Version Failure

The first fish died.

Ok, I said it. It's out there.  We couldn't even maintain the life of a beta fish. A beta fish!  Of course, we have no idea what we did wrong, but there it was.  Floating. Motionless. Still.  Captain wouldn't flinch when we tapped the tank or even when we hit it harder.

Now we have Captain II or Captain 2.0 depending on your geek background, I suppose.  Captain II can't ever get any sleep when we are awake.  After our last experience, we worry when he rests in the plastic plant.  To reassure ourselves that he is in fact alive, we tap the glass.  A lot.

When we knock on the plastic, Captain II's fins then begin to undulate and put us at ease that our fish is indeed still alive.

Hopefully, we will learn in time to accept that our underwater friend needs to rest and be still.  Because if things keep going as is, then we might develop an OCD type of habit.  Each time we pass the tank, we might feel compelled to keep wrapping his wall which will keep him continually awake.

Pandora Radio

Music is such a mood regulator.  Instead of grabbing that bottle of whatever, why not try what we do?  Our Pandora radio station is almost always playing at our house.

If it's chore time, the Rage Against the Machine station comes on.  When it's time to settle down for reading,  the Bach station is played.  For background music during a meal, Carla Bruni accompanies our conversation.

Since any child is allowed to approve or disapprove of a song by using the thumbs up or down feature, they all become so animated when their favorite song comes on.  In our family, we would much rather let the automated DJ choose our next song then make our own mix.  What's the fun in making your own?

Whether driving or at home, we are continually listening to our tunes.  And sharing this music I love with my kids definitely ranks high in the fond memories I will keep with me from my time spent all day with them.

Agent Prudence

My oldest boy came up with the idea for this entry and wrote it himself.  This is his explanation for why Prudence feels the need to run away from our house each day.

Agent D (Prudence our dog) is an associate of Perry the platypus.  Perry is a secret agent whose mission control is underneath Phineas and Ferb's house.  Each day the family wonders where their platypus has gone.  Little do they know that he is off fighting crime.

Likely fighting an evil doctor, Prudence disappears once a day.  We are not sure where her missions control is or how she gets there -- but we are onto her!

Horchata

Christmas is coming, which means that the month of December is almost here.  Ever since my kids became stuck on the Vampire Weekend song Horchata, we've been singing the first line over and over. Never mind what the rest of the lyrics are because we have no idea.

References to this song pop out at any time.  For example, while my oldest boy perfects his paper on the Boston Tea Party, we hear him often read the phrase, "in December."  When he reads that phrase, the rest of us burst out, "drinking Horchata!"

As November rounds the corner towards December, I think it's a given that we'll be singing this line for many weeks to come.

Here's a link to the song for all of you who have no idea about what I'm talking about:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7k7ueRrKRmo

Mt. Vernon

Yesterday, the kids and I hit Mt. Vernon's annual homeschool day.  We enjoyed good weather, lower admission, and lots of costumed historical interpreters who demonstrated life in the 18th century.

With the temperate weather, the kids and I spent most of our time outside at the farm.  There the kids participated in the colonial games, brushed wool, and picked cotton.

My 7-year-old was so excited to see the 2-story, 16 sided barn since she read about George Washington the farmer.  He invented this barn to thresh wheat inside during bad weather.  Watching people walk around the inside loop and seeing the grain fall through the cracks in the floor boards fascinated us all.

Despite all of the history to be seen and learned, my littles had more fun playing in the bushes than learning how bee wax candles are made.  Like a child who bypasses the toy in order to play with the box in which it came, these kids made a fort in the overgrown boxwood bush and declared it the most fun they had all day.

Inside the 16-sided barn

Remembering the Purple Lotus

Today I'm considering taking the kids to Mount Vernon's home school day.  If I do go, I promise to be much more careful than I was last year when I dropped my phone into the toilet.  While rice revived the pee-pee phone, it never really was the same again.  Here is the obituary I wrote for it when I thought all hope was lost. The comments and condolences left on my Facebook note made me laugh so hard.  So, go to my notes and read those. 

Purple Lotus: Dead at 21 months

November 5, 2010

The purple Lotus cell phone that transformed its owner from a mere talker to a texter is dead at the young age of 21 months. 

A beautiful phone that would stop people in their tracks to ask, "What is that thing," fell into the toilet of a Mount Vernon restroom earlier today.  The splashes of its owner fishing it out  and her gasps of horror could be heard in the neighboring stalls.

The phone documented its owner's life and quickly uploaded each minute detail of her life to Facebook.  The familiar revving engine sound of an incoming text message was always guaranteed to prompt a laugh from people who heard that out-of-context noise.

After its owner tried to dab the water off the phone with toilet paper in lieu of what most people would consider extremely handy paper towels, she held the battery under the hand drier futilely. 

Even though she did receive sympathies for the passing of her phone, most of her friends burst into laughter instead of offering condolences upon hearing about how the accident happened.

The owner is reported to have complained about losing all of those numbers due to her inability to remember a single person's phone number.

The phone is survived by her owner, the family and an unused phone book.

Phineas and Ferb

It's our ritual.  Every Wednesday after our weekly classes, we come home to watch a few episodes of Phineas and Ferb.

The baby is tired because on Wednesday he can't have his crib if he needs a nap. The oldest is wiped out after handling babies in the nursery for almost 6 hours. The other kids are tired from being in class all day.  

So after we've put away our things, we snuggle under blankets and watch our funny show.  To me, it seems like The Simpsons for a younger generation. Except, the kids in this show respect their elders.  With cultural references and silliness that appeal to both the kids and me, we all agree the show is hilarious.

Last week, we fired up our show, and the 3 year old who can barely speak blew me over with his ability to sing the song!  He knows the hand motions and where to project his voice for some of the punctuated parts!

Besides Avatar, the Last Airbender, no other kid cartoon has captured my attention this much. So, it's not just the kids.  I really do love our weekly habit!

Lessons from Prudence

Prudence, our beagle, wasn't named by us.  Frankly, I wonder if she'd know good judgement if it knocked her over the head.

Continually, I long for the capability to reason with her.  I'd love the chance to explain why she mustn't chase the runners that pass by our house or dig escape holes under the fence.  If only she'd be happy in the backyard, she could run around outside all day.  

Instead, she is cooped up inside where she barks at squirrels from the wrong side of the glass.  Her occasional barking fits tempts me to open the door and let her run free.  Forever.

But here she remains, proving that she does have some sense.  She's wagged her way into the hearts of my children who'll defend her no matter what she does.  To them, she can do no wrong.

If I'm going to keep the upper hand here, I think I'd better take a lesson from Prudence.  Using caution, I won't indulge in eye rolls or sighs.  Rather, I'll smile, hand the kids the cleaner, and point to wherever there is a mess to disinfect.

The Gluttonous Day After

Everyone knows that candy spoils quickly.  Because of this, the kids and I are doing our best to consume all of the candy as fast as we can.

School is so much more enjoyable now that we take breaks to maintain our sugar rush.  Being in charge, I decide how many pieces we will have.  But the kids know me too well.  They keep the pile of candy in front of me so that I'll cave in and say, "Let's have another piece each!"

These indulgences actually have an academic side affect. My 5 year old has learned that when Mom says 5 pieces and she's eaten 2, then she can have 3 more.  Math like this is so much more fun.

If all goes according to plan, I won't have this candy around for much longer to tempt me.

Appeee Aweeeen!

Halloween 2011 proved to be the most fun for the kids and me yet.  While the oldest two perfected their aim with air rifles at 4-H, I took the youngest 3 trick-or-treating with our neighbors.

Due to our countrified neighborhood which lacks sidewalks, the folks around here buckle up their kids and drive them next door to the townhouse community.  Once there, the kids can collect the maximum amount of candy with the least amount of walking.  It's like Candyland, complete with a few scary witches and fairies.

At first my 3-year-old had no idea what we were doing.  He refused to walk up to a stranger's house.  He wouldn't look at the nice but unknown face. Until......until he realized chocolate was involved.  Two houses later he was elbowing his way through a crowd twice his height.  He pushed to the front of the crowd to sing, "Appeee Aweeeen!"

All that shoving paid off.  My kids brought home pounds and pounds of their favorite confectionary delights.  But our night didn't end there like it does for most of America.

Instead, we roasted marshmallows with our next door neighbors.  The temperate weather allowed us to comfortably stand there burning every white puff to a blackened crisp.  Truly, our camp fire was as fun as the candy crawl.

Tonight reinforced my feelings on this cultural holiday. Getting outside to meet and enjoy the neighbors is what Halloween has come to mean to Americans these days.  Kids dress up in costumes of whatever they love or always wanted to be.  With all the sweets thrown in, the whole feel is truly jubilant.

Of course, there's another custom to this festivity that won't make it into the cartoon commemorations.  Every year, moms are sneaking into their kids' stash, and I won't neglect that important tradition of this national diversion.

Fun at the Air and Scare

Caught up in the spirit of the day, we actually
waited in line to have our pictured taken with R2.
Air and Scare today, comic con...ever?

Today the kids and I dressed up in costumes to try out the Smithsonian's annual Air and Scare at the Udvar Hazy. Visiting the Air and Space museum during this carnival enabled us to enjoy a museum that is pretty boring most other days of the year. [I can't believe I just admitted that publicly.]

Meeting up with friends at the museum.

What fun we had tromping around the place among happily disguised people.  Dressing up in costumes transforms people into friendly chatty chums.  In line, conversations started up over the mechanics of the costumes.  Mostly, though, people just melted over every baby ensemble.

While the advertisements promised candy, the kids were extremely disappointed in how limited the sugary distributions were.  No matter because we've already planned out next year's attack: stay until the end when they need to just give away the stuff.

Before we strategized about how to score more candy next year,  we were entertained while being educated.  A magician first wowed the kids with card tricks and then taught them simple ones to practice at home.  Then teens from local robotic teams impressed everyone with space related science lessons.


I should really remember why a marshmallow explodes and shrinks depending on something about air.  But what I really learned is that unless the place is teeming with costumed people who either display their creativity or their weirdness, I'd rather visit another Smithsonian...like the Air and Space downtown.

Just to prove we were at the Smithsonian
Air and Space museum.  Do you see the
plane back there?

When I was elementary school, I actually dressed
 like this.  My sister and I joined my mom
 in an aerobics class  where we all donned leotards,
 leg warmers, and I'm sure we wore sweat bands too.
Good thing Facebook didn't exist back then!

Minecraft

As an early Christmas present, I gave my son a membership to Minecraft.  The first night we installed it, I hacked my way into an underground cave where a spider climbed on my back and bit me to death.  From our screaming, you'd have thought real spiders were on our backs.

While my son plays daily, I only join in occasionally.  Every day, though, he gives me the update on his world, the scary monsters, and his building design plans.  It's our thing.  I love this bond with him.  Sometimes, sharing the desk, he'll play Minecraft while I work on the computer.  That way I can look up and see him try to ride a pig or watch him fly.

One day, I'm gonna wow him.  He'll log on and find the awesome house I built for him with an inventory stocked with useful materials and weapons.  Jeepers.  Did I even say that right?

Think I can pull this off?

A Bee-Free Winter

Not only does autumn delight my family with dazzling displays of crisp blue skies to contrast the brilliantly colored leaves, but it offers a promise of hope.  Fall's cold weather soothes us because we know that bees and other stinging insects cannot survive the drop in temperature.

All summer, my girls avoided the woods.  Who wouldn't?  After stepping on a bee hive, a swarm attacked them.  Now, before you get all particular on me, realize that I call anything a bee that has a even a hint of yellow, flies, and stings.  So don't leave comments about the fact that bees don't make nests on the ground.  I don't care.

The three wee ones were in the woods with a neighbor girl when I heard the screaming start.  Truthfully, I  had heard them cry wolf so many times that I didn't sprint over to help them.  I just figured someone's feelings were hurt.

Instead of walking into a fight, I walked over to a scene straight from a horror film.  Those poor children were paralyzed by fear, so they wouldn't walk out of the woods! From the tree line, I could see the bees fly around their heads and crawl on their clothes.

My first instinct was to run into the house for cover.  Then I remember that, as the adult in this situation, I needed to rescue them.

Bravely, I stepped one foot into the woods and coaxed the children out.  In my mind, I was a strong figure who inspired confidence.  If you ask my children, they'll say that I was screaming my head off.

Finally the sobbing children gingerly stepped out of the woods and into my stiff arms.  I ran to the house holding them at arms' length.

With the help of the oldest two children, the three littles were put into a bath to soothe them.  The then-four-year-old sustained the worst of the attack.  Sporting over a dozen swollen mounds, we found that the reason her whole body swelled and turned bright pink was because two stingers remained inside her.

While I made plans on the phone to drop off kids at the neighbor's in order to have the ER nurses remove the stingers,  my oldest daughter plucked out the two stingers herself.  I tell you, that girl has got grit.

After the two stingers came out, the four-year-old's body returned to a normal aching post-attack state.  She and the other two moaned all day about the pain.

Those bees attacked my children several months ago, yet the painful memory of that horrific attack continues to scare the youngest from the woods.  My hope is that the coldest months of the year will erase those bees and the memory of that attack.

Eau de Nostalgia

The smell of autumn reminds me of soccer practices, piano lessons, ballet classes, and my romps in the woods.  So as the foliage explodes into the fires that will leave our trees bare, I'm happy to watch my kids live out part of my childhood memories.  Dragging long sticks to create their fort walls, the kids cook over pretend fires and are strict about people using the proper hole in the wall for the door.  When the kids come in from playing outside, I like to take a long, deep smell of their hair and clothes.  The lingering aroma of cold air and moldy leaves makes me feel so happy.

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Telephone Games

My little girls used sewing needles, thumb tacks (?) and string to create their very own telephones out of plastic cups.  Since they share a bunk bed, they desired to lay in bed at night and talk through these stringed cups....instead of just talking.

They were being just too cute for me to point out how much easier it is for them to talk with normal voices at each other instead of using these telephone cups that actually muffle instead of amplify their voices.

Pleased that a full day of fun crafts and problem solving occupied the girls, I pondered what the telephone game will mean for them later in life.  I mean, when the rest of us play it, some words are meant to actually pass down the line of people.

A phrase like, "Ally alligators ate eleven avocados in the afternoon," might come out as, "Ali's alligators ate seven avocados on the boom."

But my girls might in fact miss the whole point of the game. Will they be confused and just repeat random speech from their own telephone game from their youth? Will "Ally alligators ate eleven avocados in the afternoon" turn into "Let's see if mom sees us sneak out of our room to go grab some cookies?" Their team might be just a tad upset at them.

If that is how they play the game in the future, I want to witness the scene.  I want to hear their adorable confusion and chuckle at the memory of their attempted "secret" phone line.

Adopting the Attorney General's Cats

Part of our petting zoo includes two adorable kittens who allow themselves to be held like babies.  Yes, you read that right.  These precious animated stuffed animals actually cuddle with us!

For my kids, this is pure joy as they routinely sit outside with the cats on their laps.  Whether the kids are reading, figuring arithmetic, listening to a book on tape (or CD), or continuing a crochet project, those kittens are being loved.

Friendly cats? That's just unusual, you might say. I agree.  But our unusual cats also have an unusual origin.  After my oldest daughter emailed me a staggeringly high number of Craigslist "free cat" ads all summer, one day I told her, "Enough."   Her emails were for free cats from the Eastern Shore, or West Virginia, or towns supposedly in Virginia, but I'd never heard of them.

The day I stopped the emails was a memorable day here in Virginia. On that day in August, we had an earthquake.  But before our house shook, I'd told my daughter at breakfast that since there were 2 cat offers within an hour away, we'd take whichever one was available after the baby's nap.




Upon arriving at the random Craiglist family's home, I noticed their cars had a lot of conservative bumper stickers.  When the mother came out of the house, she introduced herself to me as Mrs. Cuccinelli.  Um....yeah....that means the VA State Attorney General's family gave us their cats.

Amiable like the cats they gave us, the Cuccinelli family entertained us for well over an hour.  We home school moms had a lot to sympathize over and curriculum to compare.  Since our kids ages are so similar, my kids blended nicely with the 6 out of their 7 who were home that day.  The huge crowd of kids chased cats, ran with the dog, and drove battery powered cars. 

Occasionally we still chuckle at the randomness that produced 2 friendly kittens from a most unlikely donor.  How many of us can say we own the state Attorney General's cats?

My Concrete Moat

Before we moved out to the sticks, I joked that I wanted a concrete moat around our house.  Now that I've lived here a few years, I think I was on to something.

Moats are meant as deterrents to invaders, and this is exactly what we need.  This summer we endured the ant invasion.  Now, we are suffocating under the blanket of spider webs.  Crickets, bugs with too many legs, and silverfish have our basement under siege.  We need a no-bug-zone between the house and the big woods.

Constantly, we are battling nature.  Beating it back with clippers.  Shearing the meadow with our tractor.  Cowering from the ever present bees.

Looking out my window, the trees look ominous.  Like orks climbing over the fence with battle axes in hand, vines, leaves and branches reach past their boundary to reclaim the land where our house sits.  All around us, the earth wants to return to its wildness.

To the children, this wide open space is delightful.  The 5 year old loves slimy worms.  The older kids love to dig tunnels behind the fence.  Since our large piece of land allows us to care for so many animals, my kids couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

I suppose that each time I go out to fight my windmills I could suit up in Off! armor.  A better idea might be to just push nature back a little further.  Perhaps the kids need a basketball court next to a tennis court, next to a roller rink and shuffle board?  Not only would I entertain the kids, but I'd finally have my concrete moat.

 

Mail Call

All week my 11 and 5 year olds counted down the days until Amazon would deliver each of them their Lego toys.  Intently watching the road, the kids would ask at the rumble of each approaching vehicle, "Do you think that's the UPS truck brining our Legos?"

When Amazon emailed me to notify us of which day the toys would arrive, the excitement could hardly be contained.  Coming home from class meant that the kids ran around the house in case the delivery guy left the package on the back deck.  Every so often I was asked, "Do you think they'll really come today?"

Finally the package arrived.  The 5 year old bought some huge Lego set with birthday money and computer help from her brother.  Honestly, I didn't know what she purchased until it arrived. I still don't understand.  Something about Lego ninjas?

The 11 year old now owns some board game that has additional sets to buy, assemble, and add to this board.  I played a round with him and am convinced that every game I now play with him will always have that whiff of role playing.

Waiting for the kids' package to arrive truly made me feel way out in the middle of nowhere.   At times like these, I do feel a bit out on the prairie. 

Warmer....Warmer...HOT!

Whoever said that the oldest siblings speak for the baby of the family? My youngest waited until he was three to start talking, and, until now, not one of us had a clue as to what he was trying to say.

Perhaps that is because he wasn't really trying to say anything.  Before he began pointing to ask the usual, "What this?" he played with us. Every time he wanted something, he would scream. Then the game would begin.

Not knowing what he would want, we were reduced to picking up random wine glasses, puzzle pieces, or pencils to show him and silently ask with our raised eyebrows, "Is it this? Or do you want this?"

With each wrong object, he played the "cold, warmer, hot game" by screaming louder and louder until he'd burst into unexplainable laughter.  That's when we knew that we had aimlessly picked up the correct item. Of course.  He wanted an ice cube.

With his recent development of parroting everything we say, we are both relieved and a trifle weary.  Relieved that he finally wants to speak....but weary of our names repeated like a machine gun until we acknowledge him.

Ok, so he decided to speak.  Now time for manners.

Ummm, Now What Am I Supposed to Do With All of These Kids?

I'm not a gooey mom.  Other girls are so good at the baby talk or sitting down on the floor to play with young children.  Watching flour puffs plume onto the cabinets and appliances in the kitchen cannot daunt these mothers. I, on the other hand, banned Play Doh until my kids turned 3 in order to avoid the mess.

But in my defense, I've really never been great at knowing what a kid wants. As a young aunt, I loved toting my little niece and nephews to folk music festivals or museums.  They really surprised me by not caring that the musician on stage was performing the songs he wrote.  All they can remember from one such event is the box of Dove ice cream bars that my friend bought them for lunch.

So what's a nontraditional girl to do? Continue being nontraditional.

Home schooling has forced me to spend an abundance of time with my kids.  While others may naturally find ways to hang with the offspring, I need instructions.  How nice that my day is scheduled from 8am until 3pm with a useful game plan, because I can't keep them out at concerts until 2 am every weekend.

We are working together every hour of the day. Breakfast time is Bible time. Reading time is cuddling time. Chore time is, well, it's still chore time. Art time is make-Mom-batty-while-the-house-is-trashed time....and so forth.

But don't think that our day is so structured that we don't enjoy each other.  If you think that, then you are missing my point.  Being with my kids this much allows me to share myself with them better than I would if we were separated 9 or 10 hours a day.  While others have a tight bond with their kids despite the daily separation, I know that home schooling lowers my handicap because now I know how to spend time with my kids.

How to Avoid Running Craft Time

Today we celebrated my daughter's 5th birthday.  Now I like to keep parties simple.  So typically, I throw some snacks at the kids and say, "Just playing with each other is a treat.  Don't expect me to plan crafts."

But miracles do happen.  A glittery sand art project was planned, decorations for their cupcakes were laid out before guests arrived, and goody bags were packed the night before.

I wondered if this is what it felt like to be so organized?  It felt great to have the table set with food and drinks before people arrived.

Everything was humming along nicely until Prudence, our beagle, escaped.  Prudence followed the scent of some small animal that lead her from yard to yard, farther away from our house.  When my oldest didn't come back with the dog after a while, I realized this was my ticket out of craft time.  I hopped in the car to go help fetch the pooch.

Following a few failed attempts to nab her and coax her back to us,  Prudence darted into the thick, thorny underbrush behind a neighbor's house.  We could hear her barks trail off, but we couldn't see her anymore. I asked myself at what point I would just let her go. You know, explain to the kids why we don't have a dog anymore.

Luckily, a woman who runs an animal shelter heard Prudence barking from inside the house where she was pet sitting. Knowing exactly what to do, she sprinted from the house after Prudence with hardly a hello to us.  That rescuer rescued our beagle after a chase through thick thorns, over broken glass, and into the dirty creek.  When I caught up with her in the woods, far from where the chase began, she was muddy and struggling to carry Prudence back to us.

After a solid 40 minutes recovering our dog, I returned home to find kind moms finishing the craft and cleaning up the mess for me.  That's right, I didn't have to oversee little girls spilling sand all over the table and floor.

Following Prudence's hiccup, the party went back on schedule. Yet in less than half an hour after her return, Prudence dug a hole under our fence and was gone again.  After the previous ordeal and near scolding by the rescue worker, I was ready to enact plan B: let her go.  My mother talked of driving the neighborhood with my oldest daughter, but in my heart, I just felt like she was gone.

Again, I was faced with possibility of finding words to explain to the kids why we didn't have a dog anymore. By this time, everyone had left the party, and we were cleaning up. When suddenly, a mom burst through the door carrying our wayward dog.  She delivered one of Trinity's best presents of the day.

Despite almost losing a dog, the party was a huge success.  Meaning, Prudence spared me from having to run craft time.

My five year old with the cupcake that she decorated.

Sowing the Seeds of Love

Curfew? What curfew?  When you are out partying with mom, there is no deadline for fun.

Tonight my oldest daughter and I went to DC where we listened to Lauris Vidal, Andy Zipf, and Matt Butcher perform to an intimate gathering of maybe 20 people.  What an opportunity for my daughter to experience first hand these talented singer songwriters!

Andy and Lauris wowing us

On our way down to the concert, I told her how special being the oldest is.  Realizing that she works a lot to keep the little ones in order for me by bathing them, babysitting them and cleaning up after them, she probably doesn't notice the advantages to being first.

The very nature of being the oldest allows more years for a relationship with kin.  As the youngest, I don't have the list of shared experiences with relatives that my older siblings do.  My limited exposure reduced my opportunities to know them as well because, frankly, some of them died before I was born.

Coming before I was overwhelmed with my adorable brood, I did a lot more activities with my first.  When she was an infant, I didn't stop my youthful lifestyle. She came everywhere with me.  Swaddled and content, she slept to wee hours of the morning at parties.

As she grew, we regularly visited the playgrounds and attended outside classes.  For about 3 hours each day, I read to her. And now as a tween, she's been to way more concerts then I attended at her same age.

Do you think I can drag 5 kids around to parties or concerts?  Do you think we leave the house unless absolutely necessary? Do you think I have that kind of time to read to my kids?

The oldest may have more individual mom-time and unique opportunities that the young ones will never experience.  But as a youngest, I know that the one-on-one time invested in my oldest siblings was reaped 100 fold by influence they had on me.

Field Observations

Loving to provide first hand opportunities for the kids, our home school family is planning to take 2 field trips a month. Typically, we go when the tourists are scarce.

Today at the zoo, we had the park to ourselves.  Really, with so many of the exhibits closed,  the number of animals to see wasn't many.

Despite this disappointment, the kids loved what they did see.  Consistently, the bird house is a favorite because birds fly around a large room that doesn't cage the animals.  In that old, beautiful building that resembles architecture from a Curious George book, the kids hoped a bird would land on them.

At the flamingos, I switched into teacher mode requiring the kids to take turns reading the plaque and asking them questions about the information.  For example, did you know that some flamingos live the cold Andes mountains?

While the kids focused on the animals, I was observing more.  My large group of 8 kids wasn't so strange next to the large Hasidic families, who, despite the heat, covered their appendages in black.  All the women wore ankle length skirts and scarves in their hair.

Of course, they didn't look so out of place next to the Muslim women in berkas.  At least the berkas I saw today were colorful.  Picture a vibrant purple covering everything but a pair of eyes and orthopedic shoes.

The Muslim women might have been covered in fabric, but there were a few rough folks hiding their skin behind piercings and tattoos.  To these, I just harkened back to a time when such fashion statements actually were alternative.

Tomorrow the kids will write reports about flamingos asking Google to show us pictures of their whale-like bristly teeth. Research skills will be honed. Grammar and spelling will be checked. Handwriting will be perfected.

And mom's catalogue of the unusual will stay active to note anything of interest.

Reborn Out of This Mess

Where the are no oxen, the manger is empty,

but from the strength of an ox comes abundant harvest.

Maybe this was Solomon's way of saying, "Oh sure.  You can have your clean kitchen if you never turn the stove on!"


Because we home school, my house is constantly in use, so things are constantly out.  While I would joke that my house is only orderly and clean between the hours of 10pm and 8am, this is in fact the truth.


While the kids are awake, creative juices are flowing.  And for some reason that is unacceptable to me, creativity seems to only thrive in a cluttered environment.


Apparently a child can only get the picture just so if every single crayon, marker and paint tube is not only scattered around the table but also the floor with the caps off, naturally.  


Of course, toys are only more fun if played anywhere but the spot designated for them.  And kids never forget to incorporated into their game those random items that obviously were not meant to be used as toys.


Brushing teeth used to be so simple.  You think that one tooth brush is enough?  Fahgettaboutit. You see, in our house, each child must own 2 sometimes 3 toothbrushes in order to get the job done right.


So while I get a bit batty at times from the clutter that literally breeds faster than both our real and dust bunnies combined, I'm afraid that when I do obtain my clean-house-nirvana, I still won't be content because my little mess-makers won't be here to enjoy it with me.


Instead of pining for a home Martha Stewart would be comfortable in, I think I'll cling to Solomon's sage promise.  Out this ashen mess my children might very well arise to fly away strong due to their happily cluttered but creatively fun childhood.

See how happy they are? That's because the shelves are empty of more toys then they can play with.  The TV is home to some Littlest Pet Shop animals, table lamp is another home, and the scarves from the dress ups are part of the landscape. I just paste on my smile that Jack Nicholson borrowed for the making of The Shining.

"Do I hear pizza for my veggie slices?"

When I was in elementary school, my mom packed a huge vitamin C tablet as the dessert for my lunch.  I did not consider this to be a suitable substitute for hard candy, even though it required a lot of sucking on a really sour tasting lozenge.

Ahhhh, but on the stock market trading floor known as the lunch room, I was able to find an excellent trade for my vitamin C.  Each day, my friend traded either her Hostess Cupcake or her Swiss Cake Roll for those gross lozenges. Honestly, she loved those vitamin C tablets so much that I was able to have a real dessert every day.

At the age of 8, I would've vowed to give my children dessert for every meal. Back then, I imagined my children to be the envy of every other child because mine would have the most sought after sweets.

Except that, well, I grew up.  Just like my mom, I don't want my kids to be eating so much junk.  And since I home school them, they rarely have the opportunity to gloat about some great treat or trade their food on the cafeteria trading floor.

Our lunches might consist of dinner leftovers.  Salmon and potatoes from the night before? C'mon, you'll need to try harder to weird out these kids. Pot roast at noon? Helloooooo,  you've just described a warm, comforting meal on a cold winter day.  PB&Js are usually accompanied by mounds of sliced veggies or fruit.  Some lunches are just sliced fruit and vegetables.

Since we take classes outside the house once a week, my kids do tote along their Doritos and cookies like all the other kids.  But writing this blog entry prompted me to ask the kids what food they trade at those weekly lunchtimes.

You'll be happy to learn that the tradition continues.  My oldest daughter gleefully relayed that she can trade her veggie slices for desserts, pizzas or empanadas at lunch. I'm so amazed that kids still willingly give up their goodies for healthy foods.  As long as kids come together to eat, the stock market of food will continue.

"Stranded dinner for 5; your table is ready"

Oh, dear.  Why didn't I listen to that still, small voice which whispered last month, "Hire someone to clean out the gutters."

My bonsai garden is thriving in this weather.

Perhaps this much water would have clogged anyway in the narrow arteries lining the house.  But looking at the quaint bonsai forrest growing in the rich decomposing slop in the gutters provokes such feelings of regret.  I just stand here with my hands on my hips staring at those gutter-trees.

Thankfully, skipping a gutter cleaning hasn't resulted in any water pouring into the house.  We are cozy inside our dry house.  Still having electricity, music constantly plays while the kids resort to watching movies and playing video games since we can't leave.

Seriously, I cannot leave the neighborhood.  The creek on our road is so swollen that we were turned back after a car had to be towed to safety.

Shoot.  This raining is really ruining my dinner plans. First, flooding on my family's street prevented me from eating there with them.  Now I cannot reach my friends' home.  If I can't reach them, what will I serve these stranded kids?