Pretend this is an actual Christmas card

You might also want to pretend the tops of our heads.

And a partridge

We got the book Blueberries for Sal by Robert McCloskey at the library yesterday and we've already read it multiple times. There are partridges in it.

The husband went to Lowe's for lightbulbs this morning and came home with this:

in a pear tree

Another day skipped, another opportunity for December Blog Challenge almost perfect attendance squandered. I do have a new computer. The same kind, hopefully slightly longer lived. Well, I did rake the leaves the other day. I had just finished the raking and was starting the stuffing into bags process, with Harper's help. We had bagged 6 bags worth and still had about 10 big piles to go when I realized that the raking is actually the easy part. Just then, a neighbor came down with his wheelbarrow and asked if he could have the rest of the unbagged leaves to use as mulch in his flower beds. Why, yes sir! you certainly may. So, no more bagging for us, a decaying leaf blanket for his roses--wins all around. I was actually pretty inspired by his backyard vegetable garden. He was growing loofahs on his fence! And he had a huge okra harvest this year, apparently. Plus sweet potatoes, tomatoes, habenera peppers, spinach, strawberries--it was impressive. I would like to try tomatoes this year. We'll definitely need to build some sort of contraption to keep out the wildlife. Some neighbors a couple of houses down have an orange? clementine? tree that is currently bursting with fruit. We have been eating so many clementines this month, bought from the grocery store, not stolen from the neighbors' tree. Harper and Hudson actually call them clementiMes, which I think is very cute, so I don't correct them. Did you know Winston Churchill's wife was named Clementine? I have been very disappointed by all but a couple of pears I have bought this year. I don't know of anyone named Pear. Or Bartlett, or D'Anjou. Here's my leaf raking helper, who, at this particular moment was helping by sitting in the midst of a pile of leaves with her duck.

Something I would like to note, because it is something of a Christmas miracle, Harper and Hudson played outside in the backyard for probably an hour and a half this morning, by themselves, without conflict. AND, when Hudson sustained a minor head bump, Harper, unsolicited AND not knowing I was watching from the window, tended to him very tenderly, even giving him a hug to make it better. !!!!!

And Helena stood up by herself today. And tried avocado. NOT a fan.

how still we see thee

So, my computer, perhaps in some sort of technological protest against all of the daily blogging, has died. The husband has been trying to resurrect it all evening to no avail. It's like a little Lech Walesa has taken over my motherboard and is whispering 'solidarity!" to the little silicon thingies and they are obeying him because Polish is a really forceful sounding language. Only I guess I'm Communism in this little metaphor and I think with all the God talk and Ayn Rand reading that clearly isn't applicable.

So, I think tomorrow the husband is going to leave his computer at home so I can do an actual post, though pictures are doubtful. I have been troubled by my pronounced technology withdrawal symptoms. I used to go days without opening the computer, but I was getting a little edgy today not being able to check the weather or my email. The Luddites will want me to turn in my membership card, no doubt. But (and please picture Scarlet O'Hara if you will) I will NEVER have a Blackberry. Nope. You can't make me.

with royal beauty bright

Well, there went my perfect attendance record. As I was going to bed last night I had this feeling that something had been left undone.

We went to the Museum of Natural Science today and spent most of our time in the Hall of Gems and Minerals. There is a 75 carat sapphire pendant that Harper decided she would like for her birthday. I laughed and told her probably not this year. "Maybe when I'm seven," she decided.

I'm contemplating going out in the front yard and raking some leaves. Our yard is covered and everyone else on our street pays guys to come blow theirs away with noisy machines.

I just had leftover potato soup for lunch. The husband made a huge batch on Sunday. He is a really good cook. I also ate an inappropriate number of M&Ms from a large bag that is now only half full.

Perhaps this is why I did not blog yesterday. Not much to say. Here's Hudson hitting piles of leaves with a big stick.

The Holly and the Ivy

The little kids sang this carol at church today and it was really sweet. I especially liked the motions that went along with "the running of the deer."

The rest of this post will have nothing to do with the title.

I did a little math all by myself today because I couldn't find the calculator (the apocalyptic scenario that your math teacher always warned you about). Houston has a new mayor and only around 160,000 people voted in the election. That's about 6% of the 2.2 million people who live here. The winner of the election got 53% of those 160,000 votes, which means the lady newly in charge of running the city got there even though just 3.6% of Houstonians bothered to vote for her. That should be national news, don't you think? But that's not the detail of this election that got the coverage.

We got our sweet neighbor to come over and take a family picture of us today with the hope that I might actually get a decent one that I could put on some sort of Christmas card that I might actually send out at some point. I look tired and pale and generally grotesque in every single shot. Hudson has a runny nose. Harper chose pink sparkly shoes that in no way matched her red tights. Helena insisted on eating her shoes. Maybe we'll try again, or maybe we won't. I actually kind of like the picture I took of our porch swing about 10 minutes before the photo shoot commenced. I was trying to see if there was going to be enough light for my point and shoot camera to focus without a flash. I think the shadow of the lattice is kind of pretty. Inanimate objects are so much more cooperative. Of course the sun had disappeared by the time we got everyone situated. Here's one the husband took after the family shoot fell apart. Hudson was busy smashing up a big pile of leaves with a long stick. Because that is what little boys do.

no crib for a bed

The husband was not familiar with the Josh Groban "Little Drummer Boy" and maybe you aren't either. If so, the Hudson clip wasn't as funny as it might have been. Suffice it to say that Mr. Groban does some of his trademark show-boaty vocals all over a couple of the verses, and that is what Hudson was apparently attempting to emulate. Something else you might have noticed is that Hudson is still sleeping in a pack-and-play. Yes, that is his actual "bed." He has slept in it every single night of his almost 3 years. It fit perfectly into our small walk-in closet that was his room for the first 16 months or so of his life. Then when we moved we got a bed for Harper and intended to move him into the real crib. Then I found out I was pregnant with Helena so we thought we'd just skip the crib and move him into a real bed. Only I was afraid it would mess up his wondrous sleep habits. And so, here we are. Maybe for his birthday he'll get a bed. Or maybe not.

Six years ago this week I went to see the film "Bonhoeffer" at the Angelika theatre in Dallas with some friends. One of the fellows in the group offered me his coat during the movie because I was cold. A week later we had our first date. Six months later we had a wedding. Six years later we two have become five. Isn't that something?

I played my best for Him

We heard the Josh Groban version of "Little Drummer Boy" on the radio yesterday and it apparently had quite an effect on Hudson:

and the government shall be upon His shoulder

I know all politics is local blah, blah, blah, but I have a really hard time caring about politics at all, and summoning up enthusiasm for local politics is almost impossible for me. I got a thing in the mail yesterday, apparently because I have at some point voted in a party primary, telling me whom I should vote for in Houston's upcoming run-off election. I abhor fear-mongering. Are there really voters who vote on the lesser of two evils principle? Basically this mailer told me which of the candidates had been endorsed by "radical" liberal groups! and that I should run, run! to the polls and vote for the other candidate. And I feel sickeningly certain that there are similar mailers going out urging people to vote against candidates who've been endorsed by "radical" conservative groups as well. The only thing it really stirs in me is a whole lot of apathy.

In this week's New Yorker there is a fascinating portfolio of portraits of world leaders. One of the staff photographers got permission to set up a studio at a recent United Nations meeting, and he somehow persuaded all of these guys (and a few ladies) to sit for individual portraits. With a few exceptions, they are all black and white head shots. It's funny how these close-up images of someone's face reveal very little. What's even funnier is the order in which the photographs have been placed. Ahmadinejad has a hint of a smile, his eyes crinkled in the corners, possibly because Obama is on the facing page, so that when the magazine is closed, the two are smashed together, eye-to-eye, lip-to-lip. On the next page is Israel's Benjamin Netanyahu, his face smashed into Mahmoud Abbas, President of the Palestinian Authority. A few pages later, Dmitry Medvedev, President of Russia who, when the magazine is closed, is kissing the poisoned, pock-marked face of Ukraine's Victor Yushenko. Flip that page over and look into the faded irises of Zimbabwe's Robert Mugabe, who is facing four smaller photos of other African rulers, one of whom, Kenya's Raila Odinga, appears to be glancing sidelong at Mugabe's face with a look of fearful wariness. It's compelling to look at these human faces and know the horror that some of them have orchestrated. And yet none of them looks evil. Only a few are conventionally handsome (Obama, Netanyahu, Medvedev, and Mexico's Felipe Calderon) and several are comically strange looking (the Prime Minister of Ireland must be a dream for political cartoonists). Some came to power through democratic elections, many others through force. It's simultaneously comforting and terrifying to realize that these faces, that pretty much look like your grandfather or the lady at the post office who always moves in slow motion even though the line is out the door, represent nations that aren't remotely united. Someday it will be made right. Here's a picture of Helena drumming on a coffee can to lighten the mood. She said her favorite portrait is Silvio Berlusconi, the Prime Minister of Italy. He's doing this cheeky wink and nod thing that she finds rather charming.

sleep in heavenly peace

I was out doing a little shopping tonight while the husband got the kids bathed and in bed and I sprinted into a furniture store in between the shoe store, where I returned some boots that I decided I don't have use for, and Lakeshore Learning, where I was buying some squishy blocks for Helena. I startled the five salespeople who were standing around. I made eye contact with one, explaining that I just wanted a quick moment on a mattress. See, the husband and I sleep on a queen size mattress that I bought in 2001 for around $200. We've been talking about investing in a good mattress since we got married (it's been 6 years this week since our first date. I might tell that story tomorrow) because neither of us sleeps very well. And I actually wake up in pain fairly often. The siren song of Tempurpedic has been luring us for a couple of years now, but I'm just not sure we can justify spending that much money on something to sleep on. I asked the salesperson which was the cheapest and plopped down. I did NOT want to get back up. It felt like a warm embrace of mattress. Feel free to talk me down from my infatuation if you have advice.

Rudy toot-toot and rummy tum tums

Harper and I have been working on one of those little loom potholder things for about 9 months now. Every couple of months she would remember it and say, "Mommy, we need to work on my Gloom." Mostly I had to do the weaving because it's a little tricky for small hands. Then we finished the weaving part and I couldn't for the life of me remember how to finish the edges. So yesterday I found a YouTube video that showed me how to do it. (it looks terrible, by the way) While I was doing that, Harper emptied the entire bag of little loop things, which she also refers to as her Gloom, onto the floor. Then she started wallowing around in it and tossing it up into the air. Then she gathered it all up in a little wagon, poured it on top of herself, and shouted, "I'M COVERED IN MY GLOOM!!!" which made me giggle for several minutes.

Today I was taking Hudson to the bathroom (going fairly well, by the way. Not perfect, but fairly well) and I thought I heard a little something. "Was that a toot?" I queried. "No, it was not a toot in my bottom," he replied, "Was a toot in my mouf." I did tell him that the appropriate terminology for a "mouth toot" is actually a "burp." He has also developed this southern drawl of late, so that 'now' is pronounced "nay-ow" and 'on' is pronounced "aw-wun". This conversation took place at breakfast a few days ago:

Hudson: Puppies like me.
Harper: They like me better.
me: Harper.
Harper: Well, they like me one hundred miles. Hudson you were a baby one hundred years ago. I was a baby one hundred and two thirty ago.

When the snow lay round about

Welcome to Day One of the December Blog Challenge, third edition! I'll be attempting to blog daily for the next two weeks, using titles or lines from Christmas carols as my inspiration.

Off we go.

We got real, live snow in Houston on Friday. The reality of Snow is not even close to the Dream of Snow, as Hudson quickly realized. Snow is cold. And wet. And your mother will make you wear 3 layers of clothes, and her old hat, none of which is waterproof. This will grieve you deeply:

However, if your name is Harper, you say Poo! to the cold, insist that your ballet dress is perfect gear for a blizzard, and are only slightly disappointed when your mother tells you that you must add a few layers (again, sadly, not waterproof). You will take great delight in every minute of your Snow Frolic. You will go through two pairs of mittens AND two pairs of socks (worn on your hands with Ziploc bags and rubber bands) in your quest to fashion snowballs out of the wet mushy icy snow. You will think your swingset is a winter wonderland. You will spend the morning periodically coming in for more "gear" as you call it, ultimately leaving a pile of wet snowy clothes just inside the back door which will make your mother finally understand why people who live in colder climes have a "mud room".
Helena slept all morning. When she woke up I held her at the window and she enjoyed watching the flakes waft down. Which, I decided, is how I prefer to enjoy the snow as well.

Ten months

Well it's good I'm doing these monthly posts because I just realized that I don't have a single decent picture of the little little from this month. I'll have a photo shoot when she wakes up. There is not much new to report. She was acting a little cranky last week which I thought surely meant a tooth was about to appear. Alas, not yet. Is this a world record? I think it might be. Her night sleep is still great (12-13 hours!) but her naps have been a little off since we got back from the grandparents' house. She has realized that her crib is a place of tremendously exciting opportunities. Even in her sleep sack she manages to walk around the four sides. Plus there is the intoxicating business of clapping, and, of course, closely scrutinizing the tag on her blanket, then chewing it, then scrutinizing it again. This can take upwards of an hour if done properly. She takes a rather quiet delight in everything (unlike two other small members of this family who showed their early pleasure with a rather tympanic membrane piercing shriek). She enjoys smiling and has just this week started shaking her head in the "no" direction if she hears a song she likes or if she sees someone dancing. Which happened yesterday when our friends June and Trammell came over to play:

I should state for the record that yes, Hudson did choose the Pumpkin Princess dress. We have a park ranger hat, a fireman vest, and a G.I. Joe ninja suit, but come on, who wears that to a fancy ball? You can't see in the picture, but Trammell was sporting some sparkly pink beads for his bike ride.

This morning at the Natural Science Museum we saw a Julia Longwing butterfly alight and lay a tiny bright yellow egg on a passion plant leaf. Harper thought this was fantastically wonderful. The volunteer docents who work in the butterfly atrium are always so enthusiastic and erudite.

Two days ago I saw a garbage truck with "Aggressive Waste Disposal" printed in a somewhat fancy font on the side. This made me wonder if the adjective modified the Waste or the Disposal. We have definitely produced diapers that would qualify as pretty aggressive. And I've probably been, at times, pretty aggressive in my disposal of said diapers. Speaking of businesses with funny names, there's a daycare center on the way home from Port Neches and the sign reads, "KIDS ONLY! Daycare Center" which, to me, always evokes a sort of Lord of the Flies imagery, like one day the grownups showed up for work and a little growling toddler met them at the door with his spear and conch shell and demanded they get away. And paint an exclamation point on the sign on your way out, will ya? !

The high temperature tomorrow is supposed to be 40 degrees. And there might be SNOW. The predicted high for Tuesday in the extended forecast--81 degrees. Texas weather is some kind of crazy.

Dream on

Yesterday morning in church, the pastor had the kids come up for a little chat about Advent. Harper had her hand raised before any questions had been posed, so she was more than ready to give her response when Mr. Seay wondered if any of them remembered what they received for Christmas last year. Harper got the mike, appropriately restated the question in her response, and came forth with this:

"Last year for Christmas I got a little baby puppy."

And everyone collectively said, "Awwwwwwwwww," because I'm sure they were picturing the cute little girl with the cute little voice cuddling her cute little puppy.

Except that Harper did NOT get a little baby puppy for Christmas last year, she got a play kitchen.

Meanwhile, Hudson has taken to wearing his puppy around in a sling fashioned out of his special blanket and a clothespin.

So yes, our kids REALLY want a real live puppy. And no, we are not getting them one.

We spent last week with the Grandparents Pate and we made gingerbread men:

And dirt soup:

The husband and I also got to have dinner out with the Youngs (Carrie, who leaves sage comments as "Ken" about mothering her four sweet kids) and I laughed so hard that my stomach was sore. Carrie and I have known each other since preschool? earlier? and it's such a delight to be able to share childhood memories (some really WEIRD ones, incidentally) and also have life right now so in common as well. And speaking of old friends, happy birthday to you, Mrs. Dyson! Forty is the New Thirty, you know.

Audience

I just heard this conversation as I was nursing Helena before putting her down for the night (the husband is teaching a late class and is not here which makes the evening routine Almost Unbearable):

Harper: Hudson, go play with your cars! I need some TIME by MYSELF.

Hudson: (plaintive, pitiful) But I want to be with YOU.

Harper: (highly unpleasant snorty sound) HUDSON, NO. I need some quiet time by myself.

Hudson: (sad pitiful whimpering noises)

So, where in the world did she hear something like that? From me, that's where. Today during the after lunch time which used to be her nap time and is now her quiet time. She really wanted a little reading time (we've just started a book called Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons) before she had her quiet time but I just couldn't do it. It was an exhausting morning of failed potty training (at the park, so, totally my fault) with the Hudson boy and I was spent. I told her I just needed a little time to myself and I sent her off to her room. It had its intended effect, obviously. Maybe you'll think it's interesting that I have not been by myself for four and a half years now. I have been away from Harper twice--the 36 hours I was in the hospital having Hudson and the 36 hours I was in the hospital having Helena (which is the only time I have been away from Hudson). I do, once a week or so, when the kids are napping or in bed, and the husband is home, go to Target or the grocery store by myself. Occasionally, my mom will come in town so the husband and I can have a date. Every month or so I have a meal with the girls from my Bible study. I enjoy these times, perhaps too much. Depending on which book you read, the husband and I should be having some weekends away, just the two of us. But since I am still breastfeeding, this just seems like lots of work. At some point there will be time for this. And the time is not now. But I don't always do a good job of remembering how fast these Times of Great Dependence are going to pass. I try to remember to be daily thankful for my healthy children, whose needs pale in comparison to some. I try to remember how quiet were so many of my days and weeks and years when I wondered if I would ever be married; when children seemed like a hopeless dream. And yet I still lose my patience. Daily. I struggle with taking the easy way out (read: hours of tv or dvd's while I Get SOMETHING DONE). I am irate. I am fast to frustration and slow to grace. I focus on why things are HARD instead of being a creative problem solver. Instead of taking the time to teach, I take over and do it myself. And they are watching. And they ARE learning. My performance, it should be said, needs work. I am thankful in advance for those mercies, which, we are promised, are new every morning.

make yourself (a little too) comfortable

This is us yesterday:
And us today (at the zoo):

A miraculous turnaround. We had a grand time at Dewberry Farm last Friday, but Hudson apparently acquired a stomach virus along with his many wonderful farm memories. As stomach viruses go it was very manageable (fever, headache, just one vomit episode). He generously shared with his big sister (exact re-enactment, including just the one vomit episode). Thankfully, the rest of us have been spared thus far.

On the way home from the zoo, where we tried to keep to ourselves as much as possible, just in case we're shedding Virus, I heard Hudson say something about a bus driver:

Me: "You SEE a bus driver?"
Hudson: "No ma'am, mumblemumblemumble busdriver!"
Me:"You want to BE a bus driver?"
Pause. "Yes, ma'am."
Harper: "Hudson!"
Hudson: "Yes ma'am" (this cracks me up every time when he calls her 'ma'am')
Harper: "Hudson, you CAN be a bus driver. I don't know yet what I want to be when I grow up. Maybe a ballerina. Boys can't actually BE ballerinas, so you can't be a ballerina too. Well, boys CAN do ballet, but they do NOT wear dresses, they wear black pants, tight pants and a t-shirt."
Hudson: "I want to HEAR bus driver."

I finally realized that he hadn't meant to discuss his career aspirations, though he didn't seem to mind. He wanted to hear the song "Bus Driver" which is on the husband's ipod that happened to be in the car. So, we listened to "Bus Driver." It's an old Derek Webb song and it seems kind of sad the first few times you listen to it, but it's really kind of the antidote to a really sad song like "Eleanor Rigby." Man, that Father McKenzie darning his socks in the night--gets me every time.

A few days ago we were at the park with our neighbors and Harper invited them to come over to our house after. She said, "We'll walk in, take off our shoes, take off our pants, wash our hands, then we can PLAY." If you have ever needed an explanation for why the kids are pantsless in so many of my pictures, there you have it.

More than enough

That's Harper, sorting her money. She would do this daily if I would let her, which I don't, mostly because the little stopper thing in her bank is extremely difficult to get out. A couple of things had me thinking about contentment last week. I read an article about John O'Quinn, an (in)famously wealthy Houston attorney who died in a car wreck a couple of weeks ago. This particular article detailed O'Quinn's car collection of approximately eight HUNDRED cars. Not Matchbox cars, mind you. Eight HUNDRED actual collection-worthy full-sized automobiles. Apparently O'Quinn himself wasn't particularly involved in the acquisition of the eight HUNDRED cars, presumably because he was busy making money to pay for them. Certainly he had never driven most of them, perhaps there were even some that he had never even seen. Maybe he figured that someday he would have made enough money and he could go wander around in this giant warehouse with his eight HUNDRED cars and maybe he might even take a few of them out for a spin, like Ferris Beuller in Cameron's dad's vintage Ferrari. Or he could sort them like Harper with her money: red sporty coupes over here, Silver Ghost Rolls Royces over here, the Pope's little Ford Escort over there.. There's a famous quote in which some reporter asked some unfathomably rich man (Getty? Rockerfeller?) how much money is enough. Umfathomably rich man responded, "Just one dollar more." So, that's us too, isn't it? Rarely realizing that we actually have plenty. We bemoan what we are missing instead of relishing what we already have. Which, incidentally, is another interesting aspect of the O'Quinn cautionary tale. He made lots of his money (pre tort reform) representing people who had been harmed (I really want to put that in quotes, but will refrain) by breast implants and diet pills. We always want just one dollar more (or one pound less, in the case of the diet pills) even when it destroys us.

I also read an article about a Russian tycoon (Roman somebody?) who had, the day before, spent upwards of $47,000. On LUNCH. And you know what? I'll bet he was hungry again a few hours later.

So I'm going to be deliberate to be satisfied with today. To be actively thankful for the abundance that I have right now. Instead of bemoaning my noisy life (my ears were actually beginning to burn one day last week with all of the small children and their talking squealing singing talkingtalkingtalkingtalkingtalking) I will remind myself that my life was quiet for many years before and will again be quiet many years hence. And I will delight in the cacophony. I will drive my minivan as if it were a Silver Ghost. I will thank my husband for the work that he does to provide more than enough for us. I will glory in the dappled sunlight as it falls on my curly haired dear ones as they squeal on the backyard swingset, realizing that my dusty passport, and my beloved Budapest and Prague (and Barcelona and Patagonia and St. Petersburg and Athens and..) will still be there when my kids get a little older. For now, there is sweet abundance here.

Helena at nine months and one day

Nine months in, nine months out.

Still toothless. The other two were late getting teeth too, but I think this is a record. Soon enough.

Still nursing 4-5 times a day but I have been making much more of an effort with food. Every night for dinner she gets oatmeal mixed with something (sweet potatoes, apples and blueberries, pears, bananas) which she seems to really enjoy. She follows each bite with some fingers, which makes for a slimy mess. About every third day, she'll have a jar or two of baby food at lunch as well. She especially likes sitting at the table eating with Harper and Hudson.
She is in bed by 6:30pm and is sleeping through until 6:30 or 7am!! The night feeding went away without any "Ferberizing". I'm glad. She is just such a happy, content little lady. As long as I am pretty consistent to be home for naps (usually 1-2 hours morning, and 2-3 hours afternoon) she will go an entire day without crying. I put her in the sleep sack, sing a song, put her down in her crib, she talks to herself a little, finds her fingers, and then drifts off to sleep. She also wakes up happy. I'll hear quiet little talking sounds and when I open the door to get her, she greets me with the biggest smile.

When she's awake she likes exploring, but she's also happy to sit and play. Her blocks and stacking cups are her favorites.

She is really good at pulling up and then getting herself back down without toppling over. "Dah-dah-dah" is still her preferred sound but she's been experimenting with"bah-bah-bah" some too. And blowing raspberries when no one is looking at her and she feels like we really should be. She is never unhappy outside (like her mother). She is a little stranger-wary and will study a new or newish person, then cut her eyes at me to see if all is right in her world. She is an accomplished clapper and sometimes, if Daddy is beat-boxing, she will also throw in a little shoulder shimmy.

We, amidst the pumpkins, minus the Daddy, who was photographing. Helena was trying very hard to wiggle from my grasp and get at the pumpkin.

In the middle

I believe it was #64 of the theses that stated, "Thou shalt not place me betwixt my sisters for photo opportunities of a vainglorious nature."

our love is loud

We've had a week of out-and-abouting so I decided we should stay in today. I cleaned the bathtub, the mirrors and one sink, AND did two loads of laundry. I wish I could say that while I got all of this cleaning done the kids were engaged in meaningful acts of service themselves. Or maybe drilling one another on Latin roots. Nope. Helena napped, and Harper and Hudson watched part of "Cars", an episode of "Max and Ruby", and most of "Word World" before I finally said Enough! and turned off the television. We did some glitter, (The key to maintaining my sanity is to use tiny bottles of glue that are only about half full. When the glue is gone, we are finished for the day. It takes around 30 stressful minutes) then I needed to finish scrubbing the tub. Helena was clacking her stacking cups together, Harper was typing on the computer, and Hudson was playing with his cars. Then it happened. I was up to my elbows in Comet and suddenly the soundtrack to Armaggedon (the event, not the movie) began. Hudson had decided he would like a little music so he had turned on the radio, which was set to the classical station, and he accidentally had the volume on max. I think it was Wagner. It took me about 5 seconds to bolt in there and turn it down at which point they were all three wailing in fear and, possibly, pain. I tried to hug all three of them without using my Comet-covered hands. It took about 10 minutes for everyone to stop weeping. Hudson needed his blanket, his thumb, two stuffed dogs, a pillow, and 15 minutes curled up on the couch to recover. I think he will not do that again soon.

Nope, not getting paid.

Nothing makes people get all vaccine crazy like telling them There Won't Be Enough To Go Around!! Is anyone else skeptical of "shortages"? I'm not usually a cynic but it just seems fishy to me. Like a case study in an economics course. Or maybe sociology. You create a demand. Then you limit the supply so people will pay more. Farm subsidies? Diamonds? Cabbage Patch Kids circa 1982?

Helena slept EIGHTEEN hours on Monday. A two hour morning nap, a three hour afternoon nap, and then, from 6:30pm until 7:30 am Tuesday morning. She was very delightful for the six hours she was awake. This is the little shoulder shimmy she likes to do in her high chair when she is about to eat her evening oatmeal.

Product endorsement #1 for which I am not getting paid: I love Huggies Overnites diapers. Thirteen hours and no leaks. They work.

Product endorsement #2 for which I am not getting paid: Maybe it's a coincidence, but the Halo Sleep Sack seems to be directly related to her vastly improved night sleep.

Hudson had some potty success on Monday but I wasn't ready to fully commit. Harper drew a picture of him wearing his Lightning McQueen underpants:That speckled oval is Lightning, of course. I can't remember what she said that was in Hudson's hand, but it was funny and had nothing to do with anything. (I just asked her--it was a bowl of lentils.)

Product endorsement #3 f.w.I.a.n.g.p.: At Whole Foods for a mere $2.49 you can buy a bag of 365 brand ginger snaps and they are very good. A little bit crunchy, a little bit chewy--just what a ginger snap ought to be. I have a hard time closing the handy zippered top. Not because it is hard to close, but because I always want one more.

I think Harper has officially stopped napping. She falls asleep during her in-room quiet time only around once a week now. We made it to almost 4 1/2, which is about a year and a half beyond what I had hoped, actually. Today she stayed in her room for an hour then she came out and together we worked on her very first big kid Lego set--a cute little camper (still not getting paid). I wasn't much for Legos as a kid, and now I understand why. The instructions were embarrassingly easy to follow and yet I still had to tear apart and start over twice. Here's the finished product:
The back opens up and has two chairs, a sleeping bay above the cab, AND a television.

The husband found this Monarch while he mowed the front yard. It held on to Harper's finger really tightly, which pleased her greatly. Then we set it free.

You never count your money when you're sittin' at the table

It turns out that Mr. Kenny Rogers and his tale of The Gambler touches on many Important Life Themes (those caps are for you, Mary P.) I wonder if it's ever been made into a sermon series? This sermon should be about Dave Ramsey and his envelopes. And "there's time enough for countin', when the dealin's done" could be a great intro to try to reconcile the oft confusing ideas of our sins, not in part, but the full, being nailed to the cross and I bear them no more (it is well, it is well, with my soul) with being held to account for our deeds, or lack thereof, at a final reckoning. The lack of structure in that sentence is just ridiculous. You still with me?

I'm giving myself two weeks to decide on a three day window to stay home and finally potty train the Hudson boy. We're already a few months past the age Harper was. We've had some really nifty little underpants at the ready for several months now and I've been talking those up. We've done several trial runs and yesterday, while he ran around in some Mater undies, he stopped suddenly, gasped, and said, "There's a DINOSAUR!" A dinosaur? I asked. Where? "In my UNDIES," he explained, "I need a diaper on." There may or may not have been a dinosaur-like NOISE that led him to believe there might be a prehistoric reptile residing in his undies.

Yesterday we made our yearly pilgrimage to the St. Luke's pumpkin patch. When we got there we realized that the camera, which had been put into one of the velcroed pockets of Hudson's cargo pants (when you are a small boy, sometimes you need to be convinced that your pockets are useful so that you can be persuaded to wear pants) had not arrived with us. The husband went to get it out of his pocket and Hudson informed him, rather cheerfully, that he'd taken the camera out and left it at home. Since we have no actual pumpkin patch pictures, here's a picture of Harper painting a picture of a pumpkin:

Know when to run

I got a call from my friend Seana last week. She had a little story to tell. She and her husband Dave live in the southern part of Florida with their three kids (who are, incidentally, the same ages and gender as ours). It seems that when you live in a relatively undeveloped part of southern Florida, you might just step out into your front yard with your children to play, as you've done hundreds of times before, and instead of a neighborhood kid there to greet you, you might just find something else. Something REPTILIAN. Something like An Alligator. And not a small one. Seana kept her cool, ushering the kids quickly back inside and calling the Alligator Guy (because there actually is an Alligator Guy) to come and use his cool alligator trapping tools to capture the uninvited guest. Seana, understandably, has been a touch rattled since she's had this little Discovery Channel episode play out within a few feet of her small children. I'm fairly certain I would NOT have handled things this well. I'm fairly certain I would have RUN. I'm not generally apocalyptic in my thinking, but I have wondered before when I'm out with the kids by myself, that if for some reason I had to gather them up in my arms and get away from something (a tornado, a charging rhino..) whether or not I'd be able to do it. Maybe I'll start doing push-ups or something.

We went to the zoo today. This giant candy corn received more attention than any animals we saw. As you can tell from her stance, Harper is, I am certain, saying something like, "Hudson, come and enjoy this giant candy corn with me, please!"

I let Harper have the camera for a little while and she took an array of blurry shots and a few good ones. Our friend Izzy (who has made it very clear that she someday plans to be a part of our family in the role of Hudson's wife) and her doll:
Another shot of the candy corn:
And I thought this one had a certain something:

Know when to walk away

There was a little boy, who had a little curl

right in the middle of his forehead.

We were at the park two days ago and there was a gaggle of girls, about 9 years old, I'd guess, who were sprinting and squealing, as only a gaggle of 9 year old girls can, all over the park. Harper ignored them and went about the business of digging in the sand. Hudson stood very, very still and watched them flitting about. They were playing some sort of very shrill, silly game of chase which involved all of the slides and other equipment. After approximately 5 minutes of quiet observation, Hudson decided, when the girls had seemed to alight for a moment on the other side of the playground, to go down his favorite slide. He moved quickly, sensing that at any moment he could be overtaken. He was standing at the top of the twisty slide when it happened. One of the girls, a sturdy red-haired lovely, came charging, apparently being pursued by a dragon (who was a boy of around 6 who was someone's little brother). Hudson realized what was about to happen and he flung himself down the slide, his face expressing equal parts terror and exhilaration. I rushed over, expecting him to be in hysterics by the time he got to the bottom. He came flying around the lowest curve, the little red-haired girl in hot pursuit. But he was not crying. His eyes looked a little wild. He landed solidly on his feet, whipped his head around and took off running, not enjoying himself exactly, but not sad either. Welcome to the world of girls, my son.

Know when to fold them

Three days in a row! It's like one of the lower base camps for the Everest that is the annual December Blog-a-Day Challenge. On with the show.

Does the top of your dryer look like this? I actually really enjoy every step of the laundry process (with an especial fondness for folding) EXCEPT for the putting away. I usually put the kids' clothes up right away because 1. they each only have a few things that fit AND are seasonally appropriate at any given time, so they need to be at the ready, and 2. there is ample space for these few things in each of their rooms. With my clothes and the husband's, it's an entirely different story. Some things have a place, and if I were more efficient in my storage strategies, there is probably ample room for everything. I have very few things that need to be hung. Most of the things I wear on a daily basis (t-shirts, jeans, skirts, cardigans) are folded and stacked in my closet on this shelving unit that the husband has had since college, I think. It works pretty well unless I need something on the bottom and there is a landslide. Plus I have, prematurely, it turns out, gotten out my sweaters and long sleeved t-shirts, which are now in a heap on top of the ironing board because it is around 80 degrees here today. The husband has this nifty chest thing from Ikea that, hypothetically, was meant to house his t-shirts, undergarments, and other folded things. But it quickly gets disheveled because, inevitably, he will need some pair of shorts that is on the bottom of the stack and then when I go to put clean clothes in, I get overwhelmed with the mess and then someone needs their diaper changed or their bike untangled from the kitchen chairs and so instead of being put away, the neatly folded clothes go back to the top of the dryer.

I have been trying (not very strenuously, obviously) for around 4 years now to figure out a system for housekeeping. A few weeks ago I started jotting down all of the jobs that need to be done and I thought it might make for easier remembering if I had some alliteration. Mopping on Monday, for example. Floors on Friday. But doing all of the floors in one day is too big a job, really. So then I thought I might do a room a day. I think this might work, if I could just get started. I know there are all sorts of web-sites out there to help me with this. There's one where the first thing you are supposed to do is get your sink to shine. I have tried, oh, how I have tried to get my sink to shine. But it is a 55 year old sink that was once white and is now a grayish hue with rust stained accents. It will never shine again. So, I got dejected and never got any further into what is, I'm sure, a really good template for success.

Here is the promised picture of Twinkle:

Know when to hold them

When I was pregnant with Harper I was a teacher at M.D. Anderson. I had around 15 students in grades 6-12, and they all had cancer. Cancer of the brain. Cancer of the blood. Cancer of the bone. Some of them got well and are now, I hope, living normal lives, their bout with childhood cancer a distant memory. Some of them died. Neil, DeAnna, Kaitlyn, Jeronimo, Graden, Josue. Toward the end of the school year, when I was great with child, Jeronimo (he was Colombian, hence the spelling) got very ill and could no longer get up to come to the classroom. I would waddle to his room to check on him and to do some sort of little lesson, a tiny glimpse of normal--a charade, really, that he might get well and need to know about the stages of mitosis or the symbolism in Number the Stars. Mostly he would sleep and his mother and I would talk quietly about motherhood. One day I went in and his mother was curled up in bed with him, this 13 year old boy who, when I'd first met him was tall and straight, with startling blue eyes and a propensity to boast about all of the motorcross motorcycles he had back in Colombia. He looked so small at the end, and she looked small too, all wrapped around him. I quietly turned to go, not wanting to disturb them, but she heard and motioned me over. She had tears running down her face, and she reached over and put her hand on my enormous belly. "You should sleep with your baby," she said, "as long as you can." Jeronimo never woke up again, and died a couple of days later, his mother lying in bed beside him.

I did not sleep with Harper, except for the few times when I fell asleep nursing her. In fact, in hindsight, I didn't really hold her very often. I read in some book that if a baby wasn't nursing or fussing, they should be put down. And that I should never rock her to sleep because then she would never be able to go to sleep on her own and I would have to go away with her to college to rock her to sleep every night. I think with your first baby it's easy to get overwhelmed with how much isn't getting DONE when you are tending to them. Instead of realizing that the tending itself is a significant doing. I have never been one to label my parenting style, but I suppose I've come closer to "attachment parenting" with Hudson and Helena. We don't co-sleep, but when they are awake, I have tried to hold them (not Hudson much anymore--he has gotten heavy) as much as I can, whether they are happy or sad. My arm and back often ache at the end of the day. My floors are not clean. The laundry is not put away. The dishwasher needs to be unloaded. Some day I will figure out how to get it all done. Until then, I will err on the side of holding. Because our days are numbered and we know not their end.

Glory days

I'm going to try to write something every day this week.

We spent last week with the Grandparents Pate and had our usual delightful time, even though we didn't get to play outside much because of the Plague of Mosquitoes (which, I think, comes right after locusts and just before frogs) that had descended upon Port Neches. Harper and I went to the homecoming pep rally (or 'pepperoni' as Harper pronounces it) at my old high school on Friday. I got a little choked up when the drums started pounding out the first beats of the fight song to get things started. It wasn't that I was nostalgic, per se-- my life now is so much richer and deeper than it was then. I just can't wrap my head around the reality of so much time having passed. It's been twenty-one YEARS--and I still remember all of the words to the songs and all of the steps to the dances (though the back-handsprings and splits would, if I attempted them today, land me in the ICU). Will the next 21 years go as quickly?

Harper decided a few weeks ago that she wanted a stuffed star. And she thought it should be pink, because that is her favorite color. She kept bringing it up instead of forgetting about it, as she does with many of her whims of fancy. So, I tried in vain to find a stuffed pink star, found none, and decided I would make one myself. I don't have a sewing machine so I sewed it by hand and had her stuff it. His name is Twinkle.I'll try to post a picture of the finished product tomorrow. Twinkle is already beloved by Harper, who doesn't seem to mind his uneven points and crooked stitched smile. She's sweet that way.


I finished Peace Like a River and it is a good yarn, well-told. The character development is exquisite and subtle and just what it ought to be.

We are finally having some coolish (and by 'coolish' I mean still wearing shorts but not sweating quite as much) fall weather for doing this:We spent this morning celebrating our friend Abby's third birthday at the park:
Harper, as you can see, is in a celebratory mood. Hudson, as you can see, has even fluffier hair when the humidity dips below 90%. Helena, as you can't see, wore jeans for the first time.

Joyful, joyful

*Results NOT Typical*

"The government wants to make it a little harder for bloggers to shill products online for fun and profit."
From an article in today's (oops, actually yesterday's--'news' is a relative term around here) Wall Street Journal about the FTC's attempt to restrict gifts to bloggers who then write favorable things about the products on their blogs. Apparently the FTC thinks we poor little lamb blog readers need the government to protect us from bloggers who try, for example, to get us to drink more Crystal Light without expressly telling us that they are getting some sort of compensation from Crystal Light. Good grief. Am I the only cynic who automatically assumes that someone is ALWAYS getting paid? And I don't care! Good for them. They also want to make celebrity endorsements more transparent. So, for example, if Brooke Shields goes on the Oprah show and raves about how Crest toothpaste is to thank for her gleaming white teeth, she will be required to look at the camera and say something like, "The good folks at Procter and Gamble just paid me a cool 2 million dollars to say that, y'all!" When I read stuff like this it just confirms my Libertarian leanings. I think that people who buy things just because some celebrity (or mommy blogger) tells them to deserve all the Cindy Crawford furniture they can stand. I did want to add a caveat about my book list over there. I am going to put an asterisk by the books that I would actually recommend until I can develop a better system. Right now, I just wanted a central place to keep a record. **I am receiving NO monies (or gold) from the Ayn Rand Institute. Or the estate of Ezra Jack Keats.**

Eight months

Look what Helena decided to do to assuage the unpleasantness that was the Backyard Photo Shoot, Take Three:

She started clapping! For the first time! While I was taking pictures! And then Harper and Hudson started showing her how to do it and encouraging her in the sweet, high-pitched voices they use with her and it was Extremely Cute.

Then the fun wore off and it was time for the solace that only this can bring:
Hudson was so pleased with the clapping that he forgot to be pitiful. He was also fresh off of a three hour nap, which is helpful. We did lots of going this week--the zoo, the park, the Museum of Fine Arts (free on Thursdays!) AND the Children's Museum. The weather started to feel ALMOST autumnal, which in Houston basically means that highs were in the mid-80's and humidity was slightly less than 90%. The glory days are coming soon. We will exult accordingly. A few more things about the baby girl, since this is decidedly her only "baby book":

EAT: She has eaten, and enjoyed, sweet potatoes and bananas several times. I remember about every third day that I should probably give her something. Maybe we'll do peas this week. She's still nursing every three to four hours during the day.

SLEEP: She still goes to bed between 6-6:30p and has started waking up somewhere between 4-5am for an early morning feed, after which she falls back to sleep. She wakes up to start the day between 7:30-8:30. She takes a good morning and afternoon nap if we're home. She doesn't sleep much when we're out, but neither does she get fussy, which is so nice.

BE MERRY: She has gotten really good at entertaining herself. As long as she can see one of us, she will play happily in her little play yard for extended periods of time.
When she's ready to get out, she does this:

Changing her diaper and getting her dressed gets increasingly difficult. She actually stood on her HEAD at one point tonight as I was trying to get her diaper on after her bath. I was holding her legs and she managed to upend herself and get completely upside down, while holding on to the changing table with an iron grip. When she crawls she uses one knee and the other foot to propel herself forward. She can stand up in her crib, even while encased in a fleece sleep sack. She isn't much of a talker yet, but she says 'dah-dah' pretty often, and sometimes when she is actually looking at the Daddy. I carry her around lots. Because I like to and because she only weighs 13 pounds. That will have to be all for now because it is late and I am tired. A side note: I've started keeping a list of the books we've been checking out from the library over there in the margin. I was keeping a list in a notebook until Hudson found it and colored over it with a black crayon. I might start a separate list of books that we own and would recommend.