outdoorsy

For Hudson's birthday the husband planned to take the big kids camping. That was January 27, and every weekend since then it has either been too cold or too rainy. (Which reminds me of a conversation I had many years ago with my friend Yvonne, who is British. I said that in my country, people tended not to camp when the weather was inclement. She retorted that if people in her country felt that way, no one would ever go camping. We also, Yvonne and I, had this little comedy bit we would do when we were teaching together in Hungary. She speaks this crazy mixed up language known as "Scouse," which means she grew up near Liverpool and is thus required by law to use a vocabulary, syntax, and accent vastly different from, for example, the Queen. So when we'd get around a bunch of other Americans, Yvonne would do this little monologue in her native Scouse, then I would stand up and translate. Oh, it was funny.) So anyway, on the promise of a sunny forecast and pleasantly cool temperatures, the campers headed out. Harper felt a touch grim about her ponytail.
They had, by all accounts, a tremendous time hiking and eating and sleeping all snuggled up with Daddy in a two-man tent. Both kids declared the s'mores to be the highlight of the trip. And the deer scat sighting.


The husband's Just So tendencies on full display:

He's already talking about next time. Perhaps Helena and I will join them. We did have a good time by ourselves, the baby girl and I. We went to Buffalo Grille, read some books, took a long nap, then walked to the park with Sasha. Helena got to do whatever she pleased, which basically meant toddling around picking wild flowers and examining very small rocks. She is definitely right smack in the middle of the Taste to Discover phase and was not deterred and, may have even been encouraged by her recent dog food experience. I sensed a certain distrust in her eyes when I was attempting to fish out the eighth pebble from her clenched jaws. Almost as if she thinks I am denying her some great pleasure.

Across from the Children's Museum there is a daycare center called Precious Jewels Alpha Learning Center. Funny. The children, presumably, are the Precious Jewels. It's the "Alpha" that I can't figure out. Are they training the children to be wolves? Are they teaching them Greek? Did they not have room on the sign for "Alphabet"? Plus, near our house there is a new charter school that calls itself, I am NOT making this up, The Harmony School of Ingenuity. It sounds like something out of Ayn Rand. I keep expecting to see rainbows shooting out of the roof when we drive by.

Big boy bed

After an astonishing (and perhaps record breaking?) three YEARS and two months (that's around 1,144 nights. I used a calculator) spent sleeping in his Graco pack-and-play, the Hudson boy finally got a real bed (at Ikea, natch) on Saturday. He is thrilled. It has not affected his wondrous sleep habits, for which I am extremely grateful. There is plenty of room for all his animals, though a bear did fall out night before last and he somehow realized this at around 2 a.m. and was so distraught we were sure HE had fallen out of the bed.

Two other slightly less celebratory firsts:

1. On Saturday while I was putting some clothes in the drier, this startling proclamation from Harper, "Helena is chewing on little puppy's bone!" And yes, she was. And yes, it was one of those raw-hide things that get slimy and smell faintly of pork. And yes, her breath smelled faintly of pork.

2. Then yesterday while the big kids were playing with play-doh and I was following Helena around the house, I looked away for approximately 5 seconds to admire a play-doh sculpture and when I looked back Helena had a furtive look and was chewing on something. I dug it out and it was brown and kind of grainy. And smelled faintly of pork. Dog food. Clearly, she has not figured out the kids in this family are vegans. Or maybe she has and she is already rebelling.

Speaking of 'vegans' as a noun, is anyone else annoyed by the fairly new and widespread use of 'healthful' in place of 'healthy'? You know, I get that someone realized that healthy isn't an adverb and that we were using it as one, but sometimes I think you should just surrender to common usage and let it go. I've been meaning to write a post about how we eat at our house. Maybe I'll just start posting pictures like the Pioneer Woman does. Only her pictures look really pretty and mine look like they were taken in a cave. This was the kids' dinner Sunday night:
Hudson refers to this as nachos (though he pronounces it 'nachios')--organic blue corn and flax chips (Target brand), sliced avocado, shredded almond cheese, and cherry tomatoes. If we don't have an avocado, I usually put refried black beans on the chips. We love the Whole Foods brand organic refried beans in a can--they aren't actually 'refried'-just mashed with some added sea salt. Even Helena likes them. Perhaps not as much as she enjoyed the dog food, but maybe.

The Grandparents Hinze came for a nice visit:
And that will be all.

The darling buds of March

It's really supposed to be 'the darling buds of MAY,' but if Mr. Shakespeare had lived in Texas, he would have realized that there is nothing temperate about May in Houston. Or particularly lovely, for that matter. But March? March is lovely. I noticed this morning that our oak tree in front has gone from completely bare to all over light green and leafy, seemingly overnight. And everything is covered in a pale yellow dust; evidence that male trees are aggressive in their procreative imperative. And many of us are aggressive in our autoimmune response to their procreative impairment. So long as men can breathe, indeed.

A few exciting announcements concerning my very own darling buds of March. On Monday, Harper learned to do the monkey bars at the park by herself, a skill which seems to result simply from longer arms since she last attempted, and not by any practicing on her part. And today, Hudson learned to pump himself on the swing, which thrills me because while I don't mind pushing necessarily, it is one more step to their utter outdoor independence. Which means I can get more laundry done. Or blogging, as the case may be. Helena Jane has tooth number two--the bottom right--and it doesn't appear to be causing her much aggravation. She is getting more and more independent by the day, which is a little exhausting for me. She is less content to sit and observe the world and is more intent on engaging it. For example by making a bee-line for the easel and trying to eat the chalk. OR the pebbles at the park. Or the mulch at the park. I have perfected the hooked finger method of extraction.

Also, and this will come as an enormous shock I am sure, we are keeping the dog. The husband made the big announcement yesterday, and the kids reacted with very little surprise, having been convinced from the minute they first saw her that she was theirs forever and ever amen, and that any sort of official Proclamation of Ownership was simply a formality. Anyway, I gave her a bath to celebrate and the husband bought her a cute little bed so she could start sleeping inside.

A girl, her pup, and her watergun Uzi. Touching, isn't it?


I just went to check on Harper, who is outside playing with the dog, and the bath of yesterday has been completely undone by some sort of mud treatment Harper has applied to the dog's back, because, and I quote, "She was drinking the muddy water!" The logic of a four and a half year old--that an appropriate alternative would be to instead cover the dog WITH mud. Sigh. You can forget it if you think for a second I am giving her another bath. Sasha, meet the hose.

Me upon my pony

We went to the rodeo yesterday and it was a glorious day. This was taken seconds before the Hudson boy decided he would, on second thought, prefer not to ride the Ferris wheel, thank you very much.
Notice that Harper appears to be gazing into the distance with a look of hopeful anticipation, while Hudson looks a little Wild About The Eyes.
Next, the kids rode ponies.
I got sunburned. At the end of the trip we realized we had spent enough money to actually purchase our very own pony. Harper tried out a tractor.
We enjoyed seeing the day old piglets and lambs and calves. We partook of some mutton bustin' and Harper has decided that she definitely could do it, but is uncertain that she definitely would do it. I think the husband, after watching a little girl bust her mutton right into the arena fence has definitely decided that his daughter will never, ever mutton bust.

Today we got out of the car after church and I realized that the kids looked pretty cute AND I happened to have my camera in the backpack so I tried an impromptu photo session.

of the fence

Someone bought the house behind us and is doing all sorts of noisy improvements. Yesterday the rotting back fence came down and Harper and Hudson spent the morning swinging backwards so they could marvel at our "new, bigger" backyard that HAS A SWIMMING POOL! Harper was making all sorts of summer plans for the new pool so I had to break it to her that a new fence was going up before the day was done, and that good fences make good neighbors and all of that. Hudson was entranced with the post hole digger. I'm sure that Pedro has never had a more appreciative audience for his post hole digging prowess. In spite of the morning's entertainment, the fence building was a minor annoyance because it required me to put the dog in the house. Which required me to first give her a bath. Which then required me to scrub the tub for approximately 45 minutes to get it back to its gleaming state of Dingy Grey. And you know, you can spend 30 minutes giving a dog a bath (and then 45 minutes cleaning the tub, I mentioned that, right?)and the dog will still smell pretty much like a dog. And while all of this dog washing and tub cleaning are going on, the children will be watching, in a single morning, the two hours of television the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends PER WEEK. Speaking of exercises in household cleaning futility, I mopped the kitchen floor this morning because when I put Helena in her highchair for breakfast, I noticed the bottoms of her feet were alarmingly filthy. (Sensing a pattern? I seem to clean only when there is a crisis of filth) So I swiffered then mopped and the floor looked somewhat clean until about 30 minutes later when the kids came in from the backyard and tracked in wet leaves and grass and mud. Then had lunch and crumbled everything everywhere. Speaking of feet, Harper says "have feet" instead of saying "go barefoot." For example, if we are at the park and some kid takes off his shoes, she will say, "Why does he get to have his feet, Mommy? I want to have my feet too" Or "I don't like to have my feet in the kitchen because the floor is very crumbly, so I am going to wear my flipflops." I noticed today that Hudson says it too.

I got to go to the rodeo with my friend Laura on Monday night. We ate fried Oreos (yep) and we watched bull riding and barrel racing and mutton bustin' (where kids Harper's age ride crazed sheep. HIGH-larious). We also got to see Mr. Tim McGraw, who made around 400 (I'd guess) audience members love him forever by walking around the entire periphery of the rodeo ring (while singing several songs) and shaking every single hand that reached out. It was sweet, even though the germaphobia by proxy that I get from the husband had me thinking that Tim McGraw's hand could be the Broad Street Pump of the 2010 Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo.

Yesterday was the husband's birthday. He tends us, his little flock, so very well. We love him one million.

That green, green grass on the other side

A couple of days ago I was plunging the toilet (can plunge be a gerund? Wait, is that an infinitive or a gerund?? Past participle? I'm definitely placing the husband in charge of the Grammar phase of the classical curriculum) and Hudson was watching with growing excitement:

Hudson: I wan DO that.
me: No, it's Mommy's job right now.
Hudson: When I a grown up, I DO that!!
me: Yes, when you are a grown up you CAN plunge the toilet.

This morning I found him in the study poring over T.S. Eliot's "Murder in the Cathedral" and to his delight he found a 3x5 index card within. With words written on it! I distinctly remembered having brought the book with me to a staff development day (or, as I liked to think of them at the time, "a day I get paid to read and not have to teach my students")that had something to do with technology. On this index card I had written this cryptic message:

Mark and Peter skipped school.
Mark has a large house.
It has ornate landscaping.
his dad had stone siding & a new fireplace installed.

What the? I have no idea. It has nothing to do with "Murder in the Cathedral," which is a play about the death of Thomas Becket. There's a blurb critique by Mark Van Doren on the back cover--the father in "Quiz Show." The father or maybe the uncle. That's a great movie.

So the dog has found three different escape routes from the backyard. She wiggled through a hole in the side deck this morning and the kids came running in to tell me. I went out to retrieve her, leaving the rest of my flock, and the foolish beast refused to come with me. I was cranky because I had wet hair and a dishwasher to unload and reload and a half fed baby in the high chair and I launched into a little monologue that went something like: "Sasha, I am not going to chase you because you are not even actually my dog and I have three human children who need me AND I need to dry my hair and do you even understand that if you would just stay in the stupid backyard we will feed you and give you a warm blanket on which to sleep and bones to chew and a ball to chase? Do you understand that Sasha? There is a big truck COMING GET BACK ON THE SIDEWALK. Okay, I'm going in now and I don't care if you follow me or not but you really should because you have no idea how differently things could be going for you right now.." She finally listened and allowed herself to be carried back into the backyard where Hudson and Harper were waiting with the fatted calf etc. etc. (you'll forgive me for mixing parables, which is a crime slightly less grievous than mixing metaphors, I think)

For lunch Helena had some raspberry pear yogurt and I reminded Harper of this story and she laughed and laughed and laughed.