dog days of summer

I haven't felt like blogging. I've been doing lots of Thinking, which is generally useless and exhausting and results in not much other than a general feeling of disquietude. As I get older I find I am less able to be certain about anything, which is much more exhausting than being right ever was. So.

We made a rather impromptu zoo trip this morning and it started raining just as we pulled in the parking lot.

Top Five Benefits to Going to the Zoo Even Though It Is Raining:

1. You will get a good parking place.

2. The temperature will be 80 degrees instead of the 97 degrees with a heat index of 103 that had been forecast.

3. Puddle jumping.

4. Frisky animals like Baylor the brand new elephant, who was doing lots of extremely cute things like galloping.

5. Spending lots of time in places like the bird house and the reptile house and the aquarium, which usually get a perfunctory walk-through just to escape the heat. There were several delightful middle school aged volunteers in the reptile house, one of whom who was a fount of information. He told us, among many, many other things, that Blanco the white alligator is actually a leucistic gator and not an albino. He (the boy, not the alligator) had Asperger's, and his unusual gifts were being put to very good use, except when he kept trying to show a model of a toad to a toddler, who did not want to see the toad and began to cry. The volunteer kept asking the mother, "I don't understand why he is crying? WHY is he crying?"

So, what else? We went to a free Houston Symphony outdoor concert last week. The conductor likes to give a little backstory between songs (which meant some disturbing information last summer when the theme was Russian Fairy Tales) and before they played "Finlandia," he explained that at the time it was composed, Finland was oppressed under Russian rule and that the melody was a reflection of the tumult. Harper asked why the song sounded scary and sad and then happy and I tried to explain and failed miserably. I said something like "Well, Russia wanted the land where Finland was and the Finnish people didn't want to give it to them but they took it anyway, which made the Finnish people sad then, listen to this peaceful part? Okay, that represents the Finnish people getting their country and their freedom back, or maybe it's a reflection of their wistful longing for freedom...and hey, it's also the melody to "Be Still, My Soul"--we sing that at church sometimes.." and with that ended my paltry attempt at explaining patriotism, or imperialism, or was it Marxism? Czarism? Oligarchy? Hegemony?

Tonight while I was giving Helena her bath, Harper wanted to play "school" with Hudson, which I thought was a great idea. She loaded up her backpack, got her bike out and said, "Okay, Hudson, you are the little brother who stays in his room and plays quietly while I ride off to school with the other big kids." You can imagine how Hudson felt about his role. He hopped on his tricycle and sped after her down the hall and it all just fell apart from there.

Helena ate an entire block of sauteed tofu pretty much by herself tonight. She has also been devouring raspberries and cantaloupe and kiwi. She has really discovered puzzles this week.
And Wilberforce the horse, whose handle has been commandeered by a certain brother, who uses it as a gun, or sometimes, a sword:

Harper took some pictures of Sasha this afternoon and they, all very many of them, look about like this:
Here is a ranking of the people who live in our house based on how much they like Sasha.

1. the Husband
2. Hudson
3. Helena
4. Harper
5. me

Hudson and Helena are always happy to see her, and greet her with sounds of delight. Harper likes her very much, but gets annoyed when anything of hers gets chewed on. The curious thing is, the fool dog loves me with an ardor that is difficult to explain. It's possible she even likes me a teeny bit more than she does the husband, who feeds her and tends to her and talks to her in a special voice. Is she trying to win me over because she senses my indifference? I don't really MIND her, except when she won't do her number two business outside because the grass is too long or too wet or whatever ridiculous, fastidious princess and the pea reason she won't go outside even though she is a DOG, and then she comes in and instead does her number two business in the front room behind the table. I don't like her then. And she is still pretty puppy-ish in that if I haven't seen her in awhile and she is quiet, it's pretty certain that she has found something unacceptable to chew on, for example my pale pink ballet flat, or something unspeakable from the trash, or a dart from Hudson's new Nerf gun. But every night when the rest of the house is in bed, she insists on curling up behind my head on the top of the couch cushion and she is calm and sweet and peaceful and every few minutes she'll sigh and open her sleepy eyes and stare at me adoringly and I like her then.

Harper chose the stories before bed tonight and this is what we read:

1. Wifrid Gordon McDonald Patridge by Mem Fox, ill. by Julie Vivas (LOVE her illustrations!) (I defy you not to cry when you read this book. It's not sad for kids though. It's about a little boy who lives next door to an old folks home and he helps one of the ladies get her memories back. Beautiful.)

2. Angus Gets Lost by Marjorie Flack. (We like Angus and his antics.)

3. The Story About Ping by Marjorie Flack and Kurt Weise. (I'm not sure I'm pronouncing Yangtze correctly when I read it.)

4. Sheep Take a Hike by Nancy Shaw, ill. by Margot Apple

5. Wheels on the GO! (Hudson's choice--it's little poems about different vehicles, like race cars and jeeps.)

a time to dance

After months of anticipation, including a countdown that started the day after her birthday, Harper finally had her first ballet class on Friday. It did not disappoint, though I think there was a little more "this is your right foot, so I'm going to put a sticker on your shoe" than, "THIS, my glorious ballerinas, is how to execute a perfect GRAND JETE!!" she had been expecting. The class is actually a ballet and tap combination, which means the girls get to change shoes in the middle of the class, which I think must be really fun for the teacher. Hudson did not like the situation at all. He kept asking if Harper was going to stay in that room forever, or if she would be coming home with us at some point. I explained to him that she would just be away from us for 45 minutes, which is, of course, the same as forever to a three year old boy. He kept his sunglasses on the whole time, even though we were inside, and at one point I asked him what was wrong and he said, "NUFFIN'" in a gruff voice that was almost crying but trying very hard not to. The reunion was very sweet and Harper was more than ready to tell him all about there being three other girls who were ALSO FIVE and two other girls who ALSO LIKE PINK. Hudson decided he is ready for Karate Class or maybe Army Man Class and probably Drumming Class. I told him maybe when he is five and he seemed okay with that.

Harper drew a little combination Father's Day card/First Day of Ballet picture. She sounded out the words and spelled them all by herself.
"HAPPEE FOthRRTS DAY"--which very much reminds me of:


So Owl wrote...and this is what he wrote:
HIPY PAPY BTHETHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY
Pooh looked on admiringly.
"I'm just saying 'A Happy Birthday'," said Owl carelessly.
"It's a nice long one," said Pooh, very much impressed by it.

We like our Daddy, by the way. He wanted to go to a nearby Bass Pro Shop to look at guns and tents and knives and things. So, after church, we did.

sand, shorn, swim, sulfurous

Harper got a sandbox for her birthday, and when we can again step outside without the sensation that we might actually be walking on the sun, we will be doing lots more of this:

Hudson got his second haircut, and I fear this is the one from whence the curls will not return. He is upset in this picture not because of the haircut, but because the haircut necessitated the removal of his shirt, an act which inexplicably vexes him deeply.


We went to spend a few days with my dad while my mom took a little Hill Country respite with some friends. The walker was a source of great entertainment:

As were the pool and slip-n-slide in the backyard. Helena especially enjoyed herself:

Harper and Hudson say, "FIRST one there is a rotten egg!" when they are racing through the house to get somewhere. Like being a rotten egg is a very exalted state of being. It tickles me and I don't plan to correct them any time soon. We are going through a very silly phase here at our house. A silly, loud phase, where comedy is found in things that I (and any other adult, I would presume) find annoying. Margie posted a while back about her girls' ongoing and utter delight in the word "shipoopie"
We've had something quite similar around here. Harper and Hudson came up with a little story about a baby named Elmo who, to his great misfortune, had some poo on his foot. The story got a little louder and their paroxysms of delight a little more wild with each retelling, until my nerves just couldn't take it anymore. As glad as I was that they were having such fun with the art of narration, I finally had to ask them to stop being so loud and silly, and that I didn't want to hear the word "poo-poo" again unless someone other than baby Elmo actually needed to go to the toilet. So they started saying things like, "Baby Elmo has POPE on his TOE!" and "Now Baby Elmo has POP on his bottom!" Today Harper was experimenting with bizarre mouth noises and I finally said to her, "You know Harper, I am going to ask you to stop doing that for no other reason than I am finding it incredibly annoying."

train up a child in the way he should...NO!

On Mondays we stay home, generally. This morning I needed to wash all of the sheets and mop the kitchen floor. Usually I let the big kids watch something while I get the cleaning done. Today, however, I had to follow through with a consequence from the night before. They had been too loud in the bathtub, after a warning, and had lost their t.v. privileges for today. So. Also, Hudson was extremely sensitive because his Very Special Blanket had to be washed with the sheets, so the least little thing sent him into hysterics. Which of course Harper picked up on immediately, being the keen judge of human frailty that she is, and began exploiting at every turn. It was a fun morning. I'm working on teaching Hudson not to scream when he is disturbed or frustrated. We practiced. And practiced. And practiced again. He spent quite a bit of the morning trying to remember while sitting quietly (and once, not so quietly) in his room with his hands folded in his lap. So around 10, with the last load of sheets in the wash, I decided we would take a little outing to the post office to mail thank you cards, then a quick stop at Target for a few essentials. Thankfully, the post office stop did not require me to go in the post office, because that is a recipe for a foul mood. I just had to drive through and drop my letters in the slot. And then at Target, the most wonderful thing happened. People were delighted to see us! It was almost bizarre the positive attention we generated. An older couple babysitting their grandchild stopped us for a friendly chat, a very frail old man who appeared to be around 108 and who was puttering around on a little motorized cart stopped and wondered on which aisle he could buy his own set of three happy children, a young dad made a pleasant comment in the toy section and told us about his 10 month old son--it was incredible, I tell you. Every single person we encountered looked at us as though they were doting grandparents. Even the lady behind us in the check-out line, who used the oft-heard and oft-critical "Boy, you've got your hands full!" seemed to mean it in exceeding good will. I wondered as we drove home if they were taking pity on us in our ragamuffin meant to stay at home clothes, or if I looked especially haggard and in need of encouragement after our rough morning. Maybe. Or maybe we just looked happy, and it made people smile as they went about their shopping. I hope it was the latter.

This time of year in Texas, rain does nothing to cool things off. In fact, I believe it actually makes it feel hotter.

I tackled Harper's room this afternoon after she decided to rearrange some of her bins and I was horrified at the state of the carpet underneath them. Harper loves cr*p, and it bothers her NOT at ALL to have her room strewn with all sorts of papers and beads and rings and deflated balloons and buttons and sequins and small rubber snakes and the middle piece of a velcro-together carrot and unfinished crafts and shoes and dirty socks and bits of string and rocks and president flash cards and puzzle pieces and doll clothes and...you get the picture: CR*P. Only instead of using such a crass word in front of her, a year or so ago, I took to labeling the debris "tid-bits." And about once a quarter, the tid-bit infestation overwhelms me and I do a Tid-Bit Sweep and Toss. Which causes Harper to stand vigil at the trash can saying things like, "Oh, Mommy! Not that box! I was using that box (which housed little books that we receive when she was around 9 months old, I think) to store my tid-bits in!" Her room looks better now. We found and velcroed together all four pieces of the carrot. I even vacuumed.

Harper asked me a couple of weeks ago why I had stopped doing my 30-Day Shred workout dvd. I told her I didn't really have a good excuse and that she should start reminding me. So she has. Every single day. At the end of the day, when of course I have not done it, she'll say, in a voice that can only be described as pitying with just a dash of accusation, "Mommy, you didn't do your Shred today!" Children are the holy spirit, I tell you.

I've been keeping up pretty well with our books we've been enjoying lately over in the sidebar, but thought I'd highlight a few that we've really liked:

1. A House for Hermit Crab and Mr. Seahorse by Eric Carle. I love Carle's collage-y illustrations, and both these books have an engaging, well-told story as well. Harper and Hudson have both been really interested in sea creatures the past few months.

2. The Emperor's Egg by Martin Jenkins, ill. by Jane Chapman. A story about a Daddy emperor penguin, sweetly and humorously told.

3. Ivan the Terrier by Peter Catalanotto. Ivan is a mischievous dog who intrudes on fairy tales to the consternation of the characters and the narrator. The kids think it is HILARIOUS.

4. A Visitor for Bear by Bonny Becker, ill. by Kady MacDonald Denton. I love everything about this book--the watercolor illustrations are perfect, and the story, about a grumpy bear who thinks he doesn't like company, and the little mouse who refuses to leave, is comical and touching.

I think blogger is having some issues posting pictures today, so I won't even try.

Helena at 16 months

When I do these posts I realize that I need to be taking lots more pictures. Here is the little lady enjoying blueberries, which is one of her new favorite foods. She is a champion eater these days. She has yet to find a food she won't eat. Avocados, black beans, corn, carrots, broccoli, pasta, raspberries, strawberries, watermelon, cantaloupe, bananas--she eats and eats and signs for more. And yet I'm pretty sure she still weighs under 20 pounds. She has her father's metabolism, obviously. She did start nursing again after her little strike last month, though we're down to just three times a day. She is still an amazing sleeper--I put her down at 6:30pm and don't get her up until 8:30 am. I'm pretty sure she wakes up around 7:30 am, but she LOVES her crib and will play in there so quietly for a long time. I'm tempted to buy a video monitor just so I can spy on her and see what is so entertaining. She is taking one long nap--usually from 12-3pm. So yes, she sleeps 17 hours a day. And when she is awake she is busy busy busy. She has been experimenting with running and it is rather precarious business. She has lots of fun trotting around with Harper's pink birthday balloons clutched to her chest, which makes me inevitably think of Piglet on his way to Eyeore's birthday party.

When we are out and about most mornings, I am exceedingly thankful that she is perfectly content to sit in the stroller and watch the world. We went to the Museum of Fine Art this morning and she stayed in the stroller the whole time, just quietly looking around. As an aside, Harper and Hudson were intrigued with the Iranian art and especially the documentary footage of some Sufi mystics doing this dervish prayer dance. I really regret wandering into a temporary exhibit of an artist named Alice Neel who, according to her bio, is known for her "psychologically acute" portraits. No thank you, I say to this: Yes, please, I say to you, John Singer Sargent, with your lovely Mrs. Sears, decidedly not "psychologically acute" in her glowing white gown. You can call me provincial or prudish or even just ignorant, but I just don't like modern art. Nope. Blah. I mean I get that great art is Supposed To Make Me FEEL or whatever, but if the feeling is nausea mixed with mild disgust, that isn't useful, is it? Okay, I FEEL better.

Back to Helena. She is using her teeny tiny voice to make some words. I finally got "mama" out of her this week. Up until now, I would say, "Helena, can you say 'Mommy'?" and she would look at me, smile sweetly, and say "DA-dee." She says Harper ("Hah-poo"), Hudson ("seh-seh"), Sasha ("HI dee-dee!"), night-night, Grandfather ("deh DEH deh"), Grandmother (also "deh DEH deh"), balloon ("buh--oo"), thank you ("day-oo"), and Helena ("huh yah yah"). Speaking of Grandfather Pate, we visited him this weekend to make sure he is behaving himself after fracturing his pelvis two weeks ago. His lap, thankfully, is intact:
I watched the entirety of the Indianapolis 500 with him (we both napped somewhere around mile 285). The winner drinks milk, and I have no idea why.