It's the end of the world as we know it

Well, the world may not have ended yesterday, but this happened:

Yes. That is our dog. WEARING CLOTHES. Maybe you will remember this post, in which I excoriated the kind of people who dress their animals in clothes and otherwise treat them as human beings. Oh, how far have I fallen.

I was just tired of Sasha and her shivering. Chihuahuas tend to be nervous anyway, so when the ambient temperature drops below around 74 degrees, they are nervous AND they shiver from the freezing temperatures. The choices were either A. Send her back to Mexico, where she clearly belongs, or B. Buy some sort of warming garment, even though she has her very own BUILT IN fur coat.

I also needed to get her claws clipped because it had not been done in over a year and she looked like Edward Scissordog. It cost $19 to get her claws clipped and only $5 for the fleece jacket. The kids really wanted to get her all sorts of Christmas treats at Petsmart and I told them that living with us and sleeping in my bed are more treats Sasha deserves.

To refresh your memory, we did not choose Sasha, she chose us.

Which means she is a Calvinist.

That will be all. A wonderful Christmas awaits. God with us! Isn't that something??

Invisible frenemy

Helena: I had Penupuh in my dream. She had long brown hair. Like you! Then I hit her. In the face.
 Me: Why??
 Helena: Because she was drawing on my picture. Of a boweena. THEN she frew a fit. But her daddy was on the potty.
 Me: At a party?
 Helena: No, ON the POTTY. Maybe poo poo.

 I think I need to be glad that the invisible friend is getting hit in the face, and not the siblings, n'est pas?

 Yesterday, she wondered what we were getting Jesus for Christmas. I asked what she thought he might want. "A Batman costume," she said firmly, "AND a cool Batman fast car."I thought about gently suggesting that what Jesus might actually want is a little girl who doesn't hit her invisible friend in the face just because she drew on her ballerina picture.

 It is a good thing she is generally so cute, because she is also doing some routinely annoying things. For example, she takes my bookmarks out of my books. This drives me crazier than it probably should. It's just that if I happen to find a few minutes to read, I end up having to sift through the pages to find where I left off, by which time I no longer have a few minutes to read. I just started reading Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother. In fact, I am about to read another chapter while I let the kids watch an episode of Shaun the Sheep on Netflix. If you know anything about the book, you will realize that this is ANATHEMA and will probably cause the universe to fold in on itself. Which is actually okay, because isn't the world ending tomorrow anyway?

If it doesn't, I'm planning to post again. Probably some pictures of the multi-generational yearly pilgrimage to "The Nutcracker."

I don't have any words for the terrible deep sadness in Connecticut this week. So I won't even try.

In my pink Cadillac

I just got an email from Toys r Us, and one of the items in the Recommended for You! section was a Power Wheels Fisher Price Barbie Cadillac Hybrid Escalade EXT in Pink for the bargain online price of $359.99.

Toys r Us, you know me Not At All.

There was this kid who would come to a park near our old apartment with her nanny. She had one of those kids-sized battery operated cars (I don't remember if it was an Escalade) and she would come driving up, even though I am pretty sure she lived just a couple of streets away. Sometimes she wouldn't even get out of it, she would just take it for a leisurely drive through the park. My kids would stare at her and probably wonder why they were forced to walk to the park and then play on their actual legs. After a few minutes the little girl (she was actually not at all little, she was alarmingly large for her age--surprising) would whine that she was hot and ready to go. So she would turn for home and the nanny would shuffle along behind her. Is that what her parents picture when, later that evening, the nanny assures them that they got outside and played at the park? It was very much like that scene in "WALL-E" where all the humans have turned into these enormous blobs who ride in electric chairs on moving belts everywhere because they have devolved from lack of work and purpose.

 Helena has been wondering out loud (is there any other kind of wondering at this age?) what life was like for her before she was born. She will ask, "Was I playing with Jesus? Was I in the dark?" and this morning Harper, who is a touch snippy in the mornings (learned behavior from moi) said, "NO! You were an itty bitty thing that didn't even eat!!" Then, because it is entirely appropriate over the breakfast table, we discussed the umbilical cord.

 I've been trying to work with Harper on the volume of her voice. I will dispense little bon mots such as, "if you have something important to say, people will listen even if you whisper," and she will look at me and say something extremely non-important in a very loud voice. We are also working on keeping our mouths closed while chewing. The baby carrots almost did me in at dinner tonight.

I started a new book today. Behind the Beautiful Forevers: Life, Death, and Hope in a Mumbai Undercity by Katherine Boo (is that her actual name?) It is really terrific so far. We went to the park after we finished our school work this morning, and after I untangled Helena from a rose bush (painful for me but, thankfully, not for her. She cried in frustration, just for good measure) I decided to walk laps around the park while reading. It went pretty well.

This is the only decorating we have done thus far. I have four yards of felt next to my desk that I have every intention of turning into a one of a kind, extraordinarily beautiful tree skirt. If I could only pry myself out of my metaphorical Escalade.

They shall have music wherever they go

Helena would like to extend her congratulations to Johny Football by showing him that she is cuter than he is in this uniform. Also that she is #1 and he is #2.

I just this minute finished making photo calendars on Shutterfly because I got an email today informing me that today was the absolute last day to get 40% off. It took me THREE hours and FIFTEEN minutes, and at 10:59 pm I had this sinking feeling that the special deal was Eastern time and that I would have done all of this work for no reason. Thankfully, the good folks at Shutterfly seem to be on Central time. I am unsure as to whether or not these calendars are going to be worth the time I spent on them. I am reminded of the utter chaos that is my method of storing the pictures I have taken for the past 7 years. I have eight memory cards of various gigabytes on the table next to me right now. I used only 2 for the calendar. I presume the rest of them have the entirety of the other 5 years of my children's lives documented on their tiny plastic-ness. That seems a touch risky, does it not? Maybe I should do something about that. But good grief, that would entail doing what I just did for the last THREE hours and FIFTEEN minutes, only for much, much, much longer.

Has anyone done any studies to document how it is affecting our kids just how documented their lives are these days? My generation generally had a few poorly focused, poorly lit photos (some of mine were from a Polaroid Instamatic camera) glued into some sort of tweed album to show that we had indeed been infants and toddlers and snaggle-toothed first graders. Some families took a few grainy home movies (not mine). I liked looking at that album. My kids really like looking at pictures of themselves on the computer, and I feel certain they would really enjoy photo books of themselves if I could summon up the will to get them made.

A couple of days ago there was a considerable ruckus coming from the backyard. I peeked out and Hudson had devised a drum set out of plastic buckets and was playing a jazzy beat, while Helena was pounding on the metal hammock stand (where is the hammock? I haven't seen it since we moved) with a metal ladle and singing in a loud, loud voice that wasn't entirely melodic. That will have to be it for today.

A baby for Christmas

Today we passed a fertility clinic on the way to play with the S's, and on the clinic marquee (yes, a marquee. For a fertility clinic. Welcome to America.) it had "IVF HOLIDAY PROMOTION!" and next to this was a photo of a darling baby in a some Christmas pj's and an adorable hat.

 Does this disgust anyone else? Does anyone think that the actual Baby of Christmas might want to walk into this clinic and start knocking over tables? You know, I have been trying very hard to reign in my cynicism, but things like this make it hard.

 Which reminds me of a quote I saw on some blog a few weeks back that made me uncomfortable. I think it was something like, "A woman at 40 will either have become radiant, or she will have become bitter." I am aware that I tend to be generally disappointed and cynical and, yes, bitter. I really want to be radiant instead. It is much harder.

 In other, more peppy news, tonight Helena and I were reading Mirette on the High Wire, and on the first page, there is mention of "Acrobats, jugglers, actors, and mimes from as far away as Moscow," so I mentioned that Moscow was the capital of Russia. Helena nodded and said, "Penupuh has a dog. Named Person. And a sister named Enema. No, Emma. NO, Gemma!" I can't tell you how relieved I am for Gemma that she is not Enema.

 Two other funny things Helena is doing lately, that seem to point to her becoming a professional hillbilly some day:
 1. She says, "these ones"--eg. as she is helping me unload the dishwasher, she will grab the very sharp knives and say, "I can dry these ones!" and I will be very conflicted as to which crisis I should deal with first: the grievous grammar infraction, or the possibility of bodily harm.
 2. She is lately fond of the redundant 'at' at the end of her queries: "Mommy! Where is the brush at?" and I will say, "Oh! Helena, you just need to say, 'Where is the brush?" and she will say, "Yes. But where is the brush AT? I need it." It is APPALLING

 I had my friend Merry's cookie exchange this Monday night, and, as usual, I have been eating so many cookies since then that I am now altogether sluggish and unable to do simple math equations. I think I still have around 10 left and they are starting to get a bit dry. My impaired faculties keep me from making sound decisions about whether or not to finish them off.

We went to Oil Ranch last Friday, so let us document that with a couple of pictures, shall we?

Bird can be a verb

Yesterday, Helena told us that Penupuh lives in Asia!  I asked her which country in Asia. "Actually, she lives in Russia. She speaks RUSSIA." Me: "0h, she speaks RussiaN?" Helena: "Yes, she does speak RUSSIA and also does buhway. She is in the Nutcracker." Then I tried very hard to remember if Russia is considered part of Europe or Asia.

Anyway, Penupuh is shaping up to be a fairly interesting imaginary friend.

I watched a cute movie a few nights ago. It's called "The Big Year" and it's based on a book about a few guys who participate in a birding quest (refered to by amateur ornithologists as a Big Year) in which the goal is to see hundreds of different bird species in the United States in a single calendar year. The quest involves extensive travel (I was very interested to discover that an area near Anahuac, Texas, which is close to where I grew up, is something of a birding Mecca) and a level of commitment that makes a normal life almost impossible. I'm pretty sure I want to try it at some point. Maybe we can take a year off as a family and do it together! The movie, incidentally, wasn't as hilarious as it should have been considering it starred Steve Martin, Jack Black, AND Owen Wilson (add Bill Murray to that trifecta and it might be Comedy Perfection in my world) but it was sweet. At one point, the Owen Wilson character (who is a legend at the Big Year--755!!) says, with a self-effacing shrug, "I just love to bird."

Here are some birds I have painted for cards lately. Harper calls them my Fat Birds and they are, perhaps, a bit too plump. As I get more skilled, perhaps I'll try for more authenticity. I ordered Harper a miniature Audubon folio for Christmas, which I will probably enjoy as much as she does.
 
I actually had great aspirations of painting all of our Christmas cards this year, and then I came to my senses and realized it would take me approximately 150 hours, so instead my dad took a picture of us in their backyard on Thanksgiving (Hudson looks a touch peaked because of the vomit) and I used a 75 % coupon for cards printed on a machine. As usual, I have fallen short of my ideal, and am reconciled to Just Fine.

Now we are going to walk to the park because children are starting to tackle one another, and that rarely ends well. 

Post thanks

Helena has a friend that only she can see and her name is Penuhpuh (pronounced PEN-uh-puh). We don't know much about Penuhpuh except her name, and that she might have a sister named Penuhpee. The other day we were at Target and we walked by a little girl who looked to be around 2 and she said, in a loud clear voice from inside a rack of coats, just as we walked by, "PENUHPUH!" Helena, who was riding in the cart, looked at me with delight and said, "Did she just say Penuhpuh??" and I laughed and conceded that it had certainly sounded like it. Perhaps it is a fairy world visible only to the very young.

We read Mary Poppins a month or so ago, and there is a chapter in which Jane and Michael's twin baby brother and sister (they don't make it into the movie) are able to talk to animals. Then the day they stop being babies (maybe on their first birthday? I can't remember exactly), they aren't able to do it anymore, and they have no memory of ever being able to. It made me a little sad, naturally.

We got to do this last Tuesday. That furry bit of adorable in Harper's lap is Gracie, who belongs to The B's grandmother Mrs. Y (who is already very beloved by my kids because of her generous nature, her lovely swimming pool, and her two parrots):

We got all packed up to go see the Grandparents Pate bright and early on Thanksgiving day, and after about 15 minutes on the road, Hudson threw up. Thankfully, he gave us some warning AND the always prepared husband had stuffed a garbage bag between the car seats, which I managed, with my extensive Krav Maga training, to get under Hudson's chin just in time. We came back home to clean up, waited a few hours, then tried again. We made it sans puke, but ended up staying only about 24 hours because Hudson got punier and punier (more throwing up and a fever) and the girls got a touch of it as well. Though I still think Harper mainly just wanted to eat saltines and have an excuse to watch movies. We found out later that it was actually a good thing we'd had to go back home Thursday morning. We were spared the horrific traffic after a terrible wreck on I-10 that was directly on the route to my parents'. See? Sometimes we can even be thankful for a vomit episode in the car.

And I will close with the first in a photo series I call Not the Christmas Card Photo:
 

Choosing a bride

I saw this headline on the local news web page this morning:

Man who kidnapped girlfriend had ring in one hand, Taser in the other.

I laughed, then realized that might be how we've gone about looking for a church this time around. We are realistic in our expectations, I think. We tell ourselves that there isn't going to be a perfect place, and if there were, they certainly wouldn't want any miserable sinners like us to join up. Even with realistic expectations, I've still been disappointed. BUT I've also been encouraged--the church is diverse and wide and (hopefully) deep. It's all very confusing. We can't even decide on a denomination!! Or a style of worship! I mean, I know what I would prefer, but I wonder if God is altogether impressed with my preferences factoring into my decision. The husband and I pieced together an Ideal Bride (teacher from one church, pastor from another, music guy from yet another, weekly communion service from here, embracing kids in the worship from there, attitude towards the least from there..) and laughed at the implausibility of all those disparate elements ever joining up in one Body. It would likely require both a ring and a Taser to get that bride to agree.

Okay then. I think that is it for today. I'm going to let the kids help me make a pumpkin pie to take to Grandmother Pate's house. Here's a poorly lit picture of those three one night last week, the first night they thought it might be cold enough for fleecy footy pj's. I don't want to forget that this is where we end most nights, in Helena's room. We turn on her cd and sing "The Grand Old Duke of York" with hand motions, because it is the song that comes just before her lullabies. She hops in her bed and the other two march upstairs for their big kid read aloud time.Pleasant little routines. There is much for which to be thankful.

Orange belted

Hudson pronounces 'unicorn' like "yearn a kern." This morning at breakfast, Helena asked for some "Buhnola" and Hudson said, "No Helena, it is NOT BUHnola, it is "gruh-NER-la," and I laugh to myself about all of the pots and kettles calling one another black around here.

Harper and Hudson got their orange belts at their last Taekwondo class on Friday. They had to break a board using a heel kick, and I was a little worried Hudson's whopping 35.5 pounds might not be quite enough to do it. He got it on the second try, thankfully, and I was so excited I ended up videotaping the floor of the gym instead of the actual board breaking. I was trying to take video for the Daddy and also pictures, which means that both turned out pretty terrible. But when has that ever stopped me. The kid standing between Harper and Hudson is their mutual hero. He's been in Taekwondo for awhile, and earned a blue belt. Here's the class with the very patient Coach J:

 Then we got home and Hudson decided to do a skills demonstration in the driveway, while Harper decided to cut the grass with her pink utility knife:

Jesus in a shoebox

For the past few years, we've participated in Operation Christmas Child, the ministry of Samaritan's Purse through which rich Americans (and other rich countries too, I presume) fill shoeboxes with toys and other useful items that are then sent to children in the developing world who might otherwise not receive any Christmas presents. (why yes, you certainly may hire me to write the blurbs for your nonprofit). In theory, I like these opportunities to remind myself and the kids how the world is full of people in need, and that we've been given much and, therefore are charged to DO SOMETHING. In practice, however, I am conflicted. How shocking.

So, we load up in the car this morning and head to Walmart, because it is close, and because I assumed we could get more for our money there. Then we get there and I remember why it is that I rarely shop at Walmart: everything looks really cheap, only it really isn't. The kids would pick up some cheap looking toy and the price would be $6.97, and I would picture some sweet kid in Guatemala playing with it once and then it would break into large sharp pieces, which their baby sister would crawl over on the dirt floor resulting in a bad cut on her knee which would really need stitches, only the nearest  doctor is 50 miles away, so she gets a raging infection which then turns into cellulitis and there are no antibiotics in their village and it is all WALMART'S fault but everyone knows you can't file a class action lawsuit against Walmart if you live in Guatemala. Then I realized that we are buying the kinds of toys that I generally avoid buying for my kids (you know: plastic, garish, in need of excessive batteries...) and what kind of message is that sending to my kids? That we don't want this junk littering up our house, but it's super special for some poor kid in Madagascar?? Anyway, I managed to keep functioning in spite of this chaos going on in my brain. We ended up also going to Target, because for some reason the stuff in the Dollar Spot somehow seems a tad less crappy, and it really is just a dollar. Although, I always have a vague unease when things are so cheap. A few weeks ago, the husband and I walked through the store Forever 21 (while we were strolling through the mall after my birthday dinner) because I had never been in there before, and a blogger who puts together these really cute outfits and then tells you where she buys everything seems to find lots of cute (and super cheap) things there. We got all the way to the back and I was overwhelmed with the magnitude of the trendy gaudiness, and the husband said something like, "You can practically smell the sweat of all the child laborers it took to sew all of this crap," and I had to agree.

So, now that I've totally ruined it for all of us, here are the spoils. May the children who get them be blessed beyond measure, in spite of our paltry efforts. See Jesus and his love for you in these flashlights and crayons and Matchbox cars and Hello Kitty gel pens and princess Polly Pockets. But please know that this is not even close to real treasure. And also please don't let your baby sister swallow the batteries from your flashlight.

Slip sliding away, part 2

Hudson had a spill on his bike yesterday and he scraped up his elbow pretty badly even though, and this is disappointing, he was wearing elbow pads. Although I know the elbow and knee pads and other gear I find so annoying to keep up with has saved him from many, many other skin abrasions in bike adventures over the year or so since he's been on the two wheeler. Anyway, he was really loudly sad about the blood, and Helena was, as usual overly solicitous in her sympathies, which required Hudson to show great restraint in his agony, because I am certain he wanted to knock her clean out.

He recovered and spent the rest of the afternoon shooting the two new Nerf guns the daddy came home with this week. The daddy may or may not be stockpiling weapons of all kinds because of the results of the recent election.

I think this is fascinating: I had two separate friends give birth yesterday. They both had baby girls. Which isn't that interesting until I tell you that Mrs. S added this sole daughter to her FIVE sons,  and Mrs. M added this sole daughter to her FOUR sons. Then I started thinking about it and realized I have several other friends with a similar ratio: Mrs. Y had three lovely sons before Miss C showed up, Mrs.C had four sons, then Miss K, then two more sons, and Mrs. F had four sweet boys before Miss M showed up seven months ago. What do you think this means? Is there an army of magnificence in our future? Or will our daughters have a delightful array of suitors who will have to prove themselves worthy amongst impressive competition? Anyway, welcome to the world little P and little C. Your brothers are sure to love and protect you well.

I just had to push Sasha off my lap because she does this thing where she nudges her way in without any sort of invitation and makes it very difficult to type on the iPad (which already tries my patience and skills). She is already on my bad side today because she ran outside into the front yard just as we were loading up the van for school this morning. Of course I always leave plenty of time for such contingencies as a wayward chihuahua. OR we were already a touch behind schedule and I had to chase her down. She was, ironically, seeking shelter in our neighbors' side yard just a few feet away from an enormous dog that likely would eat Sasha in a single bite if she got out of her fence. Her name is Gucci. Anyway, the reason Sasha was trying to escape in the first place is because she is so utterly despondent at being placed in her crate when we leave the house. I think I have mentioned before the feral howl she emits every single time we leave the house. I even tried to give her a treat one day this week as we left to go to the park. She did not eat it. She waited until we got home and then I heard her crunching it as soon as we walked in the door. I thought that showed incredible restraint, and it also made me realize that her grief is such that she gives herself up for dead when she is denied our community. Why eat a treat when the world is as good as ended?

Perhaps you will make your own spiritual metaphors based on my dog.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I woke up in the middle of the night last night with a coughing spasm. Which has happened more nights than not this past week. The husband got me some water and I got a cough drop which I've kept on my nightstand for emergencies (Hudson has asked approximately 56 times if he might have it) and I sort of dozed off and swallowed the cough drop accidentally. I had a moment where I thought it might be the end of it all (and was just awake enough to realize that Death By Lozenge is super humiliating) but thankfully it went safely down my esophagus.

The end.

Slip sliding away

Well, how about this! Three days in a row. I think the most pertinent thing that happened today is that I fell down the stairs this morning. Thankfully, it was only 5 steps from the bottom and I did, indeed, fall on my bottom and not face forward. It is, however, surprisingly painful to fall down only five steps. I am going to have a monstrous bruise on my hip, there seems to be some sort of toe strain involving the fourth metatarsal of my left foot, and I'm pretty sure I wrenched both shoulders out of their respective sockets in the process of reaching back to try to stop myself. I think there are four specific things to blame:

 1. I had just woken up and had not had any coffee,
 2. I was awake until midnight last night watching people debate colors on a map,
 3. I was wandering around aimlessly because I could faintly hear a child calling for help in a bathroom, but my morning deafness impeded my ability to discern which child in which bathroom, and
4. My new birthday houseslippers. There was a serious malfunction. I now have a working theory that many falls of the elderly which result in hip fractures could be directly linked to malfunctions of comfy house slippers. Maybe I will write an email to the CDC requesting an epidemiological study. Then I will be published and will qualify for tenure.

 I was also forced to concede that, though I still have not figured out how to vacuum them properly, which has caused me to complain, I am exceeding glad for the carpet on the stairs. It would have hurt so much worse without it.

 I think that is it for today. We finished reading The Tale of Despereaux and we all enjoyed it. Hudson in particular is a little nervous about the idea of a dungeon, but we are all very glad that Despereaux prevailed against the darkness in the end. Harper even made a Despereaux out of a tiny mouse she had on hand:

'sup

Overheard just now as the kids are sitting at the table playing with their play-doh (that we made over a month ago--I was astounded to find it was still soft):

Harper: Hudson, guess how Paddington spells soup? S-O-O-P!
Hudson: (fake laughing because he thinks this sounds fine, but senses from the derision in Harper's tone that it is not) HAH! Um. How do you spell soup really?
Harper: S-U-P.


Which explains why just this afternoon, we began a spelling program. I was hoping that Harper would be an intuitively good speller (I am. Is that bragging?) just by reading lots of good books. Alas, it doesn't seem to be working. It has something to do with her self confidence. She really feels like her spelling is better than the actual spelling, and that the rest of us should go along with her.

We went to a park with some friends this morning. It is lovely weather here in Houston for election day .I voted last week because one of the early polling places happened to be at our library. While we were waiting in line, Harper asked me who I was voting for. I told her that we have a secret ballot, and that as she gets older we can talk more about the issues and how that informs our choices, but that I wanted to keep my vote a secret. A lady about my mom's age turned around and said , "Good for you!" and told me her mom had never told her how she voted when she was young and that she had not told her own kids when they were young. Another mom, closer to my age, looked a little defensive, and added that she thought it was Important to tell her kids how she was voting and WHY. I suspect she doesn't have extended conversations with her kids about the nuance of the issues. It reminded me of my college roommate freshman year who told me she was a Democrat. When I asked her for specific reasons why, she got really defensive and said her parents were Democrats and that, by golly, that was good enough for her. At the time, I thought that was a really dumb answer. I still do. Although I probably vote in a way similar to my parents at this point, it has more to do with shared sensibilities than any loyalty to their particular party affiliation. Isn't that how it should be?

 Here's a picture of us doing some school this afternoon. Hudson was working on writing some zeroes, Harper was writing a story with her spelling words (and mostly spelling them correctly) and Helena was playing with her purple play-doh. Sasha likes to sit at the table while we are learning. I do not have a lesson plan for her.

Books of the week

The grandparents Pate were here this weekend and we went to the husband's campus to show them around on Saturday morning. We enjoyed the museums and the kids picked out these tiny Bible keychains from the gift counter. When Harper got home she got out her microscope and a printer's loop to try to read the minute print. She claims she was able to discern a few verses.

I'm going to start posting more often. It's part of my Resolutions Upon Turning 42. If you know me at all, you might know that I am long on resolve and short on actual follow-through. Which is actually one of the things I am trying to change.

I would also like to be more structured in all that I do, and it's going to be lots of work, and probably painful. Similar to the work involved in getting my wiry, enormous hair to look presentable. So basically I am going to employ an extremely hot Chi flat iron to my frizzy, out of control character. We'll see how it goes.

Harper went upstairs after breakfast and decided to craft an octopus Christmas ornament out of felt.  This was not on my morning agenda. I was quickly reminded that felt is very annoying when it comes to trying to glue anything on it. Then I got out my really cheap hot glue gun and it doesn't work either and then we decide there is going to need to be sewing involved. It went downhill from there. Because if anything will remind you of the lack of structure in your heart and soul, it is an unplanned craft project involving a felt octopus in need of stitching.

So, a list will make me feel better I think. Here are some books we have enjoyed this week:

1. Mary Engelbreit's Mother Goose: One Hundred Best-Loved Verses
--the B's gave us this when Helena was born and she LOVES it. The only drawback is that she feels I should read ALL 100 verses every time we read it.

2. Kate and Pippin: An Unlikely Love Story by Martin Springett, photographs by Isobel Springett
--This is the true story of a Great Dane named Kate who adopts an orphaned fawn. I love these stories of inter species affection, because I think it's a tiny glimpse of what heaven is going to be like with all the lambs and lions.

3. Owen and Mzee: The True Story of a Remarkable Friendship by Isabella and Craig Hatkoff, Paula Kahumbu, photographs by Peter Greste
--Another true story of animals taking care of one another. Owen is a baby hippo who lost his mom in  the tsunami in 2004. He meets an ancient Aldabra tortoise named Mzee and the two form a special bond.

4. Melvin and the Boy by Lauren Castillo
--The boy desperately wants a pet and his parents come up with lots of (very good) reasons why he can't have one. He finds a turtle at the park and brings him home and names him Melvin. The boy realizes Melvin really wants to be back in his pond and decides to return him. This book is timely because a certain girl in my family desperately wants a pet frog, so we went to Petsmart last weekend only to discover that pet frogs need things like a weekly supply of living crickets and there was Great Mourning when I told her I was not about to work a weekly cricket run into my schedule. Hudson really wants a pet turtle and they are slightly less work, but it probably won't happen until he is around 12 and can do all the work himself.

5. Hopper and Wilson by Maria van Lieshout
--Hopper is an elephant, Wilson is a mouse, and they launch a paper boat to sail to the end of the world.

6. A House in the Woods by Inga Moore
--Two pigs, a moose and a bear recruit a team of beavers to build them a big house where they can all live together. The beavers agree as long as they can be paid in peanut butter sandwiches. Cuteness abounds.

7. Ballerina Swan by Allegra Kent and Emily Arnold
--Sophie is a swan who longs to be a ballerina. Helena really likes this one.

8. Stars by Mary Lyn Ray and Marla Frazee --Simple and delightful:"White stars in June grass become strawberries in July. Yellow stars on pumpkin vines become October pumpkins." I love books that remind us to look closely and marvel.

 9. Stuck by Oliver Jeffers --Hudson in particular liked this silly story of a boy named Floyd who goes to extreme measures to get his kite unstuck from a tree.

 10. The Little Red Pen by Janet Stevens and Susan Stevens Crummel --The little red pen belongs to a teacher who has fallen behind with her grading. There are lots of other desk supplies who band together to get the papers graded and save the world. This one gave me a terrible flashback to my days as a teacher who was forever behind with my grading, but the kids thought it was hilarious.

 That will be all. I'm going to try to be back soon..

Since it is fall after all

We put together some costumes from the dress-up bin and headed to a church for their Reformation Day celebration. Okay, maybe that isn't exactly how they billed it. Anyway, the kids looked cute (Harper is a cowgirl, or maybe Annie Oakley, Hudson is Luke Skywalker, and Helena is a snow princess) and I didn't have to answer the door for any teenagers in inappropriate or terrifying costumes. I also didn't have to give away any of the naturally flavored, organic, fairly traded lollipops I bought at Whole Foods (after reading that article about where most of our chocolate comes from) which means more for us!

On Monday we made the yearly pilgrimage out to Dewberry Farm and the kids had their usual great time. I also continued my tradition of not managing to get a single good photo. Alas, I will post them anyway. During the hayride, some of the kids broke out into one of the songs from our history memory work. I don't know if the guy driving the tractor understood that they were singing, "TAXES, SLAVERY, UNEMPLOYMENT AND DISEASES ALL CONTRIBUTED TO THE FALL OF ROME!!" but if he did, I am certain he now has another priceless anecdote to file under Bizarre Behavior of Homeschooled Kids.

Red bell pepper universe

Today while the kids were eating lunch, Hudson said, "Mommy! What if the entire universe was full of only red bell peppers?? God would look down and say, "WOW.'" Indeed. He is, at this very moment, looking at a book about experimental organic chemistry that he pulled off the shelf. He claims he's reading it in his MIND. Perhaps he will find something to support his red bell pepper universe hypothesis. We dissected owl pellets at Classical Conversations on Friday, and while Harper thought it was terrific, Hudson found it a touch smelly, which doesn't bode well for a career in science for him. Or maybe by the time he's grown up, it will all be done by hologram or something, and there will be no smells.

Well, it is in the upper 80's here in the Houston suburbs today, so I cleaned out the sandbox (which hasn't had sand in it since we moved) let the kids put on their (getting too small) swimsuits, and play in the water. It was good (also loud) fun for an hour or so. Then Helena somehow fell and skinned  her elbow and her knee and that was cause for great (also loud) lamentation. Then she ate two entire kiwis with her lunch and that seemed to help.

Harper has been reading Alice in Wonderland by herself, and she, Hudson and I have been reading The Tale of Despereaux together before bed. It's a bit thematically intense compared to our usual stories, but I am really liking it. Next in line is a story about a little donkey named Brighty who lived in the Grand Canyon. I think a solid 90% of the books we read are about animals. Is that weird?

Do you know about Philip and Erin Stead? Their first book, titled A Sick Day for Amos McGee,  won all of the important awards for children's picture books a couple of years ago, because of its perfection and awesomeness. They have a new book, Bear Has a Story to Tell, and I just picked it up from the library on Saturday. The story is simple and delightful, and again, the illustrations are PERFECTION. I love watercolors, and Erin (Phillip is an illustrator as well, but has a different style) uses all of these very cool wood blocking techniques to get this cozy, warm, amazing effect that suits the simple stories sublimely. I looked them up on the internet and discovered they are a married couple and they live in a barn in Michigan. And they are very young, which means they have many years to keep making these books for us to love. They also have a blog on which they recommend other great books. So, if you haven't already, read these RIGHT NOW. I INSIST:

1. A Sick Day for Amos McGee and
2. Bear Has a Story to Tell by Phillip Stead, illustrated by Erin Stead
3. And Then It's Spring by Julie Fogliano, illustrated by Erin Stead

Now, I need to go do a reading lesson with Hudson so he won't have to read only in his MIND, but will actually know how to read in REALITY.

Patchy, at best

I have opened up the comments. I didn't actually know what my setting was, but I had three different people tell me that they would like to leave comments, but couldn't because they didn't have a google account, or couldn't remember their password. I like comments, and I hope I don't get any mean anonymous ones, or ones in different languages trying to get me and my LEGION of readers to sign up for some sort of Chinese ponzi scheme.

Further evidence of my shocking lack of technology acumen: a couple of weekends ago I had this very unpleasant sinus/allergy thing, during which I was confined to the bed for an entire day with only my trusty iPad and a doting chihuahua to grant me solace, and it somehow popped up on the Facebook that I had "liked" an article that I had not even read, and had CERTAINLY not "liked." It happened to be an article (I did go and peruse the first paragraph, while quivering with indignation) about Michelle Duggar's uterus writing a letter of protest. I would never read or "like" such an article, because I actually have the utmost respect for Mrs. Duggar and her family. Also, everyone knows that a uterus can't write a letter. Anyway, I had been on the site where the article was listed, in order to, and this is a twist, read an article about how Facebook was posting supposedly private messages on public walls, and how to fix it. I don't know if Sasha the dog managed to hit the like button in her zeal to get just a little bit closer to me in my infirmity, or if one of the kids did it in their eagerness to help me feel better so I would get up and go outside so they could ride their bikes. Anyway, it made me even more scared of Facebook.

Helena has been waking up at around 6 am and she will get up and get herself dressed and then play in her room until she hears the Daddy rustling around. Some of the outfits she puts together are less than matching, but I do not comment, because I love that she is getting herself up independently. She also will wander into the kitchen and get everyone a spoon and their vitamin, and place them neatly on the table. Of course, the other two find reasons to be displeased with her spoon choices, which makes me sigh.

I turned 42 on Saturday. Which means I am a little more than halfway through my life, statistically. The husband got me mini bundt cakes, we ate out TWICE, and I bought a very ugly pair of slippers for 75% off at the mall. AND my parents came on Friday, which is always a delight. They always give me money on my birthday and I bought a new shirt and a cardigan and also a Noonday bracelet. Harper also made me three bracelets all by herself. Here's a picture: (L-R: Harper Designs, Noonday, Harper Designs, the ugly slippers in the background. I had to kick while posing)

One of the churches we've been visiting has a huge pumpkin patch every October. The kids were all very excited to go to church this morning. Because they love to worship God in community with other believers (where there just happen to be hundreds of pumpkins):

Mood swing

We are just back from a few days with the Grandparents Pate. The two huge pecan trees in their backyard (which were mere twigs when they moved into the house when I was Hudson's age) had a bountiful harvest this year, and they needed all the little helpers they could get to gather them up, shell them, and eat them. Thekids all like pecans (which I never did until I grew up and got some sense) though Helena does tend to chew each one for about 20 minutes and then decide she might want to spit it out instead of actually swallowing it. We went to the Tugboat Island park (and saw a real tugboat pushing a barge down the Neches River! The kids barely glanced at it because they were in such a hurry to get to the faux tugboat on the playground.) Then Helena really wanted to swing on the tire swing and thought it important that at least one of the other two join her. They declined, and this was very sad news indeed. She then decided that I was not being very sympathetic to her plight, and she progressed through the five stages of grief. While I showed great sensitivity by taking many pictures: