Hudson at five: Fond, James Fond

I just came from tucking the brand new five year old boy in. As he was nestling down into his sleeping bag, getting ready for his nightly back scratch, with his blue fleece blanket (the one with a puppy paw pattern that he's slept with since he came home from the hospital) cuddled up to his cheek, he popped his thumb in his mouth, as he has done every night since he was around 4 months old. Then he popped it out and said,in a small voice, "No." He has, apparently all by himself, decided that Five Year Old Boys Don't Need Thumbs For Sleeping. Which I'm sure will make his dentist very happy (if I ever decide to take him), but I teared up a little.

I did do the birthday interview with him today, but I'm too tired to transcribe it all tonight. Suffice it to say the dominant theme is Weapons and God and Spies. Kind of like the Crusades. My favorite was #17: What do you want to write a book about? He said, "Cars 2 and James Fond and Finn McMissile."

So, we are all so deeply FOND of our sweet funny Hudson Bear, Huts, Huffin, Huttin, Bud. My boy. I am filled with deep joy and deep grief at the thought of five years having passed in a blink.

The plot refuses to thicken

Hudson has gotten into the habit of asking really big, important questions when we are in the car. Today, after seeing the huge picture of a pregnant lady on the outside of the huge, almost finished maternity hospital we pass on our way to the museums, he asked, "But HOW does the baby GET inside the Mommy? Does God do it?" I told him yes, that in a sense he does. Then Helena said something about Mary, because anytime we are talking about God or Jesus, she mentions Mary. Yesterday, he asked what I thought was a pretty insightful question about the nature of the trinity (should that be capitalized?)and I gave him a pretty basic answer about the three-in-one (and Helena piped in "and MARY!" and I said "No, not really."), and then I added, "It's like our Latin: In principio erat verbum!" (handy, that) and told him that big, important questions deserved a Mommy who wasn't trying to navigate traffic. But really I am SCARED to answer all of these questions and I secretly hope he will forget that he asked.

I like to try to think like a novelist (because I would someday like very much to write like a novelist) and a series of events this week fell nicely into a little cause and effect plot:

1. Last Tuesday, I decided to take all three kids to the post office at 4:45 pm. I would NEVER do this under normal circumstances, but I had some clothes to send to a growing baby, and I realized any further delay might mean the baby was matriculating from high school before I got the size 6 months onesies in the mail.

2. The line was LONG, the postal workers methodical. It took 35 minutes.

3. The kids did fairly well. Harper noticed that one of the ladies who was waiting in line in front of us had Cafe Express on her shirt. She pointed and said, loudly, "LOOK MOMMY! CAFE EXPRESS!" because there is a Cafe Express nearby and the husband will, on occasion, pick up food from there on his way home. The lady smiled at her and left.

4. About a minute later, she was back. She had gone out to her car and gotten four coupons for free meals at Cafe Express. She gave them to Harper.

5. Saturday afternoon we went to a birthday party. On the way home we decided we would go eat at PF Changs, then we got there and it was going to be a 45 minute wait. We left and I remembered the coupons.

6. So we went to Cafe Express and made a big deal about Harper buying our entire dinner ($38 dollars worth!!) She was very pleased.

7. When we came out and got in the van, the husband noticed something in the rearview mirror. "Did you draw a picture on the back window?" I said I had not. He got out to investigate what I could see was a rather cute little animated boy someone had used their finger to draw. He got in, a grim expression on his face. "Does it say something bad?" I whispered. YES, he said emphatically, "It says WASH ME." Now, you should understand that WASH ME written on his car is probably worse for the husband than profanity. Until he married me, his car was always immaculate. So, we had a chat about how I might work a car wash into my weekly errands. I was resistant.

8. But I realized that I complain that certain things just aren't POSSIBLE WITH THREE SMALL CHILDREN way more than I actually just problem solve and get things done. So, after yet another trip to the post office (to buy a few more 20 cent stamps for my square Christmas cards, which is a whole entire different and frustrating tale) with three kids, we went to the $4 car wash that includes a free vacuum token. Then it started to sprinkle. Then Helena really wanted to lose all control of her emotions when the big brushes started buffeting the van, but we all worked together to reassure her that we weren't being assaulted by a maniac Sesame Street character. Just as we pulled around to the vacuums, it started to rain a little harder. Then, just as I put the token in for the vacuum, Hudson told me he needed to urinate. I ignored him and vacuumed. Helena said, "It's VERY LOUD. VERY VERY LOUD." repeatedly. Hudson got out of his car seat and began to do a little dance with a tortured look on his face. I hung the vacuum up and dug around until I found a gallon ziploc bag. He almost filled the thing up, which made me concerned for the health of his excretory system. Then I took the bag. Then, as little boys sometimes do, he wasn't quite finished with the marathon pee, and sprinkled some on my just-vacuumed carpet. Then he said, "THAT was a LOT of t.t. for a boy who's very small!" and I smiled and we drove to the library to turn in some books.

I'll be back on Friday in order to commemorate a certain very small boy who is turning FIVE.

Ladybug, ladybug, what do you see?

Helena has been taking more pictures than I have. If she sees me with my camera, she runs inside to get the old one and clicks away. She has no idea it doesn't have a memory card.

I was reading on the couch with Harper and Hudson a couple of days ago (the James Herriot treasury we got for Christmas which we all LOVE) and Hudson noticed a ladybug on the window. I captured him in a paper cup and we took him outside and set him free, after a minute or so of excited observation, which I am 100% certain we enjoyed WAY more than the poor ladybug. He (because my kids are convinced that all insects and animals, stuffed or otherwise, are male. I don't know why) flew very high when we released him, hopefully to a land rich in aphids and not inquisitive children.

Harper still has a bit of a lisp (and her first loose tooth is not helping at all) and one day she said the dooziest sentence EVER to exploit a lisp. Sasha was barking like an insane feral rabid beast at the mail lady and Harper said, "Oh Sasha. She is not a solicitor." Go ahead and say it with a lisp and giggle to yourself.

We were on our way to meet the Rives at the zoo this morning and Harper asked if everyone in America has a computer. I said that the percentage was probably pretty high. She then said, "Not in the WORLD though." and I agreed and reminded her how rich we are here in America. How most of us have what we need and lots of things we want, at which point she started making a list, "like computers and t.v.s and TOYS," and Helena piped in, "And pinky toes!" We all giggled. Who doesn't want a pinky toe after all?

My stack of Albert Schweitzer books still sits on my shelf, untouched. Does anyone know David McCullough or Eric Metaxas personally? Because if you do, I'd appreciate it if you'd ask them to write a Schweitzer biography for me that doesn't have sentences like, "Whereas in its investigation of the sources critical theology tended more and more to place the onus of historical proof on each pericope, Schweitzer reversed the process." T'aint no way my addled brain can consume that at the end of a long day.

This morning Hudson issued this actual complaint: "WHY did you MAKE me eat PANCAKES first when I wanted cereal???" Do anyone else's children traffic in such ingratitude? It makes me want to feed him rocks and mud. While smiling.

I suppose that needs to be all for today. The kitchen is a disaster, etc. Here's a cute picture to close (notice Hudson's slight lean away):

Eyeore begat

I like coming up with titles for my posts. It's actually my favorite part. In high school I was on the newspaper staff (I also co-edited the yearbook with my friend Kathy, but if you could see the finished product you would understand why I don't boast about this rather dubious accomplishment. Our yearbook was called The War Whoop, incidentally.) and I think it was my junior year that I made it to UIL regionals in the headline writing competition. You had to read a short article and come up with a catchy headline that fit into a particular number of spaces on the newspaper page. Back then in the 1900's, we used a system of hash marks above and below the letters to count the spaces. I'm sure there is an app for it now.

I wrote a newsletter (very, very infrequently) when I was teaching in Hungary, and I really wanted to title it "Serving the Lard With Gladness" but then thought better of it. It's ironic that Hungarians eat as much lard as they do and still manage to be a very slender people as a whole. Also, did you know they don't even call it 'Hungary'? It's Magyarorszag. So, practically the same.

Yesterday Hudson got frustrated with Harper at lunch and this happened:

Hudson: I'm going to frow a bomb in your EYE!

Harper: (smugly) Daddy will not let you do that. Because bombs are very EXPENSIVE.

Um hm, yes, the expense is what would keep Daddy from letting Hudson throw a bomb in your eye.

Both the big kids have been pretty surly and disagreeable lately. There are lots of factors involved, but I'm beginning to see that being the offspring of two melancholy parents might be a bit tricky to overcome, genetically speaking.

Last night I read an article in the Wall Street Journal about a French painter named Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin (that is quite a name to live up to, n'est pas?) and his famous still life of a disemboweled stingray hanging on a hook behind an inquisitive kitten. It is very pitiful to see, and I made a note that when we go to the Louvre some day (when, not if. One of my students, Tibor, taught me that. It is a non-Eyeore way of thinking.) I will need to direct Harper away from that particular gallery.

We just did a math lesson and I'm beginning to feel that first grade Singapore Math is already over my head. Bah.

I got myself this yoga (or 'faux-ga' as my friend Jamie calls it) mat and a dvd for Christmas and this is pretty much the extent of use thus far:
I did attempt to do it one day during nap time, then Harper and Hudson wandered out and sat on the couch behind me making very sweet comments like, "That's really good yoga you are doing Mommy!" and "Your legs are bent but that lady has hers straight Mommy!" and I realized that faux-ga is NOT a spectator sport. Plus it hurt a little, which means I'm probably not posing right or something.

Our Christmas tree is still up. And yes, it's real. And no, I haven't watered it since somewhere around December 21.

Here are some cute books we've enjoyed this month:

1. Henry Hikes to Fitchburg by D.B. Johnson
Henry (as in David Thoreau) is a bear who tells his friend he can walk the 30 miles to Fitchburg in the time it takes his friend to earn the 90 cents and take the train. His friend does chores for the Alcotts, Hawthornes, and Emersons to earn his money, which I thought was clever. **SPOILER ALERT**Henry's friend beats him to Fitchburg, but only because Henry stops to pick some blackberries.

2. Snowflake Bentley by Jacqueline Briggs Martin,ill. Mary Azarian
The true story of Wilson Bentley, born in Vermont in 1865, who, because he was so enthralled with the beauty of snowflakes, discovered a way to photograph them and share them with the world. I cry at the end of this one. Because I am a sucker for this kind of devotion to the pursuit of the sublime.

3. A Sick Day for Amos McGee by Philip C. Stead, ill. Erin E. Stead
Amos McGee works at the zoo and loves his animal friends in practical, thoughtful ways every day. Until he gets sick. Then, they reciprocate. I LOVE the illustrations. LOVE.

4. Me...Jane by Patrick McDonnell
This adorably illustrated biography of Jane Goodall as a little girl is a delight. Jane Goodall has much in common with a certain little girl who lives in my house and loves stingrays and horses with the same ardor that Jane loved chimpanzees.

5. The Year at Maple Hill Farm by Alice and Martin Provensen
Simple, whimsical illustrations and text detailing what happens on a farm each month of the year.

6. The Milly-Molly-Mandy Storybook by Joyce Lankester Brisley
"Once upon a time there was a little girl. She had a Father, and a Mother, and a Grandpa, and a Grandma, and an Uncle, and an Aunty; and they all lived together in a nice white cottage with a thatched roof."
Harper and I are reading these stories, written in the 1920's and 30's, and they are delightful. Sometimes I have to look up words. Did you know a 'farthing' is one-fourth pence?

It was a rainy day.

That's the first line in The Puddle by David McPhail, a gift from the B's on Harper's third birthday, which has been a favorite of all three kids.

It gets easier and easier not to blog, so I decided to open up the screen and do another random post in which I sit and jot down thoughts in between the Monday house and school work. Here goes:

1. It IS a rainy day here in Houston. Is it wrong that I am super happy to home school on days like today, when the thought of hauling everyone into the car in the pouring rain in order to drop kids off at school makes me panic.

2. Helena does NOT like thunder. She calls it "boom boom boom" like in Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You? She is also highly opposed to leaf blowers and lawn mowers, and uses all three as an excuse to cry inconsolably, especially when she is awakened from her nap. I guess the good news is that she'll rarely have to experience all three noises at once.

3. We are getting a little more serious about the house search. We drove out to see some new construction, and I was greatly dismayed to note that in the house just across the street from the model home, there was a group of guys watching the big game in comfy chairs out in their garage. Their cars were parked elsewhere. Then I felt bad for being so judgmental and snobby, because it really was a nice evening to be outside. Then I felt even worse to discover that this particular neighborhood was above our desired price range.

4. Speaking of class bias, I watched a little of the New Hampshire debates Saturday night and I liked when Rick Santorum lectured Mitt Romney about using the term "middle class," because of how it exacerbates class warfare. Though I'm not sure that switching to "middle income wage earners" is going to assuage any doubts I have about whether or not it is okay to consider one's garage a "media room."

5. Hudson loves socks. He wears them at all times (even with Keens. ESPECIALLY with Keens.) unless he is in the bath. IF the socks have to be removed for some reason (play-doh infestation, for example, as happened yesterday evening) there is extreme consternation expressed.

6. Two hours have passed, it is still pouring (flash flooding, in fact), and Hudson is squealing at Helena over rights to a certain firetruck. I am now beginning to realize that maybe getting out in the rain to drop everyone off might not be so bad after all. He just asked her to "please go elsewhere!" and she ran into the kitchen and yelled, "I'm elsewhere!" then she ran back in and tried to convince him to let her put his hair into a ponytail. He declined, and not very politely. In fact, there may have been a scatological reference. Also, there is play-doh all over the floor.

7. I just had to dispose of a very large dead roach. Better than a live roach, but still. My mother-in-law, who was here this weekend, refers to roaches as "water bugs." I think I might write a short story entitled "Let's Call a Roach a Roach, Shall We?"

8. Now it's time to review our memory work because our co-op starts back this Friday. Harper has already informed me that SHE doesn't NEED to review because she remembers it all perfectly. I shall attempt not to gloat when I have to prompt her on "Magellan Circumnavigates the Earth."

9. I have decided fairly recently that I think college and professional sports are mostly STUPID. I realize this is a highly unorthodox opinion. I realize it puts me at odds, not just with the guys who were enjoying a game in their garage, but also with every single person on Facebook, and, possibly, on the planet, regardless of their "low, middle, or upper income status." HOWEVER, we watched the final quarter of the Denver-Pittsburg game last night (I confess to wanting to see the Tebowing with my own eyes) and I might have softened my opinion just a touch. I will not be painting my face or yelling like a savage with my fist raised in the air anytime soon, but maybe I get it a little more than I did. I told the kids that the Tebow was home schooled and they thought that was nifty. Harper said, "Plus he has curly hair!" and I agreed that the Tebow would indeed fit right into our family.

10. And there is now drumming. Which is the sound that makes me want to cry inconsolably.

11. Helena has learned to ride the scooter. It has its own verb in our family: "scootering."

12. I just boiled some eggs for myself and Harper duly noted that the refrigerator now smells flatulent.

13. I have 5 library books about Albert Schweitzer sitting on my desk. He was referenced in a novel I read over Christmas and I remembered he was one of those fellows I'd always wanted to know more about. I have already realized that a biography that includes lines like, "The obligation of truth prohibits all tendentiousness," is going to be, in the words of my favorite pithy philosopher Donald Rumsfeld, "a long hard slog."

14. I haven't taken a decent picture in weeks. There is very little natural light in our house this time of year. See?
This was actually a very touching moment in which Helena dressed up in a Cinderella costume and my reading glasses from the Target Dollar Spot and pretended to be an elderly Russian ballet instructress schooling her student in the exacting art of the arabesque.

Well, the rain has stopped, and so will I.

New.

Let's see. Where did we leave off? There were festivities. We did our presents Hanukkah-style, opening one a day for a few days leading up to the 25th. I think that helped with the appreciation factor. The frosting on our birthday cake for Jesus tasted faintly medicinal because of the fact that I assumed that my Mom would have milk and vanilla at her house. Only she didn't, because she had used up all of her milk and vanilla making an Italian cream cake the day before, and it was Christmas day and nothing was open so I had to use vanilla soy milk and vegan butter sticks. Which made the Best Frosting EVER from the Pioneer Woman's recipe site NOT even CLOSE to the best frosting ever. The kids didn't seem to mind, and I don't think Jesus minded, but I minded. I also, in the Christmas morning rush, forgot to pack any clothes for Harper. At all. Thankfully, my sister-in-law provided some essentials, and I reminded Harper that Laura and Mary probably wore the same clothes for 5 days in a row, and also remember how they were so excited about the orange and the penny and the peppermint stick that one year for Christmas??

I took some pictures of kids opening presents, only the lighting was poor, so they all look about like this:
That is a crystal growing kit. Harper's presents were mostly science-related. She got a Newton's cradle (which has been hopelessly tangled more than it has been functional) and lots of magnets and rocks. Hudson got his new drums a few weeks ago and more "Cars 2" paraphernalia, including a stuffed AND also a remote controlled Finn McMissile. He actually hugged them after he unwrapped them, and the look on his face almost melted my cold, cold, Disney-antagonistic heart:
Helena has been asking for a stuffed Cookie Monster for around 6 months. The Grandparents Pate happily complied, and also provided a large Raggedy Anne doll, which has been hugged approximately 1,000 times, and takes up most of the minimal room she has left in her bed. She is also deeply in love with this dress up ballet costume I let Harper pick out for her one day at Costco. The (very cheaply made, likely in China, hopefully not by children) blue lame' skirt is already torn, which bothers her not a bit:
She also LOVES her Philadelphia Chickens cd (thanks Kristin!) and she got her very own cd player for her room, so she can listen to her heart's content. Except that she listened to "Snuggle Puppy" on repeat for around 2 hours a couple of days ago and now the cd is totally scratched and "Snuggle Puppy" sounds like a backbeat for the DJ Jazzy Jeff and I guess I'll have to order another one.

Which, of course, makes me melancholy. A tangled Newton's cradle, a torn lame' skirt, a broken hatch on a spy plane, a scratched cd--it makes me sad all this rust and moths business. Then some friends lost their entire house to a fire this week. So. I've written about the Tibetan monks before, right? The ones who create the intricate sand mosaics on the ground where they might be blown away by an errant breeze at any moment? That's it. We create, hopefully something unique and beautiful, trusting the wind is not without its purpose.