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I just got back from a few internet free days at the grandparents only to realize that blogspot decided, apparently, that the last post wouldn't be commented upon. Perhaps benevolent blogspot, in all its prescience, was trying to save me from some vitriol. If you wanted to comment, do it here, and we'll give you credit on the last post. If not, there's a real post coming tomorrow.

Praise, praise the Fear

When Harper likes something, she really really likes it for a long time. Like pumpkins. And "All Creatures of Our God and King." She was singing with gusto in the backseat yesterday and got to the line, "Praise, praise the Father! Praise the Son! Praise, praise the Spirit, three in one!" only she sang it "Praise, praise the Fear it's green and white!!" I think I'll keep letting her sing it that way. I'm not quite ready to attempt to explain the trinity.

Speaking of green, I finally finished Animal, Vegetable, Miracle a few weeks ago. It definitely made me want to try to buy foods that are grown locally, and to eat foods in their proper season. (those apples you can get now? likely from a different hemisphere) It will also really make you want a garden. Not an option for us at the moment, but a goal for Someday. The most depressing thing I discovered is that the bananas that my kids eat (pretty much every single day) , though they only cost me around 70 cents a pound, actually cost around $7 million dollars to get from whatever Central American country they were grown in to Houston. That's a slight hyperbole. Take home lesson: the wide variety of food that we enjoy, cheaply, year around IS expensive, just not in a way that troubles us on a daily basis. I don't want to be obsessed, but I do want to be mindful. So. The book is probably not quite as preachy as this paragraph has been and there is a hilarious section detailing the author's attempt to get her heritage turkeys to breed. One of them falls briefly in love with her husband.

Hudson got some new big boy shoes today. Size 5.
You see how proud he is. He really likes the shoes, really did NOT like the shoe buying. Apparently when I told him, "Hudson, this lady is going to put the shoes on you to see if they fit," he actually heard, "Hudson, this lady is going to cut OFF your FEET," because he burst into tears and buried his face in my neck and refused to be consoled throughout the entire process.

Speaking of 5, Harper has decided that it is the magical age at which all of her dreams will come true. So far:
1. When I am five I will jump in the swimming pool BY MYSELF!
2. When I am five I will go to gymnastic school! and, my favorite:
3. When I am five I will get a bagpipe! (with which she will, presumably, play a rousing version of "All Creatures of Our God and King)

The Wait of Glory

What do you suppose she's doing in there? he asks himself. We went to Galveston for the day yesterday. It's something we should probably do more often, considering the proximity. I think we've been four times in the almost four years we've lived here. Harper had a fantastic time, as did Hudson unless you tried to get him close to the water, at which point he would break into a high pitched shriek/wail which made everyone in a 1 mile radius stop what they were doing and look at me as if to say, "It's very sad that you should torture him thus." I had an idea that the ocean might be mildly disturbing to him because, while he really enjoys baths, he hasn't found any other water experiences particularly pleasant. What he did find particularly pleasant was the tiny little bites of sand he kept sneaking. He had tried, and enjoyed, cous cous for the first time the night before and I'm pretty sure he thought he was sitting on a giant beach of cous cous.
The husband had a great time out in the water with Harper right up until the moment when, about two hours in, he realized that the perfunctory dab of sunblock he'd slapped on his shoulders was sadly, tragically insufficient. His back is red beyond telling--scarlet? crimson? Nope, beyond describing. And the tops of his feet. And he had to put on a suit for court today. Last weekend, during a rousing game of hide and seek, he sustained a pulled muscle while trying to hide in a cedar chest that, lean though he is, clearly was NOT going to contain him (which I politely mentioned during the attempt). The myriad (at times painful) sacrifices of parenthood.

I am not sunburned because I sat under a beach umbrella approximately the entire time and when I did venture out I had on an enormous hat, huge sunglasses and SPF 45. I remember laughing at the likes of me when I was 16 and coating myself in olive oil to speed up the "tanning" process.

The public beach is great for people watching and I believe my favorite subject was the girl (19 maybe) who was around 8 months pregnant and wearing a tiny bikini with the "Corona" logo emblazoned across the bottoms. Classy. Do you think she found it at Pea in the Pod?

Harper asked me what "glory" means the other night after she prayed. Um, well, it's...all I could think of were other abstract, multi-syllabic words that she doesn't know yet, so I told her I would think about it and come up with a good definition. Anyone?

This morning REM did a little guest spot on Sesame Street. Even singing "furry, happy monsters feeling glad!" and bouncing around there is just something so aching and melancholy about Michael Stipe. Maybe I'm projecting because when I first listened to REM in college (and saw them in concert--they actually came to A&M which is somewhat mystifying to me still) I was myself in a rather aching and melancholy place. Norah Jones was on a few weeks ago and sang "I don't know why 'Y' didn't come" about the letter of the day. Clever.

faux paw, part two

In last Sunday's paper five of the eleven wedding announcements included dogs. That's almost 50%. Those announcements are expensive. I think you probably pay by the word. Folks, YOUR DOG CAN'T READ. Never will. And the people who read your wedding announcement may care even less about the fact that you'll be sharing your new home with your dogs than they do what kind of flowers were in your bridesmaids' bouquets. Weddings and wedding announcements actually merit an entire post one of these days. Ripe for satire. On our way home from the park this morning, the person in front of us had a "My schnauzer is smarter than your honor student" bumper sticker. Now, it's not as though I don't understand the sentiment. Those bumper stickers are annoying, but they probably give them away to the kids at school when they make all A's or something and there might be an occasional kid who just feels really good to see it announced right there on the back of the station wagon. So I try not to judge.

Speaking of judges, I've had quite a case of insomnia lately and when I can't sleep I think about the Supreme Court. I go through the justices in my head. I start with the boring ones (yes, I'm talking about you RBG) and save Scalia for last because he's very entertaining to think about. You should read some of his opinions. John Paul Stevens is 88 and wears bow ties. Kennedy is the resident tie-breaker. Are you getting sleepy?

Margie tagged me with some questions. Here goes:

What were you doing 10 years ago?
I was living in Arlington, Texas and taking organic chemistry. I had decided after two years of teaching high school English and two years of teaching English overseas, that what I really wanted to be was a doctor. My poorly trained, liberal arts infested brain was ill-equipped to handle such a strenuous endeavor and it had to be abandoned a couple of years (and MCATs) later.

What are five things on your to-do list?
1. Finish Tess of the D'Urbervilles for the book club. Oh, poor Tess. Thomas Hardy will beat you down.
2. Assemble a craft box so that we have something productive to do with our 95 degree afternoons.
3. Reread The Abolition of Man. (at husband's request so we can discuss it)
4. Finish unpacking closet.
5. Take a nap.

What are five snacks you enjoy?
1. raw unsalted almonds
2. pistachios
3. tortilla chips with refried black beans and cheddar cheese
4. Wheat Thins with peanut butter
5. Hummus with baby carrots
and, on a less healthy note:
6. Cheez-its (I know. Don't judge.)
7. Milk Duds (ditto)

What would you do if you were a millionaire?
I would buy a hammock. Which would necessitate a yard with numerous large, leafy trees.

Name some of the places you've called home.
Port Neches, Texas
College Station, Texas
Grapevine, Texas
Szigetszentmiklos, Hungary
Fort Worth, Texas
Houston

What are some of your bad habits?
I am lazy and messy. I procrastinate.

What are some jobs you've held?
high school English teacher
EFL teacher
substitute teacher
clerk in pediatric ER
teacher in a children's hospital (coolest teaching job EVER)

Whom are you tagging?
Robin--have you done this already?
And Mr. and Mrs. Bowser should do it when they return to England.
But only if you want to.

Look Daddy, a weak!

So on Friday morning I awoke at 6:45 and heard Hudson talking quietly on the monitor. He is sleeping much better these days, thankfully, but usually wakes up around 5:30 or 6, so 6:45 was a delightful new development. The husband (who incidentally has asked that I not use his name on the blog for reasons pertaining to something Very Mysterious that I Dare Not Mention) got up to go get him and after a couple of minutes whispered into the monitor that he needed a little backup. Even the overnight diaper was not enough to contain 12 hours of excretion and there had been a leak. As I was pulling off sheets, Harper woke up and the husband went to get her, perhaps thinking it would be an endeavor less excretory. Well, it turned out she had sprung a leak as well. So as he was getting her into some dry clothes she said, "Look Daddy, a weak!" and he said something like yes, you had a leak, Hudson had a leak, we're all very leaky this morning. Only that wasn't what she meant. She pointed to the ceiling and in one corner there was water. Seeping. He went into their bathroom for further investigation and the paint on the ceiling was bulging and dripping. At this point the husband kicks into Hazmat mode: "Assume it's toilet water!! No one in the bathroom!!No one in the bedroom!!" The maintenance team arrived fairly expediently considering it was 7 am and ascertained that the deluge had originated in the apartment two floors above ours and was, to our relief, bathtub and not toilet related. We've been at my parents' for a few days (yet again) so the sheet-rock, paint, and carpet could be fixed. We got back today and it looks pretty good and, more importantly, smells pretty good. It took Harper the better part of the trip there to understand that we had to leave the apartment because the ceiling was leaking and not, as she seemed to believe, because she had been leaking.

Yesterday at breakfast she said, "I want you to take Hudson for a long walk." Oh, that's somewhat charitable, I'm thinking. Then, "I want you to take Hudson for a long walk...and I want him to never come back." The last phrase was whispered. Which begs the question that if she knew she needed to whisper it, why did she think she could say it at all? Hudson loved being around my five year old niece Susannah. He lavished her with all of the affection he wishes he could bestow upon Harper. She is, thankfully, a much more gracious recipient.

Maybe I'm biased

But I think there's a fair amount of cute sitting on my sofa. Hudson's hair was particularly fluffy that day.
Yesterday while she was enjoying a book on the potty, Harper got contemplative for a moment and then this:

Harper: Why do all of the kids in this book have joyful hearts?
me: What do you think?
Harper: I think when I get to be a grown up, THEN I'll be nice to Hudson.
me: I wonder why it's so hard for you to be kind to Hudson right now.
Harper: I don't want him to come close to me because I don't want to SMELL him.

I refrained from pointing out the obvious irony in the timing of her proclamation.

blog malaise of summer

It's just too hot to write anything good. I realize it's only June. I realize I live in Houston. I realize the futility of complaining. But there it is. We watched "Charlie Wilson's War" a few nights ago and it got me thinking about some things. Not the actual events depicted in the movie, because I'm pretty immune to Aaron Sorkin and his agenda, though the guy is masterful with dialogue. I had read a few articles pointing out the overt creative license that had been taken. It's Shakespearean (see Henry IV and V) and biblical (see Abraham, David, Jonah, Paul..) to dramatize a man's ascent from depravity to nobility. But Sorkin seems to think it necessary-- he makes the depravity seem like an integral part of the greatness. Like if Charlie Wilson hadn't been so fond of cocaine and the company of disreputable women it wouldn't have been quite as impressive for him to be concerned about the Afghan rebels and their desperate attempts to fight off the Soviet army. So, that annoys me. Then the movie ends with Wilson, who had convinced our government to bankroll the war effort for upwards of $500 million, unable to get anyone in Congress to give him a measly million to help rebuild schools in the war torn country once the Soviets finally got out. It ANNOYS ME NO END when people romanticize Education (I capitalize it so you'll say it out loud in a dreamy voice) this way. So we're led to believe if we had JUST gotten those schools built the Taliban never would have taken root as they had and we'd all be visiting the World Trade Center this summer and Bin Laden would be teaching Business Ethics at the new NYU branch that's opening in Abu Dhabi next year. If only it were that simple. I don't honestly know how Americans can look at the (mostly) sad state of our education system and think that we have much of anything to offer there. On a less pessimistic note, the next night I caught most of a documentary about David McCullough, the historian behind John Adams and Truman and 1776. If you haven't read any of his books you just should because they will entertain you and make you smarter. It turns out, he is the opposite of Charlie Wilson. He writes and he paints and he studies and he loves his wife of 54 years and their five children. He writes his books on a typewriter in a little wooden shed sans computer and telephone. He writes about history and it is compelling and far better than anything Aaron Sorkin could write. Muck wallowing is not a prerequisite for greatness. That should be a high school debate topic: "RESOLVED. That muck wallowing is not a prerequisite for greatness. " I was on the debate team briefly my senior year. It was an extreme departure from my other activities of hair teasing and high kicks and decorating the locker of my football player, and was, not surprisingly, a dismal failure. It's depressing in so many ways that our topic was immigration. All that's new is old again.
Today Harper was doing something that Hudson thought was funny and he was giggling like crazy and she shouted, "STOP LAUGHING HUDSON! YOU MAY NOT SMILE HUDSON." He defied her and laughed even harder. I had a parallel Peanuts to show you but I don't know how to make it fit. It makes me want to go write in a shed with my typewriter.