the cone of uncertainty

Would make a great title for a short story. I think it would be about ice cream. For those of you who don't live in Houston, it's what they were calling the trajectory Ike might or might not take in the days leading up to his (its?) ultimate land-fall. After deciding that we would "hunker down," (yet another humorous catch-phrase the local media just couldn't get enough of), we changed our (I'll confess that the husband was, as usual, more clear headed than I. He was SO right. ) minds Friday morning and headed for my mother-in-law's in Dallas. We realized that the roads were traffic-free this time around (it took us, I think, 9 hours to get here during the Rita evacuation) AND that living without electricity for even a couple of days just wouldn't be fun. So, we're thankful to be safe. We're thankful not to be eating canned goods warmed up on a camp stove.We're hearing worst case scenarios that it might be FOUR WEEKS before Houston gets power back, at which point the salmon I left in my freezer will certainly be holding all of West Houston hostage.

We just went to Galveston for the day last Saturday. The weather was glorious and cool. Harper was brave this time and went out really far in the water with Daddy. She got her first sunburn because I wasn't vigilant enough with the sunblock reapplication. Hudson and I sat under an umbrella and played in the sand. He preferred, again, to keep his distance from the water, though he just whimpered instead of crying this time when I tried to get him to go closer. We have watched the news footage in amazement, saying to each other, "But we were just there.." as if that somehow negates the possibility of such destruction. In case any of us had forgotten what omnipotence looks like, it seems that the ocean surging over our sadly insufficient boundaries might be a good place to start.

three is the new two

A year or so ago I got a couple of free issues of a magazine called Cookie. It's a mommy magazine for mommies who shop at Bergdorf Goodman and whose Big Conflicts center around things like whether or not to have a nanny or a "manny" for their young sons. I found it pretty entertaining. One article I specifically remember chronicled a trend among the young and affluent to have at least three kids because it was a symbol of financial bounty. It mainly detailed the phenomenon in large metropolitan areas where, apparently, kids are SOO expensive because of all the private schools and nannies and the needing of extra space in one's upper East side apartment. It's interesting to me that while several of my friends have two kids with no plans for more, the majority of my circle, both childhood friends and newer acquisitions, have at least three, or four, or five. We tend to shop at Target instead of Barney's. Most of us don't have nannies. Or mannies. And while we're all somewhere along the middle class spectrum, I don't think any of us sees the kids we have (or will have) beyond two as any sort of hallmark of financial success. Growing up, my parents had a fairly large group of friends, all of whom, with one exception, had two kids. The only big families I can remember at school were Mormon. Even the Catholic families had three at the most. I think my parents and their friends find our choices somewhat puzzling, even irresponsible maybe. It was instructive for me, a few months back, to read a fascinating discussion/debate about this issue (from a decidedly Christian perspective) over at Amy's Humble Musings. I honestly had never really formed strong opinions about how many kids I wanted to have. And we still haven't. I think getting married somewhat late (I was 33) made me apprehensive to make broad proclamations about something that is clearly outside of my control. I had seen so many friends struggle with infertility that pregnancy seemed veiled in this longing with no guarantee of it ever actually happening. I have, as it turns out, been pregnant and/or nursing for all but the first three months of marriage. And pregnancy IS always somewhat miraculous. And it has been amazing. And unexpected. And tiring. And my poor husband has at times been neglected because he (usually) doesn't cry when he is not fed on time and he is really good at dressing himself. But I know neither of us would do it differently. Clearly at some point in the near future, I will be at the end of biologic child bearing. But then there is the fact that every time I read or hear about friends (or strangers, for that matter) who have adopted, I weep with the beautiful metaphorical God-ness of it, and something in me wants to be a part of that deeply as well. So. There you have it. For those who have asked, or simply wondered, what our plans are. I wish Harper were old enough to read this. When we talk about the new baby she has repeatedly responded, always in a slow, deliberate way because we are clearly missing it, "But we already HAVE a baby."

I think I needed to write this today because I had a day fraught with regret and self-doubt yesterday. I let Hudson fall off of a tall bridge at the playground and he was terrified and had dirt and pine needles in his eyes and his nose and his mouth and his face is all scraped up. He is, thankfully and rather miraculously, intact. He'd gone across it probably five times without incident and even though I was right there, he managed to trip and fall just out of my reach. Now there's a metaphor for you. It is, I imagine, some semblance of what Sarah Palin and her husband are feeling these days. Only I get slightly less media coverage.Here he is at two weeks. Much easier to keep him safe then.

Invasion of privacy

Harper: Where are you going, Mommy?

me: To the bathroom, Harper.

Harper: Poo-poo or tee-tee?

the shirt still fits

July 2006:

And today:

Party of five.
January 31, 2009.

The Big Sister has stated, for the record, that she would prefer a baby PUPPY this time around.

party in back

I wish I could take better pictures. But can you see what's going on here?

Excepting the two dread locks we've had to snip off this month, the bird dog has never had a haircut. We figure if it starts to bother him we'll do something about it, but the front is surprisingly well-behaved.

It makes me sad that I can't take better pictures. Have you seen Robin's blog? And Margie's? And Hilary's? And Chrys'? And Bethany's? And Ari's (people PAY her to take pictures!) They are all over there in my favorites. It's inspiring I tell you. Artistry.

I decided to stop reading One Hundred Years of Solitude after 200 pages. I rarely don't finish a book but it was oppressive and strange and I was having to force myself, which really defeats the purpose of recreational reading. I was validated when the other couple of girls who were reading it with me had made the same decision. Time is short, art is long. That's Longfellow I think. I picked up The Bell Jar last week and read it again. It's depressing, which, you know, isn't particularly surprising considering that even though it's supposed to be fiction, it is an almost totally autobiographical account of Sylvia Plath's suicidal descent. I think it's cheating to call a book fiction when all you do is change everyone's name and have a few composite characters. To her credit, she did originally publish it under a pseudonym to protect all involved. Then after she died it was republished under her real name. It always feels a little invasive to read books that are published after the author dies. John Kennedy Toole's mom found the manuscript of Confederacy of Dunces in his desk after he killed himself (writing is a happy, happy profession) and, though she had no real understanding of its merits, had the sense to send it to someone who did. Walker Percy, if I remember correctly. Anyway, now I am soothing myself with some Jane Austen. I wish there were more than six. Though I never seem to get tired of rereading them.

Well, it was Tuesday so I felt I really should post. That should be enough.

Glory days

We let Harper stay up a little past her bedtime to watch gymnastics a couple of nights ago. She has been talking about it for weeks so I found her response a little underwhelming actually. She watched the first floor exercise intently and, about halfway through it said, "They don't do gymnastics like I do gymnastics." I think what she meant is that most of "her" gymnastics is fairly limited to the ground, while theirs is mostly airborne. She went on, with a nonchalant air: "I used to do it like that, a long time ago." The husband and I barely contained our glee. "When did you do it like that, Harper?" he queried. She took a nice long pause, clearly searching the time-space continuum for that exact moment when she had actually been able to do a full twisting double back somersault into a punch front. "I did it like that," she finally explained patiently, "before Hudson was very tiny." Ohhh, way back then. She lost interest after about 15 minutes, which meant that I had to miss an entire rotation while I read her bedtime stories. I am TOTALLY LOVING the Olympics. Staying up way too late, weeping during national anthems (not just ours either--though I found Japan's rather uninspiring), pumping my fist all by myself (I mean SERIOUSLY did anyone see the ending of the 400 m freestyle relay?? Come ON. Lezak was SUPER human). I think I have mentioned before the rather ambivalent feelings I have toward Sport in general, but I am a sucker for this stuff.

The husband and I got to have a date Friday night so we missed the opening ceremony. I didn't care very much. We went to see "The Dark Knight." It was intense. It should really be titled "The REALLY, REALLY Dark Knight." I closed my eyes quite a bit because even the stylized violence was too much for me. But I thought it was a really well done movie. All of the press about Heath Ledger's performance is merited--he really is so bizarre and fascinating to watch.

So I saw a bumper sticker on Friday that made me think about the presidential election. It read:

CATS NOT KIDS

Now, here's the thing. Why is this lady not just okay with liking her cats? Why does she need to proclaim (and it really is a proclamation when you put it on your car) that not only does she choose to have cats, but she chooses to disparage having kids. I mean if you love something or someone, by all means extol its virtues, but why does something else have to be put down in the process? SO. This illustrates why I loathe negative campaigns. Why can't we just want to vote FOR someone because they have the positive attributes (or at least some of them) that we're looking for, instead of voting AGAINST someone who frightens us? Three long months until election day and I'm tired already.

Mr. Bean

I heard Hudson using his higher than normal pitched voice in the kitchen. He only uses this special voice when there are animals or insects to converse with so I was a little leery at what I might find. He was squatting down having a very animated discussion with an errant coffee bean that had fallen under the counter. He mistook it, I suppose, for a little bug friend. (The coffee bean, incidentally, came from Nicaragua, where our church has developed a relationship with some coffee farmers from whom they buy the beans directly. Fair trade at its most basic.) Here is the boy with Harper's new frog (with which, most surprisingly, she has been incredibly generous) wearing his new frog pj's:
In other Animal Related News, we had, when we first moved into the new place, a veritable tribe of rolly-pollies (sp?) roaming around. Most of them have moved out but there's one unfortunate little fellow, long dead, who has been laying on his back for several weeks right at the baseboard behind the rocking chair in Hudson's room. I don't know why I didn't dispose of him when I first noticed. The same reason I still haven't unpacked 75% of my closet, I suppose. Anyway, Harper discovered Dead Rolly Polly, only she refuses to believe that he is, in fact, dead. She has thought of all sorts of amusements and enticements to raise him from his eternal repose. She tries to persuade him to hop on the rocking horse for a wild ride. She leaves cars and books nearby. It's very sweet and more than a little sad.

Is anyone else a little creeped out by the enormous, tumor-like mass of seeds inside of bell peppers? We like bell peppers around here (red, orange, and yellow only--the green ones only the husband enjoys) but every time I cut one open I am a little frightened. What if the Bible verse said "faith like a bell pepper seed mass" instead of mustard seed? We'd all be in trouble.

I was an inveterate speeder most of my life. I was an appallingly bad driver in high school (passed the driving test on the THIRD try) but did not let that stop me from whizzing around at excessive speeds in my V-8 Camaro (I know, it's like a John Hughes movie). Then in college I got approximately 27 speeding tickets a year because for some reason it seemed terribly important to cut 15 minutes off of my drive time from Port Neches to College Station. I got a little better when I had to start paying for my own tickets and defensive driving, but I still sped, mostly because I was always running late to something. This changed when I had kids. Now I usually drive a little under the posted speed limit and, since I read in a Wall Street Journal article that I could save anywhere from 24 to 84 cents per gallon, I don't drive over 60 on the highway. This, it turns out, makes some other drivers Extremely Frustrated. I stay in the far right lane (feeling smug that instead of complaining about High Gas Prices!! I am actually doing something to alleviate part of the problem) and they fly past shaking their heads and their fists.

Latest cable indulgence: Jon and Kate Plus 8. This couple had twins then sextuplets, then they invited a camera crew to film their days. It's highly entertaining. Especially considering that tonight's network offerings included Wipeout!, Celebrity Family Feud, and I Survived a Japanese Game Show. Seriously? What poor sap had to call the advertisers on those gems?