a rainy day in Houston

Helena has been very busy walking all over the place. She does this sort of sideways sidle, leftward leading thing, but she is getting pretty sure of herself. She has also started pointing her tiny little finger at things and, sometimes, making up tiny cute names for them that all sound something like "deh".

The Husband keeps making ominous pronouncements about the dog and her imminent exodus from our home. And yet she is still with us. The sign is still in the front yard. A trip to the vet revealed no microchip to identify her. The kids have not tired of her one little bit. She is an all around good dog. She is essentially an inside lap dog who is good-natured enough not to mind very much that we are keeping her outside. My only complaint is that in the jungle that is our back yard, her small piles of poo lie in wait for the kids' shoes. I've spent an inordinate amount of time trying to dig the stinkiness out of the one billion small crevices on the soles of Hudson's only shoes that actually fit him right now.

We generally stay home on Mondays. I thought I might document what we do when we stay home all day, because it is riveting:

7:30 am The big kids are awake and wandering around drinking their soy milk. I am having my coffee. The husband tends to the dog and leaves to go teach his 8 o'clock class.

7:35 am Hudson asks to "Watch sumfin" so I turn on "Jack's Big Music Show" for a few minutes while I get their breakfast ready. Harper is intrigued to find out that 'scat' is not just a word for animal poo, it is also a style of music.

7:50 We turn off the puppet scat session, Harper and Hudson sit down to eat, I go retrieve Helena, who has started her morning cricket chirps to let me know she is awake.

8 am Helena and I walk out to the trash to dispose of her morning diaper, which is always pungent. Then I feed her. I talk to Mrs. B on the phone for a few minutes.

8:15 am Time for more t.v. so I can go take a shower. It's "Toot and Puddle"--Toot is going to Mexico and I ask Harper what language they speak in Mexico. "Spanish," she answers. I also ask her what kind of butterfly Toot is going to see there. "Monarchs," she says breezily, thus convincing me that Noggin (or Nick Jr. or whatever they call themselves now) really IS preschool on t.v. Hudson decides he wants to get all of his Mountain Man Gear on.
Mountain Man for some reason feels pants are optional, but sunglasses are absolutely necessary.

8:30 am It pains me to do so, but I turn off the preschool on t.v. and ask the kids if they want to paint. They do. Preschool in my kitchen is much messier than preschool on t.v.
Helena sits in her highchair and has some breakfast while she watches the artists at work. Harper paints a cross and says she wants to give it to her Sunday school teachers. Then she completely covers her hands in red paint.

9:15 am Helena goes down for her morning nap.

9:20 am Both kids claim they are SO HUNGRY. I remind them they just finished breakfast an hour before, and that they can have a snack at 10. It has stopped raining so they decide to go outside to swing and play with the dog. I clean up the paint mess. I decide I need to mop the bathroom floors because they probably need to be mopped once a week. I have done it, I think, four times since we moved here. In July. I decide to wash the bathmats while I have them up.

10 am The kids wander in for their snack. I realize that the phone, internet, and t.v. are not working. I also realize that the back of the t.v. is so disgustingly dusty, I have a spasmodic sneezing episode just thinking about dusting it. The kids go back outside and after a few minutes, they knock on the door to tell me they don't know where the dog is. I go out to search and she is gone. We call and whistle--nothing. I open the back gate to go see if she is in the front yard and she is suddenly behind me, apparently having been hiding under the deck the whole time. She darts out the open gate and proceeds to wander around, ignoring my requests for her to Get Back In The Backyard NOW Sasha, for around 15 minutes. I have to walk halfway down the street (in pajama pants) to bring her back.

11 am Helena wakes up from her nap. Harper and Hudson come in and we read a couple of books. They really like this book "Kitten's First Full Moon" by Kevin Henkes that we got at the library last week. It has really simple charcoal illustrations and not much of a plot, but they have asked to read it every day. They think it's hilarious when Kitten tries to lick the moon and gets a firefly on his tongue. Henkes also wrote "Chrysanthemum" and "Owen" which we have also enjoyed.

12 pm Lunch.

12:30 Hudson goes down for his nap. Harper plays in her room. Helena and I play in there with her for a few minutes. I put the clean bathmats on the clean bathroom floors. I realize the bathtub is also really very disgusting and needs to be scrubbed. But not now.

1 pm Helena goes down for her afternoon nap. I eat my lunch. Harper goes back outside. I call the AT&T people and the lady tells me what to do to the modem. It still doesn't work. She is sending a guy to fix it.

1:30 pm This is usually when Harper and I work on reading, but she asks to go back outside and I let her so that I can have some Alone Time. I dust a little. And wish I had internet access. Then realize that if I HAD internet access, I probably wouldn't have dusted.

Okay, this is getting really boring. I'll sum up: wake up, play-doh, some puddle jumping, dog inside because of thunder, AT&T guy fixes everything, more puddle jumping, Harper tries giving the dog "consequences because he is nipping at my brother who I LOVE," I tell her dogs don't really get cause and effect, and that it is actually "whom I love," but commend her for her filial devotion, Daddy home, dinner, baths, a trip to Target for diapers...wow, this is scintillating. I took several pictures of the puddle jumping but I had the dog on her leash and I was holding Helena in the other arm so this is as good as it got:

comparative and superlative, part deux

**I started this in November and finished it today**

I was unpacking the fall and winter clothes a few weeks back (you know, for when the temperature ever drops below 80 degrees) and found a bag of Harper's shoes from when she was tiny. She greeted them like old friends and proceeded to attempt to stuff her feet into every pair, not believing me when I told her that her efforts would most certainly be in vain. She seemed genuinely hopeful, then genuinely disappointed when each and every pair refused to encompass her size 9 feet. Later that day she was wondering aloud about this growing bigger business and she mentioned how glad she was that she would always be bigger than Hudson. I told her that probably wouldn't be the case; that while she will always be older than Hudson (by the huge span of 20 months), he might at some point grow bigger than she, because that is what boys tend to do. She found this idea, as you can imagine, EXTREMELY vexing. She mentions it every couple of days, usually in the context of a meal during which she is intent on eating more than he does.

Have you ever seen the movie "Amadeus"? It portrays a (mostly fictionalized, apparently) rivalry between Mozart and another composer named Antonio Salieri, who, though a talented and well-known composer in his time, had the tragic realization that his music would never, no matter how he tried, rival the genius that was Mozart's. I've been thinking about the concept of fame. I taped the Oprah show on Friday because I had read that Stephenie Meyer was going to be on. She's a stay at home mom (of 3 young boys) and practicing Mormon who has written 4 books about teenage vampires that have sold something like sixty MILLION copies world-wide. I think that is fascinating. In the same way that I find the Harry Potter business fascinating. These books are NOT good literature. They aren't bad literature either. They are just well-told stories. And people enjoy well-told stories. (I don't mind-well stories, I just in general need a little something more to really love a book.) So, back to Salieri. Is it worse for a rival to gain fame when you think they really deserve it, or is it worse if you think you are really better than they are, but no one is realizing it? Salieri knew that Mozart's music was in its own galaxy. It still drove him mad, but mostly because he thought Mozart was an unworthy vessel for the sublime music he created. Which got me to thinking about the fact that I happened to go to A&M with a whole slew of guys who wrote and sang music. They all got a certain amount of recognition in the Christian world for their singing and song writing. They are all talented musicians and are, as far as I know, still making a living with music. Interestingly, the one that I would have least expected to has had huge commercial success--if you turn on the Christian radio station right now I will give you $10 if one of his songs doesn't come on in the next 30 minutes. I really will. So, is he the most talented? The luckiest? The savviest? The most well-connected? Is he the best at rocking the skinny jeans and unnecessary scarf? Maybe. But I think perhaps he just writes songs that lots of people like to sing. And the melodies are easy for worship leaders to learn to play on their guitars. Maybe it's game theory. I think the whole idea of destiny is intriguing (as do, apparently, the other bazillion people that watch "Lost" each week) and as I watched parts of the "American Idol" audition process (the only part I can stomach-remember?) over the last month or so, I found it interesting that there is a certain quantifiable aspect to an abstract idea like "talent". I caught the last 10 minutes of REM on "Austin City Limits" Saturday night. How can you quantify Michael Stipe? REM seems to think Providence blinks. I disagree. (by the way, it seems "Lost" is going to try to reconcile the whole free will/sovereignty tension and I can't wait to see how.)

Speaking of the sun (which I kind of was) the pup is outside on the deck having a fantastic time wrestling with her shadow. Yes, we still have her. No, we are NOT keeping her.

When you wish upon a star

Of all the door mats in all the towns in all the world, she walks onto ours. It seems all of the hopes and dreams of my children have come true, if only temporarily. On Tuesday morning, the husband opened the door to find a small, shivering DOG. It was 34 degrees out. The husband, it should be noted, for all of his Clean Tendencies, is an avowed Dog Lover. We're officially big dog people, but when a small brown chihuahua is shivering on your doorstep, you let the poor girl in. Your children will be beside themselves with glee, narrating her every move, including, after about 20 minutes, "She is poo-pooing---one, two, three, four, FIVE BIG poo-poo's, Mommy!!" at which point Mommy, who is in theory a dog lover too, will, in practice, decide that dealing with any more poo in a day will officially push her over the brink and into the madness, and will put the dog out into the now sunny backyard. And make a sign that reads, "DOG FOUND" and place it prominently in the front yard. The children, in the meantime, will be out it the backyard saying things like:

Harper: "Now I am your OWNER Sasha. I will take you for walks and people will have to ask my permission if they want to pet you." and

Hudson: "She's so tyoot! I yuv her! She's so tyoot! "I want to HOLD her! I yuv her!"

So, it's been two days and no one has called, though some neighbors have offered to give her a permanent home. An offer which, in spite of the fact that the husband has now purchased a new collar (she had a silver one with rhinestones but no tag. Because every sensible pet owner chooses rhinestones over identification), a pink leash, dog food, dog treats, a brush, and some chew toys, we WILL be taking them up on. I repeat: WE WILL BE GIVING HER TO THE NEIGHBORS.

Isn't it romantic?

I think Hudson is going to make a fine husband some day being positioned as he is between his two sisters. Helena seems to find him utterly without fault. She coos at him adoringly, giggles uproariously at the slightest show of attention, and will traverse the room just to be near him. Harper is, well, slightly less enthusiastic. She has gotten somewhat better, but even when she is trying very hard to be kind she says things like this little gem, which I overheard at the table night before last:

"Hudson, I need some SPACE. I do love you, but right now I need SPACE. I need this much space (she holds her arms out in front of her in a circle, as though explaining the rudiments of ballroom dance)."

and this, at breakfast:

"Hudson I am going to squish your toes. I'm going to squish them up and put them in the refrigerator. And have them for a snack. Tomorrow."

I've actually caught her squishing his toes really hard in the bathtub before. He was letting her do it, and not complaining, which I thought was interesting. I think he takes any attention from her that he can get. She finds his toes to be a source of consternation. She secretly finds them very cute, I suspect, and this is frustrating to her. She will on occasion, especially when he has his knees tucked under him and his little soles are peeking out from underneath, say something like, "Those toes ARE NOT cute! Those are NOT cute toes!" And to that I say, the lady doth protest too much.

of melodies pure and true

On the much-esteemed advice of Mrs. Rives, we have added a delightful cd entitled "You Are My Little Bird" by Elizabeth Mitchell to our music collection. It is what all children's music should aspire to--thoughtful, simple, playful lyrics and lovely, easy to sing melodies. I loved it from the very first listen, and the kids listened to it for the entire trip home from my parents' house yesterday (almost 2 hours) without a single request for another cd. Ms. Mitchell, I noted with interest as I read her biography on Amazon, was college roommates with Lisa Loeb at Brown. Which actually reminded me of another thought that has been bouncing around in my head ever since I caught up with my New Yorker reading with all my leisure time while the grandparents tended to the kids. And by "caught up with" I actually mean "got to read two entire articles" which is kind of a feat, because, and I think I've mentioned this, the articles are really very long. So I read articles about Arne Duncan, our Secretary of Education, and Sonia Sotomayor, our newest Supreme Court Justice. Our president likes to appoint people with a good back story, perhaps because his own is so compelling. Duncan and Sotomayor have very little in common except for the fact that they both thrived in urban settings as kids (though Duncan's "urban" was still white and wealthy) and went to Ivy League colleges. I think we, as a country, really like those stories. In recent history we seem to prefer our leaders with a little grit and then, a little Ivy on their resume. Which means that folks like Sarah Palin (University of Somewhere in Idaho) and Mike Huckabee (Oauchita Baptist University) for all of their "populist" appeal, have to prove they are smart even without Fancy Degrees. I wish I could believe that having lots of charisma and a good back story is going to help Duncan turn around our schools in any sort of meaningful way. If only it were so simple.

I am sorry to report that I have sustained a 30 Day Shred-related injury. I had read, in the past couple of months, a couple of different articles advocating barefoot running. Apparently, research based on the Kenyan marathoners that pretty much dominate the sport has shown that most running shoes cause our feet to adopt an unnatural heal-toe gait which can cause all sorts of injuries. So,using this newfound knowledge AND due to the fact that my running shoes were all the way in the other room, I decided to do The Shred in my bare feet. Only apparently it is somehow important that a Kenyan marathoner has a body mass akin to that of an average sparrow, which means that when their bare feet touch the ground it is like cotton balls springing atop cumulus clouds. My feet, it turns out, NEED some artificial, Nike-manufactured cushion when they are doing the jumping jacks and deep lunges. So I've been limping around, wincing at the acute pain radiating from my left Achilles tendon area.

Hudson is very intent on establishing himself as a Big Boy these days, and Harper is intent on reminding him that he is actually a Small Boy. Today I heard this as I was getting them out of the car:

Hudson: I a Big Boy!
Harper: Well, you are a Big Little Boy, though.
Hudson: Mommy! Hoppy say I NOT a Big Boy!
Harper: You are little! In fact you are so little you are a pebble! You are a pebble!
Hudson: (beginning to cry) Hoppy NO! I NOT a peddle. I a BIG BOY!

Little One

Helena Jane was born this day, one year ago. For the sake of posterity, I'm going to document a typical day in her life at one year:

7-7:30 am She wakes up and plays in her crib for 20-30 minutes. She lets me know she's ready to eat by making noises slightly louder than a cricket. When I go in to get her, she is grinning widely while jumping up and down holding on to the side of the crib. Every single morning.)
8:00 milk and breakfast (a jar of baby food--usually plums, bananas and rice)
8-9:00 play
9-10:00 morning nap
10-12 Usually we get out--the zoo, a park, or a museum.
12:15 lunch (usually 2 jars of baby food. Favorite combination is sweet potatoes and peas with brown rice)
12:30 milk and down for afternoon nap
3:00 wake up, milk, and play, usually in the backyard if the weather cooperates.
5:30 dinner (usually oatmeal mixed with apples and blueberries and then a jar of baby food vegetables)
6:00 bath, milk, and bed (I zip her into her fleece sleep sack, cuddle her while I sing the first verse of "How Deep the Father's Love For Us," and lay her in the crib. She pops her left index and middle finger into her mouth, rolls onto her side, and plays with the little embroidered daisy on her bumper pad. Every single night.)

I'm not sure how much she weighs--between 16-17 pounds. She is still nursing 4 times a day and I haven't really tried any food other than baby food. Though she has been gnawing on big chunks of apple this week.Her eyes are big and bluish-grey, her hair is light brown and wavy. She got her first tooth, the upper left, a week or so ago. She can stand by herself and has taken a couple of tentative steps. She can say "Dah-Dah" for Daddy and "deh" for toe. She isn't much of a babbler, though I find the noises she does make to be extremely cute and quiet and dainty. She sighs fairly often--of contentment, I hope. She is an accomplished player of Peek-a-boo. She is still somewhat happy to play by herself in her little play yard, but I've been letting her have a little more
freedom to roam about the house, and she finds this intoxicating. She especially seems to love Harper's room, though she smacked herself in the head with one of the baby dolls yesterday and cried with pain, thus ensuring, I am afraid, that yet another of my children will have nothing to do with the poor neglected dolls. Her favorite toys tend to be small (read: choking hazard) things that she can clench in her fist while she crawls around. She also finds her toes an incredible source of ready amusement.

So our lives are richer and sweeter with you here, my dear one. We love you so.

Shredded

Since I haven't exercised in approximately 5 years (other than walking, which I have done less and less with each kid), and since I realized that I get winded doing things like walking from the washing machine to the bedroom (and sadly, no, there are no stairs), I decided to do something about it. I don't really like going to the gym. I am utterly unwilling to get up early enough to go walk or jog in the neighborhood before the kids wake up, as well as utterly unwilling to buy a stroller big enough to contain all of them. So, I decided to buy a DVD that I can do during naps or after everyone is in bed. I got one called "Jillian Michaels' 30 Day Shred". I've never really watched that show "The Biggest Loser," but Jillian Michaels is one of the trainers who helps people become Big Losers. And on the cover of the DVD she looks like she could walk from my washing machine to my bedroom approximately 8.4 million times, while carrying my washing machine AND every member of my family on her back, without getting winded. Since yesterday was February 1, which is practically the same as January 1, I resolved to begin. Each workout is only 20 minutes and I started with the easiest one. Harper joined in for most of it, slightly perturbed that I didn't have any hand weights she could use. It's a pretty basic workout and I felt pretty good when I was doing it. Though Hudson woke up from his nap when I still had 5 minutes to go, and he found my performance during the last round of abdominal exercises disturbing enough that he came over, furrowed his brow, and gently laid his head on my stomach, in need of some reassurance that I wasn't in the death throes.

Another thing I felt tremendous about yesterday is that we stayed home all day AND it was raining so we were stuck inside BUT I still got all of the sheets washed PLUS two other loads of laundry AND, aside from approximately 35 minutes of a Blue's Clues DVD (while I took a shower) the kids didn't watch any other television THE ENTIRE DAY. This is huge for me because I have gotten really bad about giving in to 30 minutes here and there all day long, with the excuse that I need some quiet or I need to get something done. After a fair amount of whining and complaining (including Harper saying to me, "When I am a mommy, I am going to let my children watch "WALL-E" every day if they want to") they actually played really well. Loudly, but well. So it was a good way to start off the week.

Then I woke up this morning and my muscles, well, they do feel shredded. Like at the mitochondrial level. So maybe the 30 Day Shred is going to be more of a 60 Day Shred so I can have a day of rest between beatings.