a time to dance

After months of anticipation, including a countdown that started the day after her birthday, Harper finally had her first ballet class on Friday. It did not disappoint, though I think there was a little more "this is your right foot, so I'm going to put a sticker on your shoe" than, "THIS, my glorious ballerinas, is how to execute a perfect GRAND JETE!!" she had been expecting. The class is actually a ballet and tap combination, which means the girls get to change shoes in the middle of the class, which I think must be really fun for the teacher. Hudson did not like the situation at all. He kept asking if Harper was going to stay in that room forever, or if she would be coming home with us at some point. I explained to him that she would just be away from us for 45 minutes, which is, of course, the same as forever to a three year old boy. He kept his sunglasses on the whole time, even though we were inside, and at one point I asked him what was wrong and he said, "NUFFIN'" in a gruff voice that was almost crying but trying very hard not to. The reunion was very sweet and Harper was more than ready to tell him all about there being three other girls who were ALSO FIVE and two other girls who ALSO LIKE PINK. Hudson decided he is ready for Karate Class or maybe Army Man Class and probably Drumming Class. I told him maybe when he is five and he seemed okay with that.

Harper drew a little combination Father's Day card/First Day of Ballet picture. She sounded out the words and spelled them all by herself.
"HAPPEE FOthRRTS DAY"--which very much reminds me of:


So Owl wrote...and this is what he wrote:
HIPY PAPY BTHETHDTH THUTHDA BTHUTHDY
Pooh looked on admiringly.
"I'm just saying 'A Happy Birthday'," said Owl carelessly.
"It's a nice long one," said Pooh, very much impressed by it.

We like our Daddy, by the way. He wanted to go to a nearby Bass Pro Shop to look at guns and tents and knives and things. So, after church, we did.

sand, shorn, swim, sulfurous

Harper got a sandbox for her birthday, and when we can again step outside without the sensation that we might actually be walking on the sun, we will be doing lots more of this:

Hudson got his second haircut, and I fear this is the one from whence the curls will not return. He is upset in this picture not because of the haircut, but because the haircut necessitated the removal of his shirt, an act which inexplicably vexes him deeply.


We went to spend a few days with my dad while my mom took a little Hill Country respite with some friends. The walker was a source of great entertainment:

As were the pool and slip-n-slide in the backyard. Helena especially enjoyed herself:

Harper and Hudson say, "FIRST one there is a rotten egg!" when they are racing through the house to get somewhere. Like being a rotten egg is a very exalted state of being. It tickles me and I don't plan to correct them any time soon. We are going through a very silly phase here at our house. A silly, loud phase, where comedy is found in things that I (and any other adult, I would presume) find annoying. Margie posted a while back about her girls' ongoing and utter delight in the word "shipoopie"
We've had something quite similar around here. Harper and Hudson came up with a little story about a baby named Elmo who, to his great misfortune, had some poo on his foot. The story got a little louder and their paroxysms of delight a little more wild with each retelling, until my nerves just couldn't take it anymore. As glad as I was that they were having such fun with the art of narration, I finally had to ask them to stop being so loud and silly, and that I didn't want to hear the word "poo-poo" again unless someone other than baby Elmo actually needed to go to the toilet. So they started saying things like, "Baby Elmo has POPE on his TOE!" and "Now Baby Elmo has POP on his bottom!" Today Harper was experimenting with bizarre mouth noises and I finally said to her, "You know Harper, I am going to ask you to stop doing that for no other reason than I am finding it incredibly annoying."

train up a child in the way he should...NO!

On Mondays we stay home, generally. This morning I needed to wash all of the sheets and mop the kitchen floor. Usually I let the big kids watch something while I get the cleaning done. Today, however, I had to follow through with a consequence from the night before. They had been too loud in the bathtub, after a warning, and had lost their t.v. privileges for today. So. Also, Hudson was extremely sensitive because his Very Special Blanket had to be washed with the sheets, so the least little thing sent him into hysterics. Which of course Harper picked up on immediately, being the keen judge of human frailty that she is, and began exploiting at every turn. It was a fun morning. I'm working on teaching Hudson not to scream when he is disturbed or frustrated. We practiced. And practiced. And practiced again. He spent quite a bit of the morning trying to remember while sitting quietly (and once, not so quietly) in his room with his hands folded in his lap. So around 10, with the last load of sheets in the wash, I decided we would take a little outing to the post office to mail thank you cards, then a quick stop at Target for a few essentials. Thankfully, the post office stop did not require me to go in the post office, because that is a recipe for a foul mood. I just had to drive through and drop my letters in the slot. And then at Target, the most wonderful thing happened. People were delighted to see us! It was almost bizarre the positive attention we generated. An older couple babysitting their grandchild stopped us for a friendly chat, a very frail old man who appeared to be around 108 and who was puttering around on a little motorized cart stopped and wondered on which aisle he could buy his own set of three happy children, a young dad made a pleasant comment in the toy section and told us about his 10 month old son--it was incredible, I tell you. Every single person we encountered looked at us as though they were doting grandparents. Even the lady behind us in the check-out line, who used the oft-heard and oft-critical "Boy, you've got your hands full!" seemed to mean it in exceeding good will. I wondered as we drove home if they were taking pity on us in our ragamuffin meant to stay at home clothes, or if I looked especially haggard and in need of encouragement after our rough morning. Maybe. Or maybe we just looked happy, and it made people smile as they went about their shopping. I hope it was the latter.

This time of year in Texas, rain does nothing to cool things off. In fact, I believe it actually makes it feel hotter.

I tackled Harper's room this afternoon after she decided to rearrange some of her bins and I was horrified at the state of the carpet underneath them. Harper loves cr*p, and it bothers her NOT at ALL to have her room strewn with all sorts of papers and beads and rings and deflated balloons and buttons and sequins and small rubber snakes and the middle piece of a velcro-together carrot and unfinished crafts and shoes and dirty socks and bits of string and rocks and president flash cards and puzzle pieces and doll clothes and...you get the picture: CR*P. Only instead of using such a crass word in front of her, a year or so ago, I took to labeling the debris "tid-bits." And about once a quarter, the tid-bit infestation overwhelms me and I do a Tid-Bit Sweep and Toss. Which causes Harper to stand vigil at the trash can saying things like, "Oh, Mommy! Not that box! I was using that box (which housed little books that we receive when she was around 9 months old, I think) to store my tid-bits in!" Her room looks better now. We found and velcroed together all four pieces of the carrot. I even vacuumed.

Harper asked me a couple of weeks ago why I had stopped doing my 30-Day Shred workout dvd. I told her I didn't really have a good excuse and that she should start reminding me. So she has. Every single day. At the end of the day, when of course I have not done it, she'll say, in a voice that can only be described as pitying with just a dash of accusation, "Mommy, you didn't do your Shred today!" Children are the holy spirit, I tell you.

I've been keeping up pretty well with our books we've been enjoying lately over in the sidebar, but thought I'd highlight a few that we've really liked:

1. A House for Hermit Crab and Mr. Seahorse by Eric Carle. I love Carle's collage-y illustrations, and both these books have an engaging, well-told story as well. Harper and Hudson have both been really interested in sea creatures the past few months.

2. The Emperor's Egg by Martin Jenkins, ill. by Jane Chapman. A story about a Daddy emperor penguin, sweetly and humorously told.

3. Ivan the Terrier by Peter Catalanotto. Ivan is a mischievous dog who intrudes on fairy tales to the consternation of the characters and the narrator. The kids think it is HILARIOUS.

4. A Visitor for Bear by Bonny Becker, ill. by Kady MacDonald Denton. I love everything about this book--the watercolor illustrations are perfect, and the story, about a grumpy bear who thinks he doesn't like company, and the little mouse who refuses to leave, is comical and touching.

I think blogger is having some issues posting pictures today, so I won't even try.

Helena at 16 months

When I do these posts I realize that I need to be taking lots more pictures. Here is the little lady enjoying blueberries, which is one of her new favorite foods. She is a champion eater these days. She has yet to find a food she won't eat. Avocados, black beans, corn, carrots, broccoli, pasta, raspberries, strawberries, watermelon, cantaloupe, bananas--she eats and eats and signs for more. And yet I'm pretty sure she still weighs under 20 pounds. She has her father's metabolism, obviously. She did start nursing again after her little strike last month, though we're down to just three times a day. She is still an amazing sleeper--I put her down at 6:30pm and don't get her up until 8:30 am. I'm pretty sure she wakes up around 7:30 am, but she LOVES her crib and will play in there so quietly for a long time. I'm tempted to buy a video monitor just so I can spy on her and see what is so entertaining. She is taking one long nap--usually from 12-3pm. So yes, she sleeps 17 hours a day. And when she is awake she is busy busy busy. She has been experimenting with running and it is rather precarious business. She has lots of fun trotting around with Harper's pink birthday balloons clutched to her chest, which makes me inevitably think of Piglet on his way to Eyeore's birthday party.

When we are out and about most mornings, I am exceedingly thankful that she is perfectly content to sit in the stroller and watch the world. We went to the Museum of Fine Art this morning and she stayed in the stroller the whole time, just quietly looking around. As an aside, Harper and Hudson were intrigued with the Iranian art and especially the documentary footage of some Sufi mystics doing this dervish prayer dance. I really regret wandering into a temporary exhibit of an artist named Alice Neel who, according to her bio, is known for her "psychologically acute" portraits. No thank you, I say to this: Yes, please, I say to you, John Singer Sargent, with your lovely Mrs. Sears, decidedly not "psychologically acute" in her glowing white gown. You can call me provincial or prudish or even just ignorant, but I just don't like modern art. Nope. Blah. I mean I get that great art is Supposed To Make Me FEEL or whatever, but if the feeling is nausea mixed with mild disgust, that isn't useful, is it? Okay, I FEEL better.

Back to Helena. She is using her teeny tiny voice to make some words. I finally got "mama" out of her this week. Up until now, I would say, "Helena, can you say 'Mommy'?" and she would look at me, smile sweetly, and say "DA-dee." She says Harper ("Hah-poo"), Hudson ("seh-seh"), Sasha ("HI dee-dee!"), night-night, Grandfather ("deh DEH deh"), Grandmother (also "deh DEH deh"), balloon ("buh--oo"), thank you ("day-oo"), and Helena ("huh yah yah"). Speaking of Grandfather Pate, we visited him this weekend to make sure he is behaving himself after fracturing his pelvis two weeks ago. His lap, thankfully, is intact:
I watched the entirety of the Indianapolis 500 with him (we both napped somewhere around mile 285). The winner drinks milk, and I have no idea why.

cinco en mayo

Five years ago this very day, I got to meet this girl for the first time:



She had a crazy, fluffy head of hair and long, curly eyelashes. Still does. She was quite noisy. Still is. She did not care much for sleeping. That, thankfully has changed. As have many things this year, which I didn't realize until I went back and read last year's birthday post. She has not asked to be called Lightning in a while, and she hasn't played with any "Cars" characters in months. She has gotten so independent in her play this year. She will spend lots of time in her room dressing up her stuffed animals in doll clothes and generally anthropomorphizing them. She loves any toys that have millions of pieces, like puzzles and Playmobile sets and Polly Pocket and Legos. She also enjoys play-doh, painting, drawing, playing with Sasha, and yes, FINALLY, she truly has fun playing with her brother. Although we did have an amusing conversation yesterday during which she let me know that there might be a couple of ways that she could possibly still be Acting Four even after the Magical Birthday Transformation. Oh? I said, and in what ways might you still be four? She cut her eyes at me, rolled them a little and said, with a dramatic sigh, "Sharing."

Her favorite color is pink. She no longer listens to music as she falls asleep. She loves having her back scratched and her hair brushed (IF the brusher works slowly and scratches her back in the process). She is a little pickier, food-wise, this year. She still eats everything, but not with the relish and glee she used to. She leaves food on her plate for the first time in her life. Some favorite foods that are never left on her plate are cantaloupe, yogurt, Veggie Booty, blueberries, hummus, carrots, raspberry popscicles, and tofurky jerky.

She does not like to run ("I just don't like to feel so TIRED, Mommy.") but she choreographs rather elaborate ballets full of moves that are at times graceful, and at other times comically awkward (these are the times which she seems to think she is being incredibly, fantastically Balletic, which tickles me no end). She is starting actual ballet classes in a few weeks and I can't decide if she is going to love them, or if she is going to be devastated when she realizes that she is years (and thousands of dreary barre hours) away from the Sugar Plum Fairy.

We had a little celebratory gathering at the zoo with my brother and his family on Saturday:
then had another party at the zoo this morning where Harper had lots of fun splashing in the splash pad and eating cupcakes with some friends.




Just before bed last night, after a lengthy discussion about whether or not this morning would bring with it a growth spurt, she asked when we were going to decorate the house for her birthday. I had assumed that we would not, since the party wasn't going to be here. She clearly had not made this assumption. So I headed to Target and then came home and dusted off the sign painting skills I perfected in high school when I should have been doing my pre-cal homework or perhaps reading Animal Farm . And Harper, to her great delight, awoke to a rather tacky amount of pink crepe paper and pink balloons.

Harper is FIVE. I scarce can take it in.

he built him an arky arky

We went to a birthday party this afternoon at a splash pad modeled after Noah's Ark. The kids had a great time. Harper, upon arriving, spied a little girl with her exact swimsuit on and bellowed, "GIRL! WE HAVE ON THE SAME SWIMSUIT! LET'S BE FRIENDS!!" And they were.

Even Helena joined the fun, with a little help from Daddy.

I am always slightly annoyed when the story of Noah and his ark is passed off as a cute and cuddly Bible story. In the same way I got annoyed when Harper's coloring page from Sunday school a few weeks ago depicted Jesus and the guards who took him from Pilate. They were all cutesy and Precious Moment-y and the only indication that something horrible was going on was the slight furrow in the soldiers' eyebrows. I think I've written before about my general frustration in this arena. It seems to me that you should wait until the kids are older, then you tell it to them straight. And no, I'm sorry to say I don't know what age "older" is. I just can't imagine a kid finally hearing the details of what those guards did to Jesus and then trying to reconcile it with the Precious Moments coloring page. **Margie reminded me I first wrote about this here.

On a lighter note, is there anything cuter than a baby with her feet crossed?


And, to end, a couple of Hudson's funny pronunciations these days:

pj's: pweh-gees (as in "Daddy, I'm naytid! Can you help me get my pweh-gees on?")

piano: pway-an-oh (as in "I'm goin to drum and pway my pway-an-oh now.)

consequence: tahn-suh-twence (as in "I don't want a tahn-suh-twence. I am goin to obey now.)

If You Give a Mom Some Dirty Clothes...

She will take them to the washing machine. The mom will remember that there are folded clean clothes on top of the washing machine which means that she can't open it to put in the dirty clothes, so she will go to put them away. When she goes to put them away, she will realize that there is no room in the drawers because the winter clothes have not yet been put into their storage bins, even though it is 90 degrees today. The mom will then go to retrieve the storage bin for the winter clothes only to find that she can't reach it because of the pile of toys blocking the closet door. She will instead put the winter clothes in a trash bag in front of the pile of toys, and will go find the child to whom the mess of toys belongs in order to have the child tidy her mess. On her way, the mom will encounter another child who asks for a cup of water. The mother will head to the kitchen to get the water and will see that the kitchen sink is full of dishes that need to be put in the dishwasher. The mom will then open the dishwasher and find that it is full of clean dishes that need to be put up. So the mom will put up the dishes and reload the dishwasher. On her way to finally put the clothes in the washer, the mom will realize that the baby needs her diaper changed. As she is changing the diaper, the mom will look at her watch and realize that she needs to hurry and get the clothes in the washer so that she can hurry and get the clothes in the dryer because included in the dirty clothes are the Very Special Blanket and Very Special Puppy of the boy, who will need them both for his nap if she wants the world to continue spinning on its axis. The mom will then quickly, and not very neatly, stack the clean clothes in the drawers and load the washing machine with, among other things, Very Special Blanket and Very Special Puppy. The boy will wander up and will, with an expression of grave concern, stand vigil over the washing machine. The mother will then open the dryer to find that it is full of clean clothes. So she will fold them. And put them atop the washer. A few minutes later, the mom will realize, because the boy will tell her, with great relief in his voice, that the washer has finished. Alas, the mom will realize that there are folded clean clothes on top of the washing machine...

Does anyone else's life read like a Laura Numeroff book, or is it just me?