Week in review

I'm going to start trying to do a little something every Friday that sums up our week. Mostly to give me some sort of record to remember how we are filling these days in this stage.

Monday and/or Tuesday: We stayed home, cleaned, did some school work, and went to Target to buy toilet paper. The swimming pools were all 75% so we spent $5 on this lion one, which Harper and Hudson christened the "Aslan pool," though I am at least 75% certain this is nothing like C.S. Lewis imagined him:
Complain as we do about The Heat in Houston, getting to swim in late September is a nifty trick. My one big regret of this summer (which officially ended today) is that we swam so rarely. I think we only swam in an actual pool four times, not counting our two weeks of swimming lessons at the beginning of summer. I hope to figure out a way to make that different next summer.

Wednesday: We went to the zoo with the Swanks with whom we spend our every Wednesday. It was delightful. We spent some time with the primates and there was an adorable new baby siamang named Leela who showed off her already impressive rope swinging skills. I've always loved monkeys. I harbored a fervent (and, until now, secret) desire to own a chimpanzee when I was around 10. I wanted to dress it up in cute baby clothes and give it bottles. So, yes, that story about the crazy chimpanzee and that poor lady and her face traumatized me more than it probably did the average citizen. My chimp would NEVER have done that.

Thursday: We stayed home because when I went in to get Helena in the morning, she had thrown up all over everything. It's funny that ever since I wrote that one post about how we never get sick, we've pretty much gone from one sickness to another. Anyway, it was, blessedly, just the one episode, and no one else seems to have succumbed. After the kids were in bed, I went across town for a kids' consignment sale. I didn't buy anything. I found a couple of things I thought were okay, but when it comes to buying used clothes, I should love it if I'm going to pay $10. Plus, the line was really long. So, I bought nothing.(And, by the way, I have a little advice for the mother of Sarah Grace and Caroline: IF you want to actually SELL your daughters' very lovely dresses at a consignment sale, you might CONSIDER in the future NOT monogramming and/or embroidering their names on the front of EVERY SINGLE THING THEY WEAR.)

Today, we had our homeschool group, and the Grandparents Pate came to stay with Helena. I also took advantage of the afternoon freedom to go do a little shopping. I bought a pair of pants at Anthropologie and you will not believe this. Original price: $235 (yes. Two HUNDRED and THIRTY FIVE America dollars). Price I paid: $9.99. First of all, let me just say that when you see these pants, they look like something you might find at Target for about $30. So I have NO idea why they were ever $235, unless the zipper is solid 24 karat gold. Maybe it is! In which case I will take them to my local numismatics dealer and sell them for profit. In the meantime, I will wear them and feel pleased with myself.

Some favorite books this month

1. Come On, Rain! by Karen Hesse, pictures by John J. Muth

Beautiful, interesting watercolor illustrations in this sweet story of a little girl and her friends (and their mothers) as they exult in a rainstorm after a drought. Maybe it even has magical powers, because the day after we first read it, it rained here. Hm. That just reminded me that the day it rained, I was going to take the dog for a quick walk right after dinner and I was planning to sneak out because I didn't really want everyone coming, but then Helena noticed and asked to go, then Hudson noticed and asked to go, then of course Harper wanted to go, so we all went. Then we got to the end of the driveway and I noticed that 2 of the 3 kids weren't wearing pants (Harper was, and Hudson was wearing these boxer brief underpants that almost look like shorts so I decided to let it go), and 2 out of the 3 were also wearing their rain boots which have been gathering dust under the wagon these many rainless months. So, there was puddle splashing. Then Helena started crying about halfway around the block for reasons I could not comprehend. So we rounded the block with her crying the whole way. And if any of the neighbors looked out at me and my crying, pantsless children, they likely sighed deeply to themselves. Oh! And the dog pooped on the wet grass and I said to her, "Now that wasn't so bad now, was it??" in a super condescending tone. The end. Now, WHY is no one paying ME to write touching childen's literature?

2. The Alfie and Annie Rose series by Shirley Hughes.

The kids and I both love these sweet stories, adorably illustrated, about a boy and his little sister. The Big Alfie Out of Doors Storybook is our favorite so far.

3. The Tub People by Pam Conrad, illustrations by Richard Egielski

This is a simple story about little wooden tub toys. I think I love it so much because it is so spare in style, but still manages to include all the elements of a great story. The little tub child gets accidentally washed down the drain (conflict) and:
"Every evening the Tub People continued to float in the bathwater. But in time they stopped calling.
And they never winked at each other any more." (exquisite "show don't tell")

That slays me. They do (with the help of a plumber) get their boy back, and are subsequently moved to the bedroom window sill, where they continue to have (drain-free) adventures (resolution)in which, it is presumed, they once again wink at each other. I just realized that this book is like a non-Pixar/Disney, non-hyped, non-merchandised, non-animated, free of flatulence and/or poop allusions, much more subtly brilliant pre-Toy Story "Toy Story."

4. Bubba and Trixie by Lisa Campbell Ernst

Bubba is a pusillanimous caterpillar and Trixie is the optimistic, intrepid ladybug who convinces him that the wider world (or, in this case, garden) is meant to be explored. Bubba also feels that his inevitable metamorphosis should be avoided at all costs (I recognize myself in his reluctance to believe that change could EVER be good) but Trixie, again, helps him to see the bright side. I use my best Southeast Texas accent for the voice of Bubba, as should you.

5. The Little Rabbit by Judy and Phoebe Dunn.

I loved this whole series when I was a little girl. They are all sweet, simple stories, illustrated with lovely photographs, of children raising baby animals. It's also fun to see the kids' 70's era clothes and haircuts.

That's it for now. You know how when you steam broccoli, it makes the whole house smell unpleasant? Well, just now while I was monitoring a certain little lady in her potty pursuits, I was also steaming some broccoli for dinner, and, unbeknownst to me, all of the water steamed out of the bottom of the pot, and it scalded into something black and inexplicable FOUL. I suspect if you took a deep sniff right now, you'd probably smell it. Even if you live several states away. I can't wait for the husband to get home because he always wrinkles up his nose when we've had (usually not burned) broccoli, so I can just imagine what his reaction is going to be.

Which reminds me that I need to blog about our zoo trip last week during which we got to experience the once-every-eight-YEARS event that was the blooming of Pewtunia, the corpse flower. I'm pretty sure that my scorched broccoli smells worse.

The moments in between

Since I generally refuse to read Christian zeitgeisty books until a year or so after everyone else reads them, (obnoxious but true) I just picked up Ann Voskamp's A Thousand Gifts at the library a couple of weeks ago. Her blog is an inspiration, (although, if I'm honest, pretty intimidating) though I don't read it often. The book is, as I expected, positively drenched in metaphors, all of them elegantly and eloquently directing us to the majesty of the Creator. These are my two favorite quotes thus far, because they echo things that keep me up at night, pondering problems too deep to be satisfied with churchified answers:

If I am numbering gift moments to one thousand and now beyond--what moments in my life count as blessings? If I name this moment as a gift, grace, what IS the next moment? Curse? How do you know how to sift through a day, a life, and rightly read the graces, rightly ascertain the curses? (85)

and:

The world I live in is loud and blurring and toilets plug and I get speeding tickets and the dog gets sick all over the back step and I forget everything and these six kids lean hard into me all day to teach and raise and lead and I fail hard and there are real souls that are at stake and how long do I really have to figure out how to live full of grace, full of joy--before these six beautiful children fly the coop and my mothering days fold up quiet? How do you open the eyes to see how to take the daily, domestic, workday vortex and invert it into the dome of an everyday cathedral? (120-121)

I've felt for a long time that we Christians have the idea of "blessing" all messed up, and that we don't really get God's definition of Good. Need evidence? See: just about every person God calls blessed in the Bible has a life significantly marked by significant suffering.

So, a photo to lighten the mood:
This is where I talk about how excited we are about Aggie football! Or not, because, though I used to have a rather encyclopedic interest in college football, I stopped caring circa 1993. And the husband cares even less than I do. But Helena is excited about helmets!

Back to Voskampian thinking, I was grumbling about having to take the dog out into the back yard this morning after her precious twinkle toes discerned that it had rained most of the night (RAINED!!YES, it RAINED!!) and that means the Princess Dog of Delicate Sensibilities refuses to take care of her business all by herself. I was also feeling grumbly about the prospect of making today the big day of staying home and convincing Helena that the potty is far superior to the diaper. Then I looked up and saw a hummingbird trying to find nectar in one of our drought-starved, mostly dead oak trees. He was blurry and tiny and tenacious, flitting from one brown crumpled leaf to another.

The good news is that Helena wore Big Girl Underpants and stayed dry all day. Also, Harper and Hudson were super encouraging and excited (and LOUD) when she was successful--mostly because I told them they could have one of the little fruit gummy treats I was giving her. I decided to reward her for staying dry and not just for going to the potty, which she took very seriously. The not so great news is that she saved just about everything for the diaper I put on for her nap. I'm not one of those moms who trains in one fell swoop, mostly because I NEED Helena to continue to nap for 2-3 hours a day, and sleep for 12-14 hours at night, and I've heard many a tale of naps abruptly stopping with potty training. I'm pretty sure she is planning on saving most of her business for her night diaper and her nap diaper. We'll just deal with that at some future point. Perhaps with the next hummingbird sighting.

Meanwhile, I'll be looking towards the dome of this everyday cathedral. And also leaving dirty dishes in the sink until 11:04 pm. I should probably take care of those now.

The exact moment Hudson decided he did not ever want to be the President.

I was checking email yesterday and Hudson wandered over and asked, "What powers did George Washington have? Were they SUPER powers?" and it took me a minute but I finally realized he had been paying attention after all when we were listening to our memory work cd in the car. The history sentence that we will be memorizing next week is:
"In 1789, in New York, George Washington was granted the full POWERS and responsibilities of the presidency by the U.S. Constitution."
I had to tell him (while giggling) that, sadly, the Constitution did not grant SUPER powers, and then (after looking it up) I had to share the depressing news that, short of his role as Commander-in-Chief of the military (this was exciting), his other powers essentially involve things like appointments and treaties and pardons. In other words, things that don't allow him to ignite and extinguish flames out of his fingertips or fly or pick up a freight engine with his pinky. After dealing with that considerable disappointment, his next question was whether or not the president gets to have a gun and a knife. I told him I didn't really know if the President himself carried a gun (I'm picturing Harrison Ford in "Air Force One"--it seems like he had to knock a bad guy out and steal his gun. So, my knowledge is clearly very scientifically obtained. If Rick Perry becomes president, he will definitely have a gun because of all the coyotes.) but that he had an entire group of men who protect him and they all have lots of guns and knives. So now Hudson thinks it is much cooler to be a Secret Service Agent than it is to be the President. So then we went to the Galleria with the Daddy this morning to get a watch battery and we played for a little while at the playscape (or, as the husband sees it, The Very Place to Readily Obtain Communicable Diseases)which is a kid-sized squishy rendition of the Galleria and its environs. There was this kid about Hudson's age and he was wearing a shirt that had "Future President of the United States" embroidered on it, and at one point I noticed he was standing on the roof of Neiman Marcus looking puzzled and a little sleepy while Hudson and this other kid were darting around, holding their fingers like guns and shooting at invisible bad guys. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Rolling as a mighty ocean in its fullness over me

I had never heard of the hymn "O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus" until I heard a bunch of my Russian students singing it acapella soon after I started teaching in Hungary long ago. It is my favorite, and will be forevermore. Let's just say that you haven't really heard a hymn sung in a minor chord until you've heard a bunch of Russians (there might have been a Romanian and a Ukrainian in there too) singing it with their beautiful harmonies. Then you find out their stories and it makes it so much more achingly lovely you might just weep every single time you hear it again for the rest of your life.

Anyway, we went on a little vacation to the beach this week. We stayed at this perfect house:
in a little town called Surfside, south of Galveston.

We were with these friends, who so generously included us in their vacation:

The kids skittered and flitted about like sandpipers. There was digging, splashing, boogie-boarding, and general delight:

The whole time was pretty much perfection, but if I had to pick, I'd say my favorite moment was going out into the water by myself and standing about waist-deep (which I've probably not done since I was a kid, because the waters of the Gulf coast are generally a touch murky) and letting the waves pound into me--almost knocking the breath out of me numerous times--while I watched my husband and kids and dear friends and their kids all busy in their own happy pursuits. It made me feel loved with the kind of love that is vast, unmeasured, boundless, free. Yes, it did.

Hard to fathom, but true.

Thankful. Deeply, deeply thankful.

To eat a plum, or hum, or beat a drum

Would you like a back view of that hair?
We get lots of comments about the curly hair.

She has started doing this thing where she kind of stands close to Harper or Hudson and swings her arm around until she "accidentally" hits them with it, then, when they protest, she starts singing "Shoo Fly! Don't Bother Me!" as though it was all just a big misunderstanding and she was really just shooing a fly.

Also, she has recently begun to be very interested and empathetic when someone has sustained an injury or is crying for any reason. The first thing she does is say, "I get a tiss-oo!" and she runs and gets a tissue, then she is rather forceful about the injured party accepting the tissue, which doesn't always go well. Then she wants to do a rather thorough examination of the injury, actual or psychological. This generally does NOT go very well at all. In fact, it pretty much defines "add insult to injury."

Hudson hums all the time while he's playing. Today it was "Ode to Joy." My brother did the same thing as a kid. Are things like that genetic, I wonder? I think Hudson is the most musical of the three. If there is music playing, he usually stops what he's doing and he'll go and sit in front of the cd player and listen intently, sometimes with his blanket and thumb, like a very cute combination of Linus and Schroeder. He's also the only one who likes to listen to music at bedtime. He listens to the same cd every single night, and has for at least 2 years. In fact, I bought our third copy of it yesterday because the other two had gotten so scratched. It's a Baby Einstein cd called "Lullaby Classics" that my friend Tara gave me when he was born, and it's got Brahms and Bach and Mozart and Pachelbel and Beethoven and Vivaldi and Dvorak and Schumann. Perhaps someday he can make a lullaby cd of his very own with just drums. I imagine it would be very soothing.

Harper perfected a forward roll during her summer gymnastics class. She was really hoping for a cartwheel, but Miss Kim was strangely reluctant to teach them. It was just Harper and her friend Toby for most of the classes. They also hula-hooped quite a bit. She is beginning to be slightly annoyed with all of the memorizing we are doing for school, but she is getting it done all the same. Today she got a little show-boaty with her Latin pronouns (after I dared suggest she might not have them quite memorized yet), so we may have to have a talk about humility.

I watched the GOP presidential hopefuls debate last night after everyone was in bed. I was reminded that a few weeks ago, I looked up the lyrics to "God Save the Queen" (what? is that weird?) because I was thinking about that scene in "Chariots of Fire" where it's super confusing because Abrahams (or maybe Liddell) won the race but then "My Country 'Tis of Thee" starts playing. Then I realized that "My Country 'Tis of Thee" actually stole the melody from "God Save the Queen" (which, frankly, seems pretty un-American). Anyway, in verse two I giggled at this:

Scatter her enemies,
and make them fall.
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks

Not that we are enemies anymore or anything, but WELL DONE ENGLAND. I am decidedly confounded by our politics and knavish tricks. I actually liked Rick Santorum pretty well, but he'll never win. And, I pretty much just like him because he has 7 kids and does not seem as slick as the others, which, of course, has very little to do with whether or not he'll make an effective president. I didn't mind Ron Paul or Herman Cain either. They are both just sort of Crazy in the Eyes. Not that that is a bad thing. It just makes actual winning rather untenable. Or maybe not. That will be all of my political commentary until December of 2012, so be not dismayed.

In the hammock with Pooh

Occasionally, Harper finds herself not completely opposed to being photographed. Today, for example:



I had that same gap between my front teeth when I was little. She has still not had any hint of loose teeth, but then her baby teeth were pretty late arriving, so I suppose it makes sense that they'd be late in leaving as well.

We finished Winnie-the-Pooh in the hammock today. She read the first two pages of each chapter and I'd finish us off. The hammock had been slouching in the corner for most of the summer, but today we had high temperatures in the low 90's, which was cause for hammock celebration.

I have high hopes for continuing the posting surge this month.