Eyeore begat

I like coming up with titles for my posts. It's actually my favorite part. In high school I was on the newspaper staff (I also co-edited the yearbook with my friend Kathy, but if you could see the finished product you would understand why I don't boast about this rather dubious accomplishment. Our yearbook was called The War Whoop, incidentally.) and I think it was my junior year that I made it to UIL regionals in the headline writing competition. You had to read a short article and come up with a catchy headline that fit into a particular number of spaces on the newspaper page. Back then in the 1900's, we used a system of hash marks above and below the letters to count the spaces. I'm sure there is an app for it now.

I wrote a newsletter (very, very infrequently) when I was teaching in Hungary, and I really wanted to title it "Serving the Lard With Gladness" but then thought better of it. It's ironic that Hungarians eat as much lard as they do and still manage to be a very slender people as a whole. Also, did you know they don't even call it 'Hungary'? It's Magyarorszag. So, practically the same.

Yesterday Hudson got frustrated with Harper at lunch and this happened:

Hudson: I'm going to frow a bomb in your EYE!

Harper: (smugly) Daddy will not let you do that. Because bombs are very EXPENSIVE.

Um hm, yes, the expense is what would keep Daddy from letting Hudson throw a bomb in your eye.

Both the big kids have been pretty surly and disagreeable lately. There are lots of factors involved, but I'm beginning to see that being the offspring of two melancholy parents might be a bit tricky to overcome, genetically speaking.

Last night I read an article in the Wall Street Journal about a French painter named Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin (that is quite a name to live up to, n'est pas?) and his famous still life of a disemboweled stingray hanging on a hook behind an inquisitive kitten. It is very pitiful to see, and I made a note that when we go to the Louvre some day (when, not if. One of my students, Tibor, taught me that. It is a non-Eyeore way of thinking.) I will need to direct Harper away from that particular gallery.

We just did a math lesson and I'm beginning to feel that first grade Singapore Math is already over my head. Bah.

I got myself this yoga (or 'faux-ga' as my friend Jamie calls it) mat and a dvd for Christmas and this is pretty much the extent of use thus far:
I did attempt to do it one day during nap time, then Harper and Hudson wandered out and sat on the couch behind me making very sweet comments like, "That's really good yoga you are doing Mommy!" and "Your legs are bent but that lady has hers straight Mommy!" and I realized that faux-ga is NOT a spectator sport. Plus it hurt a little, which means I'm probably not posing right or something.

Our Christmas tree is still up. And yes, it's real. And no, I haven't watered it since somewhere around December 21.

Here are some cute books we've enjoyed this month:

1. Henry Hikes to Fitchburg by D.B. Johnson
Henry (as in David Thoreau) is a bear who tells his friend he can walk the 30 miles to Fitchburg in the time it takes his friend to earn the 90 cents and take the train. His friend does chores for the Alcotts, Hawthornes, and Emersons to earn his money, which I thought was clever. **SPOILER ALERT**Henry's friend beats him to Fitchburg, but only because Henry stops to pick some blackberries.

2. Snowflake Bentley by Jacqueline Briggs Martin,ill. Mary Azarian
The true story of Wilson Bentley, born in Vermont in 1865, who, because he was so enthralled with the beauty of snowflakes, discovered a way to photograph them and share them with the world. I cry at the end of this one. Because I am a sucker for this kind of devotion to the pursuit of the sublime.

3. A Sick Day for Amos McGee by Philip C. Stead, ill. Erin E. Stead
Amos McGee works at the zoo and loves his animal friends in practical, thoughtful ways every day. Until he gets sick. Then, they reciprocate. I LOVE the illustrations. LOVE.

4. Me...Jane by Patrick McDonnell
This adorably illustrated biography of Jane Goodall as a little girl is a delight. Jane Goodall has much in common with a certain little girl who lives in my house and loves stingrays and horses with the same ardor that Jane loved chimpanzees.

5. The Year at Maple Hill Farm by Alice and Martin Provensen
Simple, whimsical illustrations and text detailing what happens on a farm each month of the year.

6. The Milly-Molly-Mandy Storybook by Joyce Lankester Brisley
"Once upon a time there was a little girl. She had a Father, and a Mother, and a Grandpa, and a Grandma, and an Uncle, and an Aunty; and they all lived together in a nice white cottage with a thatched roof."
Harper and I are reading these stories, written in the 1920's and 30's, and they are delightful. Sometimes I have to look up words. Did you know a 'farthing' is one-fourth pence?

It was a rainy day.

That's the first line in The Puddle by David McPhail, a gift from the B's on Harper's third birthday, which has been a favorite of all three kids.

It gets easier and easier not to blog, so I decided to open up the screen and do another random post in which I sit and jot down thoughts in between the Monday house and school work. Here goes:

1. It IS a rainy day here in Houston. Is it wrong that I am super happy to home school on days like today, when the thought of hauling everyone into the car in the pouring rain in order to drop kids off at school makes me panic.

2. Helena does NOT like thunder. She calls it "boom boom boom" like in Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You? She is also highly opposed to leaf blowers and lawn mowers, and uses all three as an excuse to cry inconsolably, especially when she is awakened from her nap. I guess the good news is that she'll rarely have to experience all three noises at once.

3. We are getting a little more serious about the house search. We drove out to see some new construction, and I was greatly dismayed to note that in the house just across the street from the model home, there was a group of guys watching the big game in comfy chairs out in their garage. Their cars were parked elsewhere. Then I felt bad for being so judgmental and snobby, because it really was a nice evening to be outside. Then I felt even worse to discover that this particular neighborhood was above our desired price range.

4. Speaking of class bias, I watched a little of the New Hampshire debates Saturday night and I liked when Rick Santorum lectured Mitt Romney about using the term "middle class," because of how it exacerbates class warfare. Though I'm not sure that switching to "middle income wage earners" is going to assuage any doubts I have about whether or not it is okay to consider one's garage a "media room."

5. Hudson loves socks. He wears them at all times (even with Keens. ESPECIALLY with Keens.) unless he is in the bath. IF the socks have to be removed for some reason (play-doh infestation, for example, as happened yesterday evening) there is extreme consternation expressed.

6. Two hours have passed, it is still pouring (flash flooding, in fact), and Hudson is squealing at Helena over rights to a certain firetruck. I am now beginning to realize that maybe getting out in the rain to drop everyone off might not be so bad after all. He just asked her to "please go elsewhere!" and she ran into the kitchen and yelled, "I'm elsewhere!" then she ran back in and tried to convince him to let her put his hair into a ponytail. He declined, and not very politely. In fact, there may have been a scatological reference. Also, there is play-doh all over the floor.

7. I just had to dispose of a very large dead roach. Better than a live roach, but still. My mother-in-law, who was here this weekend, refers to roaches as "water bugs." I think I might write a short story entitled "Let's Call a Roach a Roach, Shall We?"

8. Now it's time to review our memory work because our co-op starts back this Friday. Harper has already informed me that SHE doesn't NEED to review because she remembers it all perfectly. I shall attempt not to gloat when I have to prompt her on "Magellan Circumnavigates the Earth."

9. I have decided fairly recently that I think college and professional sports are mostly STUPID. I realize this is a highly unorthodox opinion. I realize it puts me at odds, not just with the guys who were enjoying a game in their garage, but also with every single person on Facebook, and, possibly, on the planet, regardless of their "low, middle, or upper income status." HOWEVER, we watched the final quarter of the Denver-Pittsburg game last night (I confess to wanting to see the Tebowing with my own eyes) and I might have softened my opinion just a touch. I will not be painting my face or yelling like a savage with my fist raised in the air anytime soon, but maybe I get it a little more than I did. I told the kids that the Tebow was home schooled and they thought that was nifty. Harper said, "Plus he has curly hair!" and I agreed that the Tebow would indeed fit right into our family.

10. And there is now drumming. Which is the sound that makes me want to cry inconsolably.

11. Helena has learned to ride the scooter. It has its own verb in our family: "scootering."

12. I just boiled some eggs for myself and Harper duly noted that the refrigerator now smells flatulent.

13. I have 5 library books about Albert Schweitzer sitting on my desk. He was referenced in a novel I read over Christmas and I remembered he was one of those fellows I'd always wanted to know more about. I have already realized that a biography that includes lines like, "The obligation of truth prohibits all tendentiousness," is going to be, in the words of my favorite pithy philosopher Donald Rumsfeld, "a long hard slog."

14. I haven't taken a decent picture in weeks. There is very little natural light in our house this time of year. See?
This was actually a very touching moment in which Helena dressed up in a Cinderella costume and my reading glasses from the Target Dollar Spot and pretended to be an elderly Russian ballet instructress schooling her student in the exacting art of the arabesque.

Well, the rain has stopped, and so will I.

New.

Let's see. Where did we leave off? There were festivities. We did our presents Hanukkah-style, opening one a day for a few days leading up to the 25th. I think that helped with the appreciation factor. The frosting on our birthday cake for Jesus tasted faintly medicinal because of the fact that I assumed that my Mom would have milk and vanilla at her house. Only she didn't, because she had used up all of her milk and vanilla making an Italian cream cake the day before, and it was Christmas day and nothing was open so I had to use vanilla soy milk and vegan butter sticks. Which made the Best Frosting EVER from the Pioneer Woman's recipe site NOT even CLOSE to the best frosting ever. The kids didn't seem to mind, and I don't think Jesus minded, but I minded. I also, in the Christmas morning rush, forgot to pack any clothes for Harper. At all. Thankfully, my sister-in-law provided some essentials, and I reminded Harper that Laura and Mary probably wore the same clothes for 5 days in a row, and also remember how they were so excited about the orange and the penny and the peppermint stick that one year for Christmas??

I took some pictures of kids opening presents, only the lighting was poor, so they all look about like this:
That is a crystal growing kit. Harper's presents were mostly science-related. She got a Newton's cradle (which has been hopelessly tangled more than it has been functional) and lots of magnets and rocks. Hudson got his new drums a few weeks ago and more "Cars 2" paraphernalia, including a stuffed AND also a remote controlled Finn McMissile. He actually hugged them after he unwrapped them, and the look on his face almost melted my cold, cold, Disney-antagonistic heart:
Helena has been asking for a stuffed Cookie Monster for around 6 months. The Grandparents Pate happily complied, and also provided a large Raggedy Anne doll, which has been hugged approximately 1,000 times, and takes up most of the minimal room she has left in her bed. She is also deeply in love with this dress up ballet costume I let Harper pick out for her one day at Costco. The (very cheaply made, likely in China, hopefully not by children) blue lame' skirt is already torn, which bothers her not a bit:
She also LOVES her Philadelphia Chickens cd (thanks Kristin!) and she got her very own cd player for her room, so she can listen to her heart's content. Except that she listened to "Snuggle Puppy" on repeat for around 2 hours a couple of days ago and now the cd is totally scratched and "Snuggle Puppy" sounds like a backbeat for the DJ Jazzy Jeff and I guess I'll have to order another one.

Which, of course, makes me melancholy. A tangled Newton's cradle, a torn lame' skirt, a broken hatch on a spy plane, a scratched cd--it makes me sad all this rust and moths business. Then some friends lost their entire house to a fire this week. So. I've written about the Tibetan monks before, right? The ones who create the intricate sand mosaics on the ground where they might be blown away by an errant breeze at any moment? That's it. We create, hopefully something unique and beautiful, trusting the wind is not without its purpose.

Bikers and ballerinas

Sunday was a big day at our house. First, the daddy decided to take Hudson's training wheels off of his bike. He said it took about 15 seconds for this to happen: There's still a little starting and stopping practice that needs to happen before we can take group rides, but he was pretty pleased with himself.

Next, Grandmother Pate arrived to take the big girls to the Houston Ballet's production of "The Nutcracker." Harper's joy was made complete because she got to sit with her friend June: I always get a little teary during "The Waltz of the Flowers"--does this happen to anyone else? The music is just so lovely and the dancers are so gifted, I get a touch overwhelmed with the beauty. I just watched a documentary titled "The Ballerina" that I got at the library. It's about 5 different dancers with the Kirov ballet and I thought it was fascinating.

Maybe you'll notice I got a haircut. I don't care for it, but I'm trying not to dwell. I went to a local school that trains hair stylists. I'd been once before and had liked the cut (and the price) but had conveniently forgotten that student stylists take conscientious to a new level. It took THREE hours. Almost 2 hours for the cut (I think it's possibly she cut each single hair individually), and then another hour for her to blow dry and straighten it. About 2 hours in, I realized something. I probably just need to let my hair be what it wants to be. If it takes THREE hours to thin it and dry it straight and subdue it with a flat iron, that is just patently ridiculous. So, I think I need to surrender and just let it be the frizzly, enormous mop that it seems to be inclined towards. I saw the lovely Emmylou Harris on a PBS thing the other night and she has a glorious mane of silver, unruly locks, and it was inspirational. Maybe I'll learn to sing bluegrass and play the guitar too. Once my hair is loosed, who knows what talents will present themselves.

the son of a drummer man

Maybe you'll remember that Hudson has some drums. Now he has TWO sets of drums because the husband thought he'd outgrown the other set. I will confess, if it's not untoward to do so, that he is impressive for a four year old drummer. The husband shows him complicated rudiments and he replicates them almost perfectly on the very first try. It's nifty. But so, so noisy. Especially on days like today, when it's rainy and we've stayed at home and there is not one single clean surface in my entire house. Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

My desk is An Abomination, I tell you.

Exhibit C:


Although drumming is probably a really appropriate soundtrack to chaos, it doesn't really help me to find the joy in it all, if you know what I mean. In fact, today was definitely one of those days my friend Mrs. S told me literature-based home schooling guru Carol Joyce Seid calls "yellow school bus days"--those days as a home schooling mom when the thought of waving fondly as the yellow school bus carries your kids away sounds pretty fantastic. But let's not belabor that, because it's not that useful. Just so everyone realizes that it happens every so often around here.

We just had a pomegranate for a snack. I bought it at Whole Foods a couple of weeks ago and it had been languishing in the fruit drawer because I didn't know exactly how to eat a pomegranate. These are times when I am thankful for the internet. (Would Ma Ingalls have been glad to be able to google "how to eat a pomegranate"? I like to think so. Of course, she would never have had a pomegranate to begin with, though they did get that one orange at Christmas that year.) Everyone liked the pomegranate, but I did stain my shirt. Helena stained her entire person, and spit out the crunchy bits:

Hudson and Helena have started really playing together in the past couple of weeks, which makes me so happy. Their favorite thing to do is put the couch cushions on the floor and jump on them. The zippers on the couch cushions are beginning to split, but I've decided not to care. They also enjoy chasing each other. And drawing pictures on the Magnadoodle.

Harper wrote a book today titled The Six Circle Brothers. The six circle brothers are, as you might suspect, circles. With smiling faces and appendages, and they have many adventures. My favorite is when they go to the park with their friends the square brothers and the rectangle twins. I was relieved the circle brothers were not shape-ists.

We finally decorated the Christmas tree today. We only have about 20 ornaments, so it didn't take long. Hudson calls them "Christmas Ordinance" which makes it sound very official. He also calls Hershey kisses "horseshoe kisses." I also meant to wrap all of the presents today, but I only wrapped two. Since I had helpers. I had to clench my teeth while that was happening , by the way.

Smuggle puppy like jazz

Helena likes several of Sandra Boynton's board books, but her favorite is probably Snuggle Puppy, or SMuggle Puppy if you speak Helenese, which you should because it is a super cute language. I don't care for Snuggle Puppy because it is supposed to be sung and there is no suggested melody for the song, which I have mentioned on more than one occasion results in frustration for me. Also, Harper and Hudson wanted Bread and Jam for Frances AND A Baby Sister for Frances the other night, and, as much as I love that sassy Frances, she is VERY wont to break into song as well. The kids don't seem to mind my melodic improvisation, but I mind. It's why I've never been very good at listening to jazz. It just seems so scattered and rambling, even though I know it isn't. Don't get mad at me. In college I was in a couple of different organizations that brought all kinds of concerts to campus, and one of the Marsalis brothers (Wynton, I think?)came with his trumpet one time. I knew he was playing with great skill and artistry, but I felt like there were ants crawling on me with wanting him to FINISH THE SONG ALREADY. I even spent a week at L'Abri and jazz was practically like the worship music there because it's Switzerland and everyone is so cool and jazzy and cool, but I just couldn't make myself like it.

These two guys at church did a very cool rendering of "Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming" this morning. It's a German carol. The music at our church is often astonishingly good. Which is good for my soul. Unlike jazz. Which makes my soul feel untethered and adrift. Blue like jazz?

Helena has discovered that she can make Harper and Hudson laugh, which is great. What is not great is that she has discovered that the way that she can make Harper and Hudson laugh is by saying "poo-poo and tee-tee" at inappropriate moments (which, frankly, encompasses ALL moments as far as I am concerned). Abraham Piper posted a funny thing on his blog a couple of weeks ago. He decided to make his boys ask, "Is now a good time for scatological humor?" every time they wanted to make poo-poo tee-tee jokes. Maybe I'll work on that with her this week.

The kids looked pretty cute for church this morning which naturally makes the camera urge irresistible. So we got home and I ran in for the camera, only while I was leaning over to put Helena where I wanted her, the camera, which was around my neck, swung forward and smacked her in the face. Which made her cry. Loudly, which made Harper cranky. Plus the sun was awkward. Behold!

Week in review: Snickerdoodles to Sea Dragons

This has been a highly atypical week for us. Fun, but a trifle overwhelming. My body, as per usual, has responded by succumbing to some sort of throat illness. Which explains why the kids are currently watching a movie, even though I had decided that only Mondays were going to be movie day so I could clean the toilets in peace. The new rule is Only on Mondays or Also on Fridays if Mommy Is Not Feeling Well AND You Have Recited All of Your Memory Work, Even the 15's and the Timeline Up to Fall of Constantinople to Mohammed II.

We had a birthday party (Helena's first, for her friend Lily) on Saturday morning. Then on Sunday afternoon we went to the Lanier Law Firm Christmas party. It was quite a shindig. Mr. Lanier has HIS OWN TRAIN, complete with two train depots right there in his front yard (which happens to be around 22 acres). He also has swans, llamas, a kangaroo, some sheep, and some parrots. Also his own theological library, a full-sized reproduction Byzantine chapel (where we watched a little of the live-streamed Rascal Flatts concert because the actual concert tent was, we were told, a little loud. And you know, nothing goes together like the hush of a reproduction Byzantine chapel and the Rascal Flatts) Plus enough space for a full carnival. The kids had a great time on the rides and I enjoyed the people watching, even though it was a cold and rainy day.

On Monday, I made a chore checklist for myself:
1. wash sheets (check!)
2. wash dog (check!) (these two chores are in tandem because of the aforementioned dog IN my sheets)
3. wash bathroom rugs (check!)
4. vacuum (partial check)
5. clean spots on carpet (partial check)
6. bathroom sinks (just one)
7. toilets (just one)
8. pick up entire riding room to make space for Christmas tree (nope)
9. bake cookies (check)
10. Target? (check)

The kids watched "Frosty the Snowman" while I got most of it done. The (slightly disturbing) one with the robotic clay characters. The cookies were for my friend Merry's annual Christmas cookie exchange, which I attended Monday night. I took molasses crinkles and came home with a glorious array of treats, most of which I have single-handedly consumed in the last 4 days. Which probably explains why my new black pants, which fit perfectly when I bought them on Saturday, were a touch snug when I put them on last night. The husband would suggest it might also explain the throat illness. There is all of this annoying scientific evidence that sugar suppresses the immune system.

We stayed home on Tuesday. I think. It's blurry.

Wednesday morning, Grandmother Pate came to join us in Galveston for a home school day at Moody Gardens. Getting to do things like this is definitely one of the benefits of living in a big city in which there are thousands of homeschooling families. We spent all of our time in the expansive aquarium (it was a really cold day) and the kids had a fantastic day learning more about sea turtles (Hudson's favorite), penguins (Helena's favorite), sharks, stingrays (Harper's favorite, of course) and sea dragons (my favorite). I was too busy making sure I didn't lose any of the kids in the tunnels to take a decent picture, but here are a few:
The kids really liked these touch tanks full of sea stars and urchins and hermit crabs.

I would have liked to sit and watch the penguins for several hours. Alas, my little humans made this untenable. Though having Grandmother Pate helped tremendously with the herding.
Harper had several touching moments with the baby freshwater stingrays, but I didn't get a picture because the camera was buried underneath the coats and the lunch bag in the stroller and if I had tried to dig it out the entire stroller would have tipped over and dumped everything out, and also, she would inevitably have moved on to something else by then. Helena is really getting too old for the stroller, but I don't know what I'll do without a wheeled vehicle to carry all of our stuff. A pack mule perhaps?

Wednesday night, Grandmother Pate babysat so I could go to our women's Christmas dinner at church. My friend Laura provided a beautifully decorated table, the food was delicious, the conversation with friends delightful, and the speaker inspiring.

Yesterday evening we had the husband's work Open House. I realized when we got there that only one other family had brought their kids, but it turned out okay. There was a girl playing the harp in the chapel. The kids sat listening for a very long time, which surprised me. I almost dozed off, which did not surprise me.

So, today we recuperate.