My feelings have been made

This morning I had a brief conversation with Helena regarding blowing her nose properly, and she walked away with her shoulders stooped over and her head dropped onto her chest. Being a super-intuitive interpreter of body language, I asked her what was wrong. She turned around and, through tears, wailed, "you made my feelings!"

 Harper just came and told me she was really excited to do some "word troubles" in her math lesson today. By which she actually meant word problems. Here's to hoping they are neither troublesome or problematic.

Hudson expressed a bit of noisy flatulence at a free performance of "A Year With Frog and Toad" we attended on Thursday, and the men sitting behind us began giggling uncontrollably. When it was over, the older man said,"That made me feel right at home," and I replied that obviously, Hudson felt the same way. The cast of "Frog and Toad" was comprised of middle and high school students attending a music camp. What they lacked in actual singing/dancing/acting ability was more than made up for with their enthusiasm. My favorite moment was when the adorable teenaged girl playing the part of the Snail charged with delivering Frog's letter to Toad totally forgot one of the little songs she was supposed to sing while inching across the stage, and she started singing, full-voiced and exuberant, to a melody not at all intended by the composer: "Something! Something! I've completely FORGOTTEN! the Words! Just keep SINGING!"  It was a riot, and you know, she will remember that moment with plucky delight when she is old and gray, whereas a lyrically sound performance would probably fade from her memory. It's interesting that while I was typing this, I was watching last night's Olympics at the exact moment sweet Jordyn Weiber's face crumpled when she realized she wouldn't be competing for an individual gold medal. I wish she could watch that turtle girl sing her jubilant, imperfect song.

Now I'm watching Bela Karolyi in his best Indignant Mode. I simply love everything about that crazy Hungarian. (yes, he technically lived in Romania, but he's from the region that used to be part of Hungary. Triannon  is like a curse word in Hungary. Look it up. It's fascinating.)

Today we were watching synchronized diving and, naturally, Harper is highly confident that she could do a reverse four and a half tuck with only a very tiny splash after just a day or two of practice in our neighborhood pool, which has a maximum depth of 5 feet.

Speaking of Bela, I was a little younger than Harper when I was inspired by Nadia Commaneci and began taking gymnastics. Harper has been similarly inspired.

Well done Procter and Gamble with the mom angle on all your Olympics commercials. I saw the first one a couple of months ago and, this will shock everyone, it made me weep. I also, and this will shock everyone, cried several times during the opening ceremonies. Then something weird would happen and I would pull myself together. Because socialized medicine is kind of sad, but not in the way that makes me cry. Then those unbelievable rings of fire=a little crying.  Then Mr. Bean and I am okay. Then thinking about "The King's Speech" and how that was the current queen's father, and wondering if she was thinking of him when she made her little speech, and I teared up a little. Then "Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah Nah" for so infinitely long that I forget what year this even is because I just want them all to sing something remotely OLYMPIC, and I'm all done crying for the night. Although, I also, and this one is just flat-out weird, cried while listening to NPR on Saturday while I was running some errands. There was an interview with the guy who is in charge of all the sound engineering at the Olympics. That's right. SOUND ENGINEERING. And I started crying. Here's why: this guy is so good at what he does (you can watch and HEAR the SOUND of an arrow slicing through the air in the archery events! An arrow! I can hear it all the way from LONDON!) and he finds such clear delight in being excellent in his chosen vocation. AND he's getting this recognition (and probably a nice paycheck) for being excellent at something super cool that he loves to do. That is beautiful to me.

That will be all. I'm attending a 3 day parent practicum for our homeschool co-op this week and I need to be awake for the Latin sentence I've been warned I'll be constructing in the morning.

Well, it's Saturday.

Two posts! In three days! Both with boring titles!

 Helena swallowed a little rock while she was taking her bath last night. It was a small polished purple stone, about the size of a raisin. She asked if she could take it in the bath and I said she could, because it never dawned on me that a 3 1/2 year old who hasn't put anything non-edible in her mouth for a couple of years now would try to ingest a little pebble. Alas. I came in to get her out and she looked grief stricken. I asked what had happened and she confessed immediately that the rock had disappeared down her froat. She then told me it was all going to be fine because she was sure that any minute it was going to pop out of her belly button. I had to tell that, as much as I preferred her version, that wasn't exactly how things were going to progress. So. I have just completed what was my first procedure of Pebble Procurement 2012. I wore gloves. I did not frow up. Little Pebble, come quickly.

Two nights ago, just before bed, the husband came in and described, in graphic detail, how I should fight off a pit bull if the kids and I were ever to get attacked. He also said that, if it were an option, I should definitely offer Sasha as a sacrificial chihuahua if it came to that. You can imagine that I slept very well after those images were seared into my brain.

The kids have been going to bed a little later than usual, and have, quite to my surprise, been sleeping later as well. Hudson moseyed down at around 8:45 this morning. He has finally stopped napping, which could be part of it. It tickles me that he comes down still in his pj's, but wearing his belt, from which hang his knife, his gun, and his light saber. (and of course socks. Because he only takes them off to bathe or swim, and then only reluctantly). I'm reading this novel about a Texas Ranger (the lawmen, not the baseball players) and he describes how incomplete and naked he feels without his weapons. I guess we have a budding Ranger on our hands. I've been cultivating a fairly eclectic summer reading list. I'm currently half way through The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton, and the Texas Ranger book (by an author named Charles Martin, whom I'd not heard of before but learned about on Krista's blog). Waiting on the nightstand are:
 Crooked Little Heart by Anne Lamott  
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz  
Before They're Gone: A Family's Year-Long Quest to Explore America's Most Endangered National Parks by Michael Lanza  
Emily Post: Daughter of the Gilded Age, Mistress of American Manners by Laura Claridge

We shall see how many of them I actually get through. I have been moving at a pretty steady clip, but I generally burn out then go for a while not reading much at all.

 We seem to be having an ant infestation in and around Helena's room. I'd rather not think about why. It started last Saturday while I was gone. I think we are finally going to cave and invite an exterminator and his magical, highly chemical insecticides into our home.

We had a family trip to Freebirds (while we were waiting in line, Helena patted my tummy and asked if I have a baby in there. I assured her I do not, and regretted the horizontal stripes on the t-shirt I've been wearing for three days straight. She also asked, in a very loud voice, what the girl making our burritoes HAS IN HER NOSE MOMMY! Thankfully, it was just a nose ring) and then REI today (I love these places approximately 95% less than the husband and kids do, but an outing is an outing) and we came home with a new Kelty canopy thing to shade us if we ever make it to the beach this summer. Also, Harper spent a whopping $22 of her own money on this little portable camping stool that only weighs around an ounce so that she can bring it along on all of her extensive backpacking adventures.

Well, the husband has gone to a birthday party for one of his students, and we just had pancakes for dinner. Now I have locked myself into my bedroom to type out these important memories of these days of our lives while the kids are apparently plotting an overthrow by the sound of things. Actually, it turns out they were putting together a little theatrical event:

Harper was more a director than an acter, and Rapunzel's unplanned cameo did not, apparently, merit a cast mention. The plot mostly centered around Batman performing great feats of strength with the red plastic chair.This is how I like to think of Batman--in the days before the Darkness.

Well, it's Thursday

*I started this yesterday, hence the title. You would think that after 24 entire hours I'd be able to come up with something more clever. Alas, I have not.

 I really enjoy listening to the kids talk in the car. I've realized that if I don't turn on music or our memory work cd (which the big kids think they shouldn't have to listen to because it is summer, so they complain and act like they still know it all and never need to review ever. Then I will say, "okay, Harper-- let's hear the 13's!" and she will mumble something about knowing the 13's but not wanting to recite them just right now) the conversation will get very entertaining. Here's an example:

 Helena: Hudson! I like princesses! Do you?
Hudson: No! I only like Star Wars. Well, and Batman. Me and Trammell like Batman.
 Me: Trammell and I.
Hudson: You do like Batman, Mommy?
 Me: Well, I do...
Harper: (who has been reading and who generally waits to enter the conversation until she can stir things up a little, or to correct someone.) June and I like unicorns. Batman does NOT like princesses, Helena. So.
Helena: Does Superman like princesses?
 Harper and Hudson, in unison: NO!
Me: And how do you know that to be the case?
Hudson: Well, maybe they might like Princess Leia. Only because she has a gun.
Harper: I see a Subaru! And a Toyota. Hey, Hudson--Toy Yoda! You have a toy Yoda!
Hudson: YEAH! And Daddy has a Subaru!
Helena: Does Spiderman like ballerinas (bow-weenas)?
Hudson: He does NOT.
Harper: I think I see a cattle egret over there! Hey, cattle egrets like to stand close to cows, and ostriches like to stand next to zebras. They are both birds who like to stand next to hoofed mammals! (Does the SAT still have that analogy section? Because I'm thinking she might excel on that part. Which just might make up for the fact that she will not do stellar on the math portion because she can't now, and will likely NEVER, be bothered to learn her 13's)

Anyway, it goes on and on like that. Harper is in the back seat by herself, and we had told Hudson he could move back there with her when he could completely click himself in, which he has been able to do for well over a year now. He brings it up occasionally, but I really like it that he's next to Helena. It requires them to interact and converse in a way they might not otherwise.

Harper ate some sushi for the first time at lunch today. Actually, they all tried it (just a vegetarian roll with avocado, cucumber, and carrots) but Hudson and Helena stopped after their required bite. Harper said she didn't mind the seaweed very much, but that it was not her favorite part. Helena kept pretending to take an enormous bite of the wasabi, which made the other two CRAZY.

I was That Mom today at the playscape. The kids were all running around getting all sorts of energy expended, then I looked over and noticed a whole clump of them had stopped moving and were staring over one little kid's shoulder. He'd gotten his mom's iphone and was playing some game and there were 6 kids (including two of mine) standing like statues trying to watch. I marched over and shooed my kids away to get back to their running and playing and hide and seek. I even said, "Go run and play! We did not come all the way here to sit and watch a video game!" I know. I am obnoxious. But I still think I'm right.And also, (true confession) the whole reason we even decided to go to the playscape in the first place was because I had let the kids sit comatose for almost an hour of "Franklin" and "Little Bear" this morning so I could get some phone calls made. That's right. I'm a hypocrite.

I had almost mentioned a couple of weeks ago that we didn't seem to have mosquitoes out here in the suburbs. Then it began to rain on a daily basis and OH, do we ever have mosquitoes out here in the suburbs. They are GIGANTIC. Unfortunately, Helena loses all control of her emotions and all five senses when she sees a mosquito, and when one actually lands on her she does this spastic running swatting screaming thing that is terrifying to watch. (And also sort of hilarious). Yesterday morning we were walking to the pool and the gigantic mosquitoes began to attack us and she began the flailing swatting screeching run, which caused her to trip because she was wearing her cheap Target flippety shoes, which caused her to fall and skin her knees. It was VERY DRAMATIC and also so, so loud. She wept and swatted and screeched and bled all the way to the pool. When we got there, I gently suggested we might get a band-aid from the lifeguard, and she went into and even louder wailing screeching flailing protest at this hideous notion. She finally curled into the fetal position in my lap, where she sniveled and occasionally howled when I would have the audacity to suggest that she might have recovered enough to actually go swimming. It all lasted about 30 sweaty minutes. I wanted to explain to her that being afraid of mosquitoes when one lives in Houston is akin to being afraid of humidity. Or Mexican food. These things are so ubiquitous that you simply can't avoid them. I don't think she bought it, but she did finally get into the pool.

Hudson is now jumping in the pool without his flotation device and can get to the side with just a little help. Does it bother anyone else how much kids look like they are drowning when they are learning how to swim? It's unnerving.

I got to have a little ladies' getaway at Lost Pines with 3 other moms this weekend. It was my first time to do such a thing since Harper was born. It was delightful all-around.On Saturday night, I ate two s'mores made with Reese's peanut butter cups (which, let's face it, would not have happened if I'd had to help 3 kids get their s'mores first while also ensuring that no one went face first into the fire pit). Mrs. S and I played tennis twice. I still can't do a forehand or backhand slice, even thought the pro gave it his all. We floated in the lazy river for hours, chatted, read, ate peanut butter M&Ms, and generally enjoyed the total lack of responsibility. The re-entry has been a little bumpy, but I am glad to be home.

Yes, I wear a long-sleeved turtleneck to swim, even when it is 95 degrees.

Return to Shangri-La

We went to see the Grandparents Pate for a few days last week. We decided, since my kids had never experienced fireworks before, to go to Beaumont for a July 4th celebration. The Symphony of Southeast Texas gave a free performance of patriotic tunes in the Julie Rodgers Theatre, which we thoroughly enjoyed, even though I cried more than once (I've mentioned my inability to keep my composure when I hear the National Anthem, which means that the Olympics are going to require me to medicate myself or possibly be sedated in some way), the ugliest cry making an appearance during the medley of the hymns of the different branches of the military. The conductor had the veterans and active military men and women stand up during their particular song, and I knew better than to turn around and look, but, out of the corner of my eye, an elderly naval vet stood up and gave a crisp salute during "Anchors Aweigh" and I began to weep, and THEN, during the Marine song, I had my eyes squinched up tight but not tight enough that I couldn't see that one of the French horn players, IN the symphony, STOOD up and played (because YES, Hudson, Marines sometimes do play the French horn) and that just did me RIGHT in. In fact, I cried when I told the husband about it, and I am also crying right now as I am writing about it. Anyway, I dried myself off and we went out for the fireworks. Harper loved them, Hudson thought it was great that it sounded as though we were being BOMBED MOMMY! and Helena was not a fan at ALL and insisted on being held the entire time with my hand (and then Grandfather Pate's hand) clamped tightly over her exposed ear. Then we got in the car where it was quiet and she insisted that she had, in truth, quite enjoyed the firework. Singular. It was, all in all, a nice evening.

We also made a return trip to Shangri-La which, if you remember, is not a myth, but actually exists in, of all places, Orange, Texas. We didn't get to enjoy eating from the garden this time (the sugar snap peas had either already been harvested, or had burned to a crisp in the record HEAT) but we did really enjoy watching some fledgling herons from inside the bird blind. We were disappointed that the roseate spoonbill did not make an appearance, but we did see an alligator swimming.

We had some good cousin time with the rainbow/slip & slide:
we got back home on Saturday and there has been lots of rain. We have done some crafts. We made oatmeal cookies. Hudson and the daddy have watched quite a bit of Star Wars on our new family member, Blue Ray. Then, yesterday, a joyful reunion with the old gang:This post has taken me approximately one THOUSAND hours to complete because I forgot to take the camera to my parents' house and, therefore, was forced to use the camera function on the iPad. Then I realized that getting those pictures onto the blog was a task suited for Steven Hawking or maybe Bobby Fisher or possibly Steve Jobs could have figured out. So the pictures were upside down and then really tiny and now very grainy but I am going to hit the publish button anyway because seriously, enough.

Holding your nose

The husband thought I should have mentioned in the last post that all of Harper's new swimming feats happened after he got her some nose clips at Bass Pro Shop last weekend. He said they were extremely important to his swimming happiness when he was her age as well. I'm just amazed she hasn't lost them yet.

Does anyone else think it's amusing/confounding that many, many people (a few of whom probably haven't even read the constitution they claim to REVERE to the point of worship) think they are WAY smarter than the nine people who, out of the 350+ million of us who live in America, were chosen for the Supreme Court? I also think it's interesting that the liberals of the high court are never considered idealogues for ALWAYS voting as a block, and as everyone expects them to, but that Scalia, Thomas, and Alito (and, until recently, Roberts) are uniformly chastised when they all vote together. I need to do some research to confirm this suspicion, but I am fairly certain that liberal justices have rarely (never?) trended more conservative as they age (that quote by Winston Churchill notwithstanding--something like, "if you aren't a liberal at 20, you have no heart, and if you aren't a conservative at 40, you have no mind"), but that there are several instances of judges who were appointed as supposed stalwart conservatives who tend to drift the other way the longer they are on the court (see Souter, Kennedy, O'Connor et al) I wonder why this is the case? There now. Have I managed to be offensive in both directions so that everyone can feel frustrated with me? I keep meaning to go read the opinions so that I can actually formulate some sort of personal opinion that isn't handed to me by a political commentator. Then I decide to take a nap instead. I take democracy for granted, I know.

A couple of nights ago, I was reading in bed and decided I needed to go and finish the chocolate Haagen Daaaz (too many 'a's'??) that the husband bought that had been languishing in the freezer for a few days. The husband is not much of a sweets eater, though he will, on occasion, get inspired at the grocery store and instead of just buying a single pint of ice cream, he will come home with five. Then he'll eat a little and the rest will be there to taunt me until I can't stand it anymore and have to eat it. Anyway, I got to the freezer and discovered that he had actually finished the chocolate the night before. There was almost a full pint of strawberry, but I refuse to eat fruit flavored full fat ice cream because it offends me. In fact, I firmly believe fruit and dessert should never be mixed, with the possible exception of cobbler, and maybe, on rare occasions, pie. Because strawberry flavored Haaagen Daaaaz tastes like it might be pretending to be healthy, only it actually is akin to having something like 5 Big Macs when you consider the fat grams. Anyway, I couldn't let go of the ice cream craving that had gone unsatisfied, so last night at Target, I got a pint of chocolate peanut butter Haaaaaaaagen Daaaaazz. Weird, but SO good. The peanut butter makes it a little salty, which is a surprisingly pleasant combination.

I think it is important to note that I have an entire paragraph of opinions about ice cream, but can't be bothered to care much about Obamacare.

When Harper was around Helena's age, she began using the word 'usual' in place of 'regular.' So instead of saying "I'd like regular butter on my toast instead of almond butter," she would say, "I'd like usual butter, please." I thought is was cute and never set her straight, and now all three kids do it. Maybe we'll just have our own quirky little family lexicon at some point.

My parents got back from a trip to northern Europe a couple of weeks ago and brought the kids, among various other delightful trinkets, a few Euro coins for them to keep (is this illegal? Don't tell the EU.) Helena was showing hers to me and I said, "Those are Euros!" and she responded, "YES! They ARE mine!" which I thought was funny. She has started referring to Harper and Hudson as "the kids" which I think is also pretty cute. She'll say, "I'm going upstairs to tell the kids goodnight!"

We went to the library yesterday so the kids (plus Helena) could pick up their trophies for reading (or having been read) 20 books apiece. I thought about asking the librarians why the bar was set so low, but decided not to. These are their first trophies, and they are pleased. I refrained from a lecture about how I hoped they all realized that Reading is its Own True Reward.  I think Harper was aware of the impossibility that they could all be, as their trophies proclaimed, "#1 READER!" but she kept her doubts mostly to herself. There were a few quiet comments about how actually reading 20 books all by oneself might be slightly superior to having to simply sit and listen to 20 books being read TO you, and that MAYBE there should be a slightly different (bigger) trophy for this superiority.

That's enough for one day.

To save a mockingbird

I don't like to go this long between posts. Because, as I've mentioned, this is my only recorded memory of these days that seem so prosaic, but which, in reality, are rich with details I will long to recall at some point.

The husband went outside one morning to water the lawn, and reported a baby bird sighting. I went out to investigate, and discovered two mockingbird fledglings hopping about, and a very anxious set of mockingbird parents running interference with some meddling blackbirds. We discovered the nest, which had been upset by something. There was one dead fledgling in the limbs of the tree, and another in the grass just below. (at which point I am reminded why I dislike cats. I KNOW it's what they were made to do or whatever, it just OFFENDS me. Plus, they make me sneeze something horrible) and I understood why the parents were so frantic. So I spent the morning making around 25 trips outside to check on the fledglings while my human children probably played with the stove and the knives and washed their hands in the potty maybe. Who knows. Anyway, one little fledgling stayed huddled next to the fence and was very well camouflaged. The other little fellow was much more bold--he insisted on hopping down the sidewalk and stopping to rest in full view of predators. The internet told me that I should put on a pair of gloves and get those babies back in their nest. So, I did. They both got very nervous and pooped on my glove and also my foot. But I got them back in there. With an audience that included the husband, Harper, and some neighbors. They applauded, I felt very noble. Then I came back a few minutes later and the bold little guy had already found his way back out of the nest and was hopping back down the sidewalk again. I sighed. Though he did look really cute flexing his wings and hopping around. (It reminded me of this post)  I took a picture as he was tattling to his mom: "Mommy! I pooped on her just like you told me to and she still won't leave me alone! Plus, can
I have a snack, please?"

In honor of all of our real life bird interactions, I though I'd list some books about birds that we've enjoyed lately:

Song of the Swallows by Leo Politi

Nothing Like a Puffin by Sue Soltis, ill. Bob Kolar

Duck on a Bike by David Shannon

Step Gently Out by Helen Frost and Rick Leider (actually about insects, but it's a great reminder that the quieter we are outside, the more likely we are to see animals and bugs and other neat things)

Play With Me by Marie Hall Etts (a very sweet book with rudimentary but delightful illustrations that teaches children the benefit of being still and quiet outside)

More by I.C. Springman, ill. Brian Lies (I liked this one better before I read the author bio in the back: "I.C. Springman is a small-house person in a McMansion-loving world. She lives as simply as possible with one husband, three dogs, and too many books somewhere down South. More was written for her grandsons with the hope that one day there will be enough for all." Oh BROTHER. Subtle. I wonder if her grandsons' parents got the message?? And the illustrator should definitely get top billing on this one, because there are only around a dozen words in it. The illustrations are fantastic, however.)

In the Meadow by Yukiko Kato, ill. Komako Sato (few words, lovely illustrations, no pedantic author bio)

Hummingbird Nest: a Journal of Poems by Kristine O'Connell George, ill. Barry Moser

We went to the Miller Outdoor Theater for a free concert for kids this week, even though it was 107 degrees. We sat on the front row and found, to our tremendous delight, that the stage at the Miller Outdoor is AIR-CONDITIONED! So we were able to enjoy the cool air and also the Puccini as they wafted from the stage.

Then we went swimming twice. Harper is making huge strides (laps? strokes?) in the pool. My theory that we just needed to swim more in order to learn how to swim seems to be a valid one. This week she perfected a handstand, an underwater flip (forwards and backwards) and also a rather flailing backstroke. She is (to the point of being obnoxiously) pleased with her accomplishments, and we are working on being happy without boasting, and also being happy in our own accomplishments without needing to disparage the accomplishments of our siblings. She likes to give Hudson backhanded compliments that are something like, "Yes Hudson, you DID do a great job putting your face in the water WHILE wearing your flotation device." I did let Hudson take off his flotation device some this week and he is coming along nicely as well.

On Thursday we went to the Museum of Fine Arts and did a free children's event in the European galleries and also sketched a little. Harper, not surprisingly, chose to sketch a statue of an ibis. Hudson thought he wanted to sketch the army man with the silly gray wig and the sword, then changed his mind and decided instead to try the ibis, then realized it was too hard and that he was never going to try to draw anything ever again because he can't draw it and it looks terrible and he never wants to come back to the museum ever. Helena, meanwhile, was carrying around her little portable stool that the volunteers were handing out to all the children. Instead of unfolding it in front of a painting and sitting nicely while sketching, she was hanging it from her shoulder while practicing pirouettes while getting a bit too close for comfort to the display pillars containing the priceless 3,000 year old Egyptian artifacts. I would have liked to visit more with Mrs. S and Mrs. R (and also Mrs. O and Mrs. R) but I didn't really dare without risking a portable stool or maybe a freshly sharpened colored pencil going right through the Rembrandt self-portrait. That would be a fun phone call to have to make to the husband, would it not?

And now it is Saturday and it is 2 pm and raining and I am still in my pajamas. The two big kids went with the daddy this morning and did a little bird watching at a nearby estuary, while Helena and I stayed home and I finally updated our book list and she put on costumes and did some "buh-way.":

dog days

Is today this first day of summer? I think it might be. It actually begins in late February here, so by the time it actually happens, it seems like it should be fall already.

I took the dog for a little walk last night because it had been raining all day which makes her reluctant to step out into the backyard because of her aforementioned expectation that some sort of manservant is supposed to toss down his cloak over the wet blades of grass so she can step upon it so as not to get her itty bitty (stray dog of indiscriminate breed) paws the least bit damp. When Jeeves is otherwise engaged and this doesn't happen, she then assumes she has permission to relieve herself inside the house on the new carpet. So on our walk I noticed a small egg (intact) under a water oak sapling. I didn't see the nest, but I did see a single feather right next to the egg. Which was ominous. Then a few feet down the sidewalk were the tattered remains of the mama bird. I felt more melancholy than is probably normal, then hummed a few bars of "His Eye is on the Sparrow" to remind me of the significance of these things, and that maybe it's okay to feel melancholy. Maybe it's even divine to feel melancholy about these tiny tragedies which serve to remind us that we weren't made for this place. Although it wasn't actually a sparrow. It was a mockingbird. So obviously whatever got the mama bird has never read Harper Lee.

 We don't seem to have any cardinals or robins here at the new place. Perhaps they are the inside-the-loopers of the Houston bird world.  Here we have lots of mockingbirds and sandpipers and herons and hawks. Walking home from the pool today, a new friend was telling me she has seen a couple of rats running around the decorative lake near the pool. Which probably explains the hawks. And is also disgusting.

Hudson is in full Star Wars obsession mode. He has watched bits and pieces of the older movies with the husband as he's been able to record them from random cable channels. The husband now tells me we really need to buy a Blue-ray player so that we can buy all of the movies, to which I responded something like "Don't you realize you are playing right into THEIR insidious little game??" THEY, of course being the titans of technology who finally forced me to buy my first VCR circa 1993, and then have thrown it back into my face every couple of years by inventing some new technology that makes me seem positively antediluvian if I don't have it. Anyway, Hudson was oddly obsessed with Star Wars before he had even seen a moment of the movies (can anyone explain this phenomenon to me?) and now his ardor is consuming. Anytime there is a pause in conversation or activity, he will posit some variation of the following questions:

1.Mommy, why are light sabers called light sabers?
2.Mommy, who is your least favorite Star Wars character?
3. Mommy, who is your second least favorite Star Wars character?
4. Mommy, who is your third least favorite Star Wars character?
5. Mommy, WHY does Darth Vader choose to become bad?

The husband came home from Kroger with this mask yesterday, and Hudson takes it very seriously. Harper put together this whole costume (Batman cape, Ninja jumpsuit, cowboy boots) and Hudson came stalking slowly down the stairs, after first sending Harper down to make sure Helena was asleep so he didn't scare her with his Fierce and Terrible Visage. He likes to think of himself as Luke (and has even asked me to call him Luke a few times) so he made sure to clarify, before he donned the mask, that in the end, Darth Vader chooses the right thing.

Helena has lately been mixing up her tenses. She'll say, "When I was seven, I saw a spider under the table and it is going to EAT ME UP!" and it drives the other two CRAZY. They will say, "Helena NO you have never been SEVEN and you will not be SEVEN for FOUR ENTIRE YEARS and besides that, spiders do NOT eat people." Then Helena will say something like, "Well, when I was seven, I had a monster, and it got you and it is going to FROW YOU IN THE TRASH!" and that is also received very well.

Speaking of spiders, Harper is on the last couple of chapters of Charlotte's Web and I think she has realized what's coming. She was giving me a summary of what is happening and she said, haltingly, "I think Charlotte is going to die," and I gently confirmed her suspicion. I don't think she is quite as emotionally involved as her mother, so she'll probably be okay.

My parents were here this weekend to see the new house and babysit. It was a great feeling to be able to show them to an actual room with an actual bed for them to sleep on instead of asking my 75 year old dad to sleep on the floor on an air mattress that slowly deflates in the night. Also my brother came with his family and we celebrated my niece's birthday and Father's Day and it was a delight.