What's your point? Wednesday

A numbered list, because I'm sleepy:

1. The weather is splendid.

2. Hudson has decided to nap again. Helena, who usually falls right asleep at naptime, is currently in there singing "Happy Birthday" to each of her many bed animals. Big Bird just had his turn. I may have to go confiscate in a minute.

3. While Harper is reading and writing very nicely these days, she can't be bothered with correct spelling. Yesterday she colored a little fall picture for me, with all of the illustrations labeled. There are "Pukin's, Maypole's, and Aconors" (pumpkins, maples, and acorns, of course). She handed me some labeled pictures of fruits and vegetables while I got dinner ready a couple of nights ago: "Origi's, Shrobare's, grap's, and Tomato's" (oranges, strawberries, grapes, and tomatoes). Clearly we need a little work. Clearly I need to properly explain the apostrophe and how, contrary to many Christmas cards we've received over the years, it is never used to denote a plural, unless said plural is possessing something. She also said "Hudson and I's turn" in the backyard yesterday and I almost came unGLUED. Is she planning to star on reality television someday?? I calmed down and corrected her.

4. This morning during our memory work, we were reviewing our Latin nouns and I said, "Hudson, 'nihil' (it's pronounced "nee-hill" in case you, along with me, aren't fluent in The Language of Caesar)? And he responded, with alacrity, "Illinois!" which is absolutely the correct answer if I had said, "Springfield" instead of "nihil." It was funny and we all laughed. It made me realize how much of this stuff just sounds like gibberish to them. The promise with classical education is that, at some point, all of this memorization is going to have meaning attached to it. I've never been to Springfield, incidentally, but I am certain it is something, and not 'nothing.'

5. Speaking of geography and meaning, why do New Hampshire and Iowa basically get to decide who the nominees for President are going to be? It's weird. I know everyone complains about it, but why doesn't anyone actually DO anything? Plus, Herman Cain needs to stop referring to himself in the third person if he wants me to take him seriously.

6. Helena figured out how to push herself on the swingset glider this week. I love it when they work me out of the equation that way.

7. We went to Oil Ranch on Monday (more photos to come on Friday) and I fell in love with this adorable creature:I told Sasha we are going to trade her in for a baby donkey.

And that will be all. Harper is ready to read Pooh and laugh derisively at Owl when he spells his name 'WOL'. Irony, irony.

Week in review: Culture Club!

The husband had to work Saturday morning, which meant the respite I usually look forward to was naught, so I loaded all of us into the car because there was Excessive Whining and fervent requests for lolling on the couch in front of the television. And yes, that is describing my own personal behavior. We ended up at the Arboretum, where another mother told Hudson that "dirt is not for hitting! Baseballs are for hitting!" in the sand pit part of the play area. Instead of yelling at her (which I REALLY wanted to do) "REALLY?? Did you REALLY just tell a little boy that it is not okay to hit dirt with a stick?? WHY? WHY is that not okay?" I glared a little (behind my sunglasses) and steered him toward the ropes course because yes, Hudson, these ropes ARE for climbing:Then we all took a hike. Then Helena started crying about 10 minutes in, so I put her on my shoulders, which made her shriek as though I was doing some horrible, horrible thing, so I got her down (after she almost gauged my eyes out while wildly trying to find something to hold on to from the Horrific Height to which she had been thrust) and tried to get to the bottom of this new terror. She could not talk about it. She could, however, continue to cry about it for the next 30 minutes while we got lost in the forest and the temperatures soared to 96 degrees. So. This is just before the Great Trauma:Here is Harper on the rope bridge. I bought that outfit as a stay-at-home play clothes choice because it was super cheap, and of course, she loves it and would like to wear it every day. The knee socks with the peace signs came in a package of socks, and she calls the peace signs "wagon wheels" which is cute. I never think she looks like me, but in this hippie getup, with her wild hippie hair, I see a little of me circa 1978 in this one:

Monday:
We joined the Rives familia for "The Velveteen Rabbit" at the Miller Outdoor Theater. It was free. It was opera. There was a nice breeze under the shaded amphitheater. There was a grown man dressed up as a bunny. We enjoyed ourselves immensely.

Tuesday:
We stayed home. I cleaned vomit off Hudson's rugs.

Wednesday:
Rode the Herman Park train with the Swanks. Went to see "The Velveteen Rabbit" AGAIN. Because I am a sucker for free culture. I gave the kids the option to do something else, and they chose to see it again. During this performance, the Velveteen Rabbit cried real tears during the song when the boy is so sick and needs him, even though the Velveteen Rabbit knows if he goes to the boy, he'll be tainted with the scarlet fever germs and have to be destroyed. It was very touching. It could also be that the tenor in the bunny suit was crying because his body was ON FIRE inside a bunny suit when it was 95 degrees outside.

Thursday:
Went to a FREE performance (it was homeschool day) by apprentice students in the Houston Ballet. The dancers, all of whom are training to dance professionally, were breathtakingly talented. They performed seven dances from around the world, so we got a little geography along with our fine arts. Helena, never having seen boys in tights before, asked, rather loudly and clearly SEVERAL times, "That his BOTTOM? That his BOTTOM?"

Friday:
We had our school day, came home for naps, then met our friend Helena (she is, by default, referred to as Big Helena, which we will certainly need to rethink at some point) and her mom for some play time at the park. Then we met the Daddy at Escalante's for dinner.

Mrs. S and I just had a talk about how amazing it is to live in a big city where there are so many opportunities to do things like go to kid-friendly and FREE opera and ballet performances in the middle of the week. I'm thankful.

Typically

A couple of days ago, Harper and Hudson were talking about flowers and Hudson said, "Typically, boys don't really like flowers," which made me feel frustrated. Why have we defined our gender roles so rigidly (and WRONGLY, in my opinion) that a four year old boy thinks he can't think a flower is pretty or interesting?? Blech. I told him it was fine for boys to like flowers AND guns.

I think I've mentioned once or twice about how I really don't like arts and crafts. Harper can now happily entertain herself for HOURS drawing or painting independently. The only way I have to be involved is by making sure we have plenty of white printer paper at her disposal. Another highly time-consuming, independent craft she loves is fuse beads. They are these plastic beads (also called perler beads) that are placed on little peg boards shaped like flowers or puppies or stars or hearts, then you use an iron to melt them together, which gives you something like this:
As you can see by her joyful countenance, Harper was really pleased I was taking a picture. The only negative to the fuse beads is when a certain small sister sneaks over to the unaccompanied bucket full of 11,000 tiny beads, grabs herself a handful, and flings them.

Hudson learned to snap on Friday! We are now a family of snappers. Or "smappers" as Helena pronounces it. She says "sm" for "sn". My favorite is "smack" for "snack" and I especially enjoy it when we are in public and she proclaims, in a very loud voice, "I'm ready for my SMACK now!" She also played with some rubber smakes at the train gift shop this morning. Hudson also has, in the past week or so, stopped sleeping during nap time. We've had a nice long run, so I really can't complain. He'll still be playing quietly in his room for an hour or two each afternoon.

Hudson did get the throwing up thing Helena had, 5 days after she had it. Thankfully, it was just the one episode, but it was in the middle of the night, and he managed to get it all over his bed and both rugs in his room and down the hallway to our room. I remember reading once on Amy's Humble Musings that a kid officially becomes a Big Kid in their family (6 kids) when he or she can make it to the toilet before throwing up. Yes, that will be a marvelous day indeed. It takes about 30 seconds for a kid to spew, and about 2 hours for the complete clean-up. Needless to say, I was a little grumpy all day yesterday, and felt a little sickly myself by afternoon. I have diagnosed myself with a disease I am calling Chronic Unwell Syndrome (or C.U.S.) because that is what is makes me want to do--CUSS. And loudly. I went to the doctor for a physical a couple of months ago, which I had not done in almost a decade, and he ran extensive tests and found not a thing wrong. I need to clean up my diet and exercise and go to bed earlier. But then, I wouldn't be able to complain about getting sick every other week. Hm, choices.

While I was feeling puny yesterday, Harper and Hudson decided to put on a play, inspired by the free performance of "The Velveteen Rabbit" we saw at the Miller Outdoor Theater this week. I never did get the title of their play, but the main characters were Batman and a ballerina, sets were constructed, curtains hung--there was no real dialogue, but there was plenty of action:
In fact, it was hard to take a decent picture because the action was so fast and furious:

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.