empty nest

Those of you with an eye for foreshadowing will realize that if we were living out good fiction at our house, of course I was too excited about the Cardinals. We were counting our cardinals before they were hatched. And we were duly rewarded (irony) when, on Thursday morning, Harper came into our room for the daily opening of the blinds when we would see what Mrs. Cardinal was up to. We opened the blinds, and there was the nest, listing severely to the left, no Mrs. Cardinal in sight. I went out to investigate and discovered the remnants of an egg (pale green, just as the bird web-site had promised) just under the tree. I'm not sure what adjective best describes how I felt. We'll go with 'leaden' and 'devastated'. Which I realize in the scope of things is ridiculous. It reminded me of the walks I would take when I was big and pregnant with Harper. It was early spring and I cried one day when I saw a smashed robin's egg on the sidewalk. I just felt so sad for the mother robin. Anyway, I did not want to have to go in and tell the kids. Then I realized that there were also a series of holes in the yard. Deep ones. Which is disturbing. So, I called a pest control place and while I was on hold I stood outside and willed Mrs. Cardinal to show up so at least I could know that the eggs were the only fatality. And, after quite a long time, both she and Mr. Cardinal came back to the nest. They cocked their little heads and looked puzzled. Mrs. Cardinal got a twig in her mouth and started to make things right. Then they reconsidered and flew off. I was relieved that they were intact, but I grieved for them. Then a few hours later, I saw Mrs. Cardinal sitting on the fence, her beak full of new twigs. She flew to a yard behind ours. Rebuilding elsewhere. I don't blame her. The pest control guy (Kenneth, he was quite erudite on Things Pesty) told me it might be squirrels or maybe a possum or possibly a raccoon or, and this will be expensive, a SKUNK. Egg eating hole digging VARMINT. If I see you, I will get you with the bear attack spray for ruining my joy.

So the kids handled it pretty well. I, however, was in a rather irrational Deep Sadness for the entire day. In fact, I'm pretty sure I went through all of the stages of grief over the course of the morning (1."Maybe if I just fix the nest, they'll come back," 2."STUPID raccoon/squirrel/possum/skunk!" 3. "If they would just come back, I'll stand vigil 24-7. I WILL!" 4. "Why didn't I wake up earlier? Why didn't I get up when the dog growled? I'm such a FAILURE." 5. "I guess it's better this way. At least Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal are okay.") When I finally walked away from the window, Hudson and Harper were talking about dancing and Hudson said this exact quote: "Well, I don't know HOW to dance. All I know how to do is split jumps and stuff," which made me smile a tiny bit. Then Helena came in and said, "I love Grandmother Pate. (pause) She is my BEST friend. (pause) I love Grandfather Pate. (pause) He is my BEST friend," and maybe I didn't feel quite so melancholy. Then she got this plastic tube thing and started talking into it, which sounded so funny that she summoned up the naughtiest sentence she could think of and she said it in a silly voice: "Hudson poo-poos in the POTTY!" and then I even giggled a little.

Then Helena's two best friends came this weekend, and we took a trip to Bering's this morning on our way to the park and Harper chose these wind chimes:

And we hung them in the tree with the empty nest and we contemplated the Nature of Life as we listened to the gentle chimes.

OR, I had to send Harper inside in tears because she refused to acknowledge that Grandmother Pate bought the chimes for ALL of us and not just her, which meant that she could not forbid Helena from touching them. Then Helena said, "NO, NO, Harper. You are in TROUBLE. You share!" and Harper shrieked, "You are MEAN! You are NOT the MOMMY!" and Hudson said, "I am SO, SO SORRY Harper," and I wished the husband would get home from his philosophy conference post haste and make it all better.

Cardinal rule

Much to our delight, a Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal have taken up residence in a tree (which I'm pretty sure is actually just a shrub that has been ignored so long it has become tree-like) in our backyard. Mrs. Cardinal spends most of the day in the nest, and I've been impressed at the frequent sightings of Mr. Cardinal. Is he bringing her special treats? Giving her wing rubs? Helping her solidify her birth plan? Harper has given considerable thought to how she is going to help protect the babies when they appear. We have a semi-feral neighborhood cat who enjoys our backyard on occasion (which I actually don't mind VERY much because I am 97% certain we have a Mouse Issue under our deck) and the plan is that Harper will be posted near the nest with a spray bottle filled with water. I didn't point out that her very loud voice would likely be plenty to scare off the cat. I'm frankly amazed "exceedingly LOUD neighbors" didn't show up in the real estate listing when the Cardinals were selecting their nesting place. We ran into Mrs. B at Target yesterday morning and she told us that cardinals apparently return to their nesting place each year. Which would be really nifty if we weren't planning to move. Hopefully the new tenants will be as zealous with the spray bottle as we plan to be.

While we were spying on Mrs. Cardinal from the window above my bed yesterday morning, I realized my own nest was in dire need of tending. I took down all of the curtains in our room and Hudson's and washed them. For the first time in three years. So, DISGUSTING. Horrifying. I actually haven't put the curtains back up and it is much brighter. Though the rising temperatures will probably necessitate I put them back sometime in the next couple of weeks or oven-like conditions will ensue.

A couple of weeks ago I grabbed some sushi for my lunch during a quick trip to Central Market. Harper noticed the wasabi and asked if I was going to eat it. I told her I wasn't really a fan of the wasabi and she said, "Mommy! You are JUST like MATER!" and I laughed because I'm pretty sure that's the first time a mom buying herself some sushi at Central Market has EVER been compared to an animated, severely grammar-impaired rusty tow truck voiced by Larry the Cable Guy. In case you haven't seen the movie, there is a scene my kids think is HIGH-larious in which Mater is in Japan and mistakenly thinks wasabi is pistachio ice cream and takes an enormous bite.
Grrr, wasabi! Hudson looks tall in this picture, doesn't he? And that hair is wild. Which reminds me that maybe one of these days I need to update that photo collage up in my header. Hudson was around 6 months old, small, and hairless. The reason I haven't changed it is because I do not know how. The husband did that one and he's been pretty busy for the past four and a half years.

I have decided this is officially the summer in which I really should not wear shorts in public. I feel younger than I actually am, but these are the legs of someone who has no business wearing shorts. Which means I either need to go shopping or I need to stay home any time the temperature rises above 85 degrees. I'll let you know what I decide.

non-linear

Here's a little math equation I've formulated over the last two weeks. I believe it follows the Associative Law for Lunacy:

(rain) + (sick children) + (general lack of planning) = (extremely irate mother) + (very little school work accomplished) + (strong smell of mildew in excessively messy house)

The good news is that the kids and I spent four days in Port Neches with the Grandparents Pate, which is always restorative. There was lots of good cousin time. The Nederland Heritage Festival was in full swing and Harper and Hudson both wedged into a single bumper car with Grandfather Pate (I really wish I had a picture) and it was almost worth the $12 in tickets it cost for approximately four minutes of bumping into cousins and aunts while squealing and giggling (mostly done by Grandfather Pate). Grandfather Pate then left us to go volunteer with his Sertoma buddies where he donned an apron and some rubber gloves and fried up some boudain egg rolls. Tempting, but no, I did not partake. I'm sure Cajun-Asian fusion is the next big food trend though. You heard it here first. Grandmother Pate stayed home with poor Helena, who had her first ever ear ache and was very pitiful for 2 entire days.

When we got home the Daddy had bought a Wii. He has been threatening to do so for several years now and I kept protesting because of my Generalized Technology Aversion Disorder. Then there was an article in the Wall Street Journal a couple of weeks ago titled, "When Gaming is Good for You," and it was chock full of studies and research and general statistics about how "gaming improves creativity, decision-making, and perception" and that was all he needed. So far the kids have just done a few sports games (Harper likes bowling and golf, Hudson LOVES boxing) and the boxing especially seems to be fairly decent exercise, based on the rosy cheeks that ensue. Hudson is MOST adorable while boxing. He moves his fists and feet at a very frenetic pace and lands about one punch out of a hundred:
I'm fairly certain there has been no enhancement of creativity, though I'm really sore from playing a match of tennis three days ago.

Today I decided it was high time we reviewed our history timeline from the beginning, which I've been avoiding because of the noisy protestations of my students and my subsequent inability to deal with whining as a result of the aforementioned Equation. Anyway, I got out the flash cards and Acted Excited and Purposeful and Harper started mumbling and pronounced that it was all SOOO EASY and she doesn't NEED to review because she knows EVERYTHING ALREADY and then she said she would participate, but only if she could recite the timeline backwards. I said, "That's very post-modern of you, but the whole POINT of the timeline is that it progresses FORWARD AND THAT IS HOW WE ARE GOING TO SAY IT." Then Hudson wants to know on every single card who the good guys are: Was Charlemagne a good guy? Who were the good guys in the War of 1812? What about the Alamo? Were the Mexicans the BAD guys?" It is exhausting. Sometimes it is easy. Nero was pretty much a bad guy. Abraham Lincoln was pretty much a good guy. But not as good as Jesus! All good, all the time. But what of Alexander the Great? (mostly good? Unless you were being conquered?) Henry VIII? (mostly bad?) Soldiers in the Confederate Army? (misguided but still brave?). The idea with this grammar portion of the trivium is that you don't focus on the why, just the who and the what and the when and the where. The why comes with the logic phase. Hudson refuses to accept this, no matter how chipper my tone when I try to put him off. How many millions of times will I have to say, "We'll get to that in six to seven years! Now, repeat after me: Justinian the Great, Mohammed and Islam! (Hudson: "Were they good or bad?")"

Helena was sifting through the flash cards and she asked about the picture of the Sistine Chapel that portrays God pointing from the clouds:

Helena: "Who is that?"

me: "Well, that is how an artist named Michelangelo thought God might have looked as He was creating the world. He made you, did you know that? He made you and He loves you!"

Helena: "He made Jesus!"

me: "Um, well."

Helena: "I don't like him. He is scary. I'm going to call him!" (she runs over and gets my cell phone. Harper and Hudson laugh and tell her she doesn't need a phone to call God.)

Helena: "I'm calling Jesus's daddy! (she gets the wooden phone from her play kitchen) God? God? Can you hear me?"


Harper has been outside collecting snails and slugs while I've been writing this. Probably teaching them that Ceasar Augustus actually reigned before Julius Caesar and not after.

We are glad he was born

The husband had a birthday. He is a whopping FIVE and one half years younger than his wife (me) which he generally only mentions when he wants to think about how cool he would have thought he was if, in eight grade, he had known he would someday be married to a girl who was currently a freshman. In COLLEGE. He thinks that is funny. I think it is a little disturbing.

Anyway, we made a chocolate cake (from the Pioneer Woman, and boy, it is GOOD) and the husband has enjoyed a single piece and I have enjoyed approximately EIGHT pieces.

For his special day, he bought himself a Glock. I started laughing because for his special day I had bought him a book about the history of the Glock. So, if you try to break into my house, the husband will be more than happy to try out his Glock. I am more likely to use the book ABOUT the Glock to knock you on your head really hard. Then, while we are waiting for the police to arrive (with their Glocks) I will force you to listen to the story of "America's gun." And maybe some conservative talk radio.

We also bought him a book Bear Grylls wrote for his sons (whose names are, and you will enjoy this: Jesse, Marmaduke, and Huckleberry. Yep.) and maybe I will not hit you on the head with that one because it is very small and would only make a tiny bruise.

The husband also bought a Mont Blanc pen with the very generous donation the Grandparents Pate always provide on our birthdays. I don't know if it would do much damage if we used it on a burglar. I guess if it were a fastidious type of burglar we could threaten him with a large ink stain on his shirt. And it is a fountain pen, which is fairly pointy.

The take home is don't mess with us. We have guns and also books and pens.

Happy birthday, dearly beloved. You are longsuffering with your lady. And tender and hilarious and patient with those three kids. Also, you are good at the air guitar.

Dusty

I don't like this blogging once a week business because then it feels very Herculean to start back up again. Or maybe Sisyphean. Anyway. I met this mom at gymnastics a few weeks ago after she noticed me grinning as she totally wiped her twin boys down with antibacterial wipes when their class was over. She confessed to being a germaphobe and I confessed to being married to one. I asked her when hers had started (thinking it probably had something to do with twins and a NICU) and her answer was surprising. And sad. And I can't stop thinking about it. In September of 2001, she and her husband lived in New York City a few blocks from the World Trade Center. When they were finally able to move back into their apartment, she said the dust was unimaginable. Then she couldn't stop cleaning. And couldn't stop thinking about what the dust actually WAS. How's that for a lesson in mortality?

Then the husband and I watched a movie called "In Time" which had intrigued me when it came out a few months ago. Yet another dystopian future, but the twist is that time has become the currency. Time is, literally, money. Someone engineered humans to stop aging at 25, at which point they have to begin to earn more time to stay alive. So the really wealthy are hoarding all this time and can basically live forever (the daughter of the uber-wealthy owner of all the "time banks" confesses that her father has banked up "eons.") and the very poor have to work difficult, menial jobs just to earn another 24 hours, plus enough time to buy food (15 minutes for a cup of coffee, etc.) and pay rent and bus fare. It's a fascinating concept. But the kind of thing that puts me in an impressive funk if I think about it too much. Which causes me to waste lots of time taking naps and eating Ben & Jerry's. Which puts me in an even more impressive funk..

Last week was our annual pilgrimage to the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. We happened to be there on Armed Services Appreciation Day which made a certain boy of mine really super excited. We were even on the news--my sweet children looking through the scope of a missile launcher. Awwww!
The kids also really enjoyed the petting zoo this year because there were some extremely adorable lambs and kids and piglets and llamas and even a wallaby!
We let the kids ride a couple of rides, but I think they would have been just as entertained if we had set fire to the $20 bill and watched it burn up. This one was a pretty fun 3 minutes. Helena insisted that that hat she's wearing was a "cowgirl hat" even though Harper would retort, with great tenderness, "THAT is NOT a cowgirl hat! It is a baby beach hat with ladybugs on it!" every single time.

What else? Tooth #3 has fallen out.
The tooth fairy, lazy little sprite that she is, was a touch irresponsible with tooth #2 (she left a wadded up dollar bill under my pillow, oddly enough, which was discovered mid-morning) but managed to get the dollar coin in the tooth pillow for #3. She even left a note.

Hudson is a little sick today and he got really upset when I tried to put some saline in his nose this morning. Which made him throw up. (con) But he made it to the toilet. (pro!) Losing teeth, making it to the toilet before throwing up...what's next? Driving??

What's black and white and read all over?

In honor of Black History Month, I picked up a very heavy anthology of Uncle Remus tales at the library last week. Actually, that's not entirely true. I picked up Uncle Remus THEN remembered it was Black History Month. THEN I realized that Joel Chandler Harris isn't even black. THEN I realized that this particular anthology is a "re-telling" of the stories to try to make Uncle Remus a little less enthusiastic about his status as a slave. So, even though it was all so convoluted at that point, I decided we'd read a few stories about old Brer Rabbit and Brer Fox anyway. Then Harper asked what "Brer" means and I said, "I think it means 'briar,'" and Hudson said, "These stories are not proper English!" and I conceded they really weren't. And then yesterday I heard them playing a game in Harper's room that sounded kind of violent, and they had made up a song to go along with the violence. It went something like "Let's beat UP that TAR BABY and feed him an air sandwich!!YEAH YEAH YEAH!!" and I began to really question my ability to school my own children. Maybe tomorrow calls for a quietly reverent reading of "I Have a Dream" while everyone knits or does watercolors of children who are beige and also brown and maybe even purple.

Harper has been taking a gymnastics class, and we go and wait in the noisy waiting area for an hour and fifteen minutes every Monday while she fulfills her dreams of Real Gymnastics. Her cartwheel is slightly improved and she enjoys the trampoline. She believes she is improving by literal leaps and bounds, which is important, I suppose. Anyway, last week there was a little fellow named Sawyer and another little fellow named Finn in the waiting area. Which reminded me of this skit my friend Jessica and I did in the sixth grade. She was Tom and I was Huck. We wore overalls, painted on some freckles and dirt, and memorized a few pages of dialogue out of Tom Sawyer. We went barefoot and acted it out in front of our class (NOT for Black History Month), using very Southern drawls (which is funny considering a couple of 11 year olds from Port Neches, Texas, probably had plenty of drawl just using our normal speaking voices). The little scene we acted out just happened to have the 'n' word in it. More than once. I still remember feeling distinctly squeamish about having to say that word out loud, even though it was right there in this famous book. And I feel certain poor Mrs. Bennett was rather aghast. At least we didn't beat up a Tar Baby. And then write a song about it.

I did lots of cleaning today and the casual observer wouldn't be able to tell, even though my mouth tastes faintly of Comet (I've been trying to be more natural and use baking soda, but today's filth requires chemicals in large amounts.) It's a pity that the husband really values tidiness, and I really value cleanliness, because there is rarely time for both. I washed sheets and cleaned bathrooms. I swiffered two rooms and did four loads of laundry. I vacuumed. I scrubbed the kitchen sink. And yet, the coffee table is still covered in books. And my desk is a mess of papers and books all piled up. And there are stacks of folded clothes all over our room. You know why Ma Ingalls didn't have a cluttered house? Because everyone had one, maybe two sets of clothes. They each had a single cup, a single plate, and (I think) a fork--maybe a spork? One or two pots for cooking. No sink to clean, no toilet or shower to scrub. Very few (if any) books. Which means there was no need for a dishwasher. Or closets. Or bookshelves. Or a toilet brush. These are the things I think about while I'm loading the dishwasher. I'm reading an Anne Lamott book and she refers to herself and her baby son as "The Joads" when their house is overwhelmingly dirty and messy and it's making her feel especially blue (which is OFTEN). I get that. We are sometimes the Joads.

I'd read this quote somewhere before, but needed Ms. Lamott to remind me of it today: "Boy, was that nutty old Mother Teresa right when she said that none of us can do great things, but that we can do small things with great love." I'm going to repeat it to myself like a mantra: small things, great love..small things, great love.

Those are Hudson's toes. Newly rinsed after a good mud squishing.

What's your point? Wednesday

I couldn't think of a Theme for this post, so be prepared for stream-of-consciousness. I will number the streams for our convenience:

1. On the subject of Theme (or the lack thereof), Harper is writing a story to enter in a contest and I'm having to back away slowly because she refuses to incorporate The Elements of a Good Story. I've tried reading good stories and pointing out Character, Plot, and Conflict. She will smile and say yes, I have always enjoyed Caps For Sale, "Okay, here's my story: Stingray, Fish, and Octopus are going ("wouldn't you rather write 'swimming?'" I ask her. "It's more interesting." She declines and says 'going' IS interesting, Mommy. And now I know how Hemingway's mother felt.) to school. They are going to do math. Then it is time to play. (I suggest now might be a good time for the Conflict. She thinks for a minute) They meet a new friend named Crab. Crab is funny. He puts sand in his mouth and then spits it out!!" And it goes on like that. That quiet yet annoying noise you hear is me gritting my teeth. Her illustrations are pretty adorable though:

2. Hudson has just decided he also wants to enter a story in the contest. It is going to be about a turtle and a stingray who kill a bear. I have a feeling Mater will somehow factor into the plot as well. Someone alert the Newberry Award committee.

3. Helena learned to pump herself on the swing this week! She learned the same way Hudson did--sheer parental neglect. I promised her I'd be right back out to push her, and I got caught up in loading the dishwasher or something else equally industrious I'm sure (because I would never be doing something useless or self-indulgent while my child wanted to swing) and lo, I looked out the window and she was swinging pretty high. I went out and asked the other two if they had given her a push. (Harper's answer was "NO" and the subtext was "as IF") Then I had her jump back on and show me how she'd gotten started. I made a really big deal out of her doing it by herself because I love helping my children discover their independence. My motives are super selfless and have nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that I might get a few minutes of quiet while all the independence is happening.

4. I think Helena is going to be right handed. Which makes her odd in my family--both Harper and Hudson are lefties, as are 3 of my 4 nieces who can write.

5. Last Friday at school, our science experiment involved dropping some Mentos into a 2-liter Diet Coke. The geyser that spouted forth prompted Harper to announce, "That must have carbon dioxide just like my Daddy's BEER!" Because Every Guinness is a Learning Opportunity might as well be our family motto.

6. I'm finishing up The Hunger Games trilogy. I have liked them fine. I do find all the fascination with a post-apocalyptic world interesting. Does it make people feel better about the current state of things to imagine that it could be much, much worse--"Well, you know the Democrats/Republicans might be awful, and the economy is tanking, but AT LEAST we aren't battling flesh-eating zombies or mutant vampires, and at least we can still live on the surface of the Earth and not 10 miles below it." Hm.

7. Well, I have promised Hudson I'll help him with The Sea Turtle Conquers the Mighty Bear (and Also Mater Helps), so that will be all for today.