Errors of comedy

I wonder if anyone can tell me what to do with children when they are going through that rather spastic phase in which they find "comedy" in exaggerated pratfalls, extremely loud silly voices, strange facial expressions, and the telling of bizarre stories (usually told in the aforementioned loud silly voice) that have no decipherable plot, and in which the characters tend to be annoying, in a way that is eerily similar to the storyteller.

I do not enjoy this phase. I want this phase to end, and end quickly.

And yet, I understand that some (is it most? It isn't all, I don't think) kids need this phase, and that they are just learning independence and figuring out their personalities, and that this can be a little messy and noisy.  So I try to let them run and play outside, where they should be allowed to be as boisterous as they need to be, and I can sit at a distance and not be bothered. I try to give gentle reminders about self-control and appropriate behaviors in certain places, and being able to figure that out by themselves without needing a stern look or word from an adult.

I dislike the phrase, "kids will be kids" and its variations. Because people seem to use it when kids are being the kinds of kids that are loud and rambunctious and shrill. When did that become acceptable kid behavior? Are we supposed to let it go as long as no one (or nothing) gets hurt?

I'm mostly trying redirection when I have reached the end of my ability to tolerate (which, because of our frequent togetherness, happens pretty quickly), but I do wonder if I'm stifling something that needs to be allowed. Feel free to tell me that your own kids outgrew this phase in 1-2 weeks, and emerged from it with a fully formed wit, with just the right touch of sophisticated irony, and perhaps even the ability to incorporate a delightful pun on occasion.

On a more positive note, we are just home for a trip to visit the grandparents to celebrate my dad's birthday. My kids delight in Grandfather Pate, and he delights in them. One thing I noticed in particular on this trip was how much fun he has reading to them. He seems to find something new to enjoy even in books he's probably read at least 50 times. He's extremely patient, he answers all of their (mostly Helena) detailed questions about each picture, and he giggles and chuckles and adds commentary, so that even the shortest book ends up taking about half an hour to get through. Here he is, our very own Seventy-Sixer:

Here we go marching rattley bang

Helena's favorite book this week has been A Baby Sister for Frances by Russell and Lillian Hoban. You probably know Frances. She is a sassy badger who is wont to make up clever little songs to express her feelings (about eggs, little sisters, and mothers who sometimes forget to buy raisins) and is the character in children's literature I probably most readily identify with. In A Baby Sister for Frances,  she is feeling a touch neglected after the arrival of her baby sister, Gloria. She is under the kitchen sink singing one of her little songs and realizes that her parents aren't responding in quite the way she thinks they should, so she tries a new tactic. She goes to her room and gets an empty metal coffee can, which she then fills with some gravel she was keeping for just such a time as this. Then she comes out of her room, rattling her can and singing, "Here we go marching, RATTLEY BANG!"

I feel like doing that sometimes.

We went to a back-to-school thing at the husband's school last week. This first one would have probably made it on the Christmas card this year, if only the sweet girl who offered to take the picture had actually focused the camera first. Ah, well. That pretty girl in the middle is Keza, the mascot:

This was also the night we realized the husband of a certain VERY FAMOUS gymnast from the 1984 Olympics (Carrie! I know you know) is going to be coaching football at HBU. Several of the other professors' wives and I are already creating elaborate scenarios through which we can "accidentally" meet our childhood heroine and make her our BFF, and also have her introduce us to Bela Karolyi.

We have our first day of Classical Conversations tomorrow, which means we have to wake up early and get dressed in presentable clothes and shoes and pack our lunches and our backpacks while maintaining happy hearts and gentle dispositions.The kids are going to be taking an art class in the afternoon, and then Hudson is going to have an hour of Taekwondo. He is very excited about this endeavor, and is pretty sure he will be breaking boards with his pinky on the very first day. He is also super fast on his bike these days, now that the weather is cool enough after dinner to go ride around the cul-de-sac.

Harper has decided she is going to be a scientist who develops droids when she grow up. Until then, she has "created" Hudson the Helpful Droid who, in spite of his inherent freedom, is often willing to do his sister's bidding while using a mechanical voice. When he is not in the mood to be a droid, I notice that she has started using flattery to get him to help her do things. She actually said, "Hudson! you are so big and strong I just know you can carry those blocks upstairs for me!" I fear there will be a real need to put her in some sort of locked tower when she is a teen-ager.

While they were riding bikes a couple of nights ago, Harper said to Hudson, "Let's play follow the leader!" and I knew with 100% certainty (a truism, if you will) what her next sentence would be:
"I will be the leader!" and he, in his infinite good-nature, always replies, "OKAY!"

We went to this restaurant called Ruggles Green last night and there is a big, rectangular grassy area for kids to play outside. It makes finishing one's dinner a little challenging. I showed Hudson how to hike (is this the right word?) a football through his legs and then run so I could throw him the ball. I've just begun watching "Friday Night Lights" on Netflix, and that definitely had something to do with it.I think I even directly quoted Coach Taylor at one point. I need to write an entire post about FNL. I have opinions. MANY. Clear eyes, full hearts, much weeping.

Helena looks really cute when she runs. She does this funny thing with her arms so that her fists end up curled under her armpits and her elbows kind of swing wildly like chicken wings.

I think that will be all for today.

RATTLEY BANG.

What they draw

I meant to mention that we went to a pool with a diving board last Wednesday (a first) and, inspired by the platform and springboard events she'd watched the night before, Harper dove (which was much more of a belly flop, even though she was convinced she was diving perfection) and did front flips off of it again and again. I can't believe that at the start of the summer she couldn't really swim independently, and now she is so fearless (if slightly dependent on her nose clip). The other two weren't allowed to go off the board with their flotation devices, but maybe next summer. Speaking of Olympic inspiration, I asked Harper this morning which sport she thinks she would like to get really good at and she said rhythmic gymnastics. She has been pouncing and stalking rather dramatically around the house with her hula hoop and also her long ribbon, given to us many years ago by the B's (the original stick is missing, but Harper has tied it to one of Hudson's drumsticks). Hudson thinks maybe he might want to be a modern pentathalete, what with all of his fencing, shooting, running, swimming and horse jumping skills. It's rather Mr. Darcy, as sports go, so I would support him in that endeavor.

This summer is slipping by so quickly, and I was trying to think about what we've done when we have been at home. The kids have drawn for many happy, quiet hours. Here is a sample of what Hudson spends most of his time on. You'll notice that, similar to Rembrandt in his childhood drawings, the theme is consistently STAR WARS. The bad guys have the "V" eyebrows on their forehead, just like in real life:

 This one came from Sunday school. It reads, "Draw a picture of yourself thanking God for his help," and so Hudson, just as Daniel or Moses might have done during Old Testament times, chose to draw himself with his light saber raised high in praise.

.

 

Harper spent an hour upstairs drawing this amazing Great Blue Heron. She used  one of our Draw Write Now books (do you know about these? They are neat.) to guide her:

Helena still isn't very interested in drawing. She'll scribble or paint for about 10-15 minutes, and then she'll go about some other business. Being very cute is a talent in and of itself, I hear.

What we read before bed last night

Song of the Swallows by Leo Politi

I love everything about this old book, which describes the yearly nesting of the swallows at the Mission of San Juan Capistrano, and of the boy named Juan and his friend, the elderly gardener and bell-ringer Julian (which, YES, you must pronounce WHO lee ahn) who so eagerly await their return each year. There are two songs to sing (which you might remember vexes me) but they do have the notes to help out, which would help me much more if I had actually been paying attention back in1979 when Mrs. Gail Storey tried to teach me piano theory, or even in 1981-1983 when my choir teacher (a Miss Kay Doucet) and also band director (Mr. Todd, who never truly forgave me for needing braces and messing up my embouchure on my French horn mouthpiece. Yes, I had to look up how to spell embouchure. And yes, it was a terribly aggravating word for the auto correct function on the iPad) who both tried their best to teach me how to sight read. Anyway, the book is terrific. Read it and make up your own melody if you must. I especially love how the male protagonist engages with the natural world with such gentleness and wonder. Great role model.

Dodsworth in New York by Tim Egan

I'm not sure if Dodsworth is as dog or a mole, but I am sure that my kids think he and his crazy duck sidekick are hilarious. This is the first in a trilogy--they also travel to Paris and London, and see all the major landmarks, which means you can count them as an informal geography lesson.

Wind Says Good Night by Katy Rydell, illustrated by David Jorgensen

This is such a sweet, sleepy story, sublimely illustrated. It tells of a little girl who simply can't fall asleep because there is a mockingbird singing outside her window. It turns out that Mockingbird simply can't stop singing until Cricket stops playing, and Cricket can't stop playing until Frog stops strumming, and there is an entire contagion of delightful things that must end before all the creatures can finally sleep.

I had written this entire post last night, including what I felt to be some pretty entertaining commentary on the Olympics in general, and the hammer throw in particular (the kids fell into insuppressible giggles when they saw this for the first time, and I just think it's funny how hammer throw sounds so much like 'hammer toe') and I clicked over to my Olympics app to check a couple of things and when I returned, my entire treatise was ERASED. Which is debilitating. Maybe I'll try to replicate the commentary soon, but I can't promise it will be quite as inspired as the first draft.

Some friends came over to swim, and Mrs. J made medals so we could have our own junior Olympics in the pool. It was fun, but I can't say that all the members of my family did very well with the whole competition thing. There was a considerable amount of giving up before the competition was over, a general flouting of the (very liberal) rules, loud reminders that it really wasn't ENTIRELY fair that some of the competitors needed flotation devices and should PROBABLY have their own separate junior Olympics, and even an incident of impeding the progress of an opponent. As you see, everyone ended up with at least two medals, and it was a great opportunity for discussion about good sportsmanship etc.

This morning Helena wore this dress that is really a touch too short (it's size 24 months and she is now 42 months) to church because I thought it looked a little Shirley Temple-esque.

Upon Monday and a grand jete

We have just gotten home from a morning of  errands. We pretty much traversed the western plains of Houston in this order: Target, Costco (the husband has questioned more than once why I can't possibly have all of my needs met at one of these two stores. I have wondered this myself, and the answer is complicated. Costco does not have the brand of toilet paper we use, for example, but they DO have organic snacks in bulk, for half the price I'd pay at Target, who does have the brand of toilet paper we use. And yes, I want to slap myself for having "a brand of toilet paper we use" and then force myself to spend a week using corncobs like those African mothers in that movie "Babies."), the water district office to pay the water bill, the library (we had 38 books due today, and we also picked up some ballet dvd's that Helena is very excited about, including one in which the Royal Ballet performs The Tales of Beatrix Potter that I am very excited about), and the dry cleaners. Everyone handled themselves reasonably well, and there were some entertaining conversations in the car. This was my favorite:

Hudson: (with an action figure) Look at Han Solo doing a grand jete, Helena!
Helena: That's NOT a grand jete! That's nuffing.
Hudson: Helena! Say it's really good grand jete-ing or else I will STRUCK you DOWN when we get home with my you know WHAT!
Helena: (slight pause, while she decides if she dares, then, quietly) That is NOT a grand jete. It. Is. Nuffing.
Hudson: OH HELENA. Now I have to struck you with my LIGHT SABER because those ARE good grand jetes and you should tell the TRUTH.

I'm actually kind of surprised that Han Solo's grand jetes are not up to Helena's standards, because one morning this week, he, Luke, C3PO, Chewbacca and R2-D2 were all lined up on my dresser doing the splits (actually, maybe not R2-D2) and they had been in that position all night long, apparently, which one would assume would create superior flexibility.

I find myself frustrated with the televised Olympic coverage. I think they should show every single sport, even if it's just the finals when the medals are won. I have yet to see any archery OR shooting OR fencing OR judo OR Taekwondo OR synchronized swimming (these are all sports the kids were excited to watch) and I have seen MORE THAN ENOUGH of the qualifying rounds for swimming and running and beach volleyball (which I've been trying to avoid ever since Harper wondered aloud why they needed to "wear just their panties while they are playing"). Unless it's that amazing South African guy with the bionic legs, I don't need to see every group qualifying for the 400 meters.I know I could somehow watch things on the computer, but that is much harder than turning on the tv, and then the kids have to jockey for position in front of the tiny screen, and that invites all sorts of incidences of poor sportsmanship from the viewing audience. In fact, it's possible that someone might get STRUCK DOWN.

When we got home from the many errands, Helena and Hudson made up a game called Tormenting the Dog With Remote Controlled Finn McMissile.

And now, I would really like to take a nap. But I need to load the dishwasher and check some word troubles and also do a reading lesson with Hudson. Which will it be???

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.