Post thanks

Helena has a friend that only she can see and her name is Penuhpuh (pronounced PEN-uh-puh). We don't know much about Penuhpuh except her name, and that she might have a sister named Penuhpee. The other day we were at Target and we walked by a little girl who looked to be around 2 and she said, in a loud clear voice from inside a rack of coats, just as we walked by, "PENUHPUH!" Helena, who was riding in the cart, looked at me with delight and said, "Did she just say Penuhpuh??" and I laughed and conceded that it had certainly sounded like it. Perhaps it is a fairy world visible only to the very young.

We read Mary Poppins a month or so ago, and there is a chapter in which Jane and Michael's twin baby brother and sister (they don't make it into the movie) are able to talk to animals. Then the day they stop being babies (maybe on their first birthday? I can't remember exactly), they aren't able to do it anymore, and they have no memory of ever being able to. It made me a little sad, naturally.

We got to do this last Tuesday. That furry bit of adorable in Harper's lap is Gracie, who belongs to The B's grandmother Mrs. Y (who is already very beloved by my kids because of her generous nature, her lovely swimming pool, and her two parrots):

We got all packed up to go see the Grandparents Pate bright and early on Thanksgiving day, and after about 15 minutes on the road, Hudson threw up. Thankfully, he gave us some warning AND the always prepared husband had stuffed a garbage bag between the car seats, which I managed, with my extensive Krav Maga training, to get under Hudson's chin just in time. We came back home to clean up, waited a few hours, then tried again. We made it sans puke, but ended up staying only about 24 hours because Hudson got punier and punier (more throwing up and a fever) and the girls got a touch of it as well. Though I still think Harper mainly just wanted to eat saltines and have an excuse to watch movies. We found out later that it was actually a good thing we'd had to go back home Thursday morning. We were spared the horrific traffic after a terrible wreck on I-10 that was directly on the route to my parents'. See? Sometimes we can even be thankful for a vomit episode in the car.

And I will close with the first in a photo series I call Not the Christmas Card Photo:
 

Choosing a bride

I saw this headline on the local news web page this morning:

Man who kidnapped girlfriend had ring in one hand, Taser in the other.

I laughed, then realized that might be how we've gone about looking for a church this time around. We are realistic in our expectations, I think. We tell ourselves that there isn't going to be a perfect place, and if there were, they certainly wouldn't want any miserable sinners like us to join up. Even with realistic expectations, I've still been disappointed. BUT I've also been encouraged--the church is diverse and wide and (hopefully) deep. It's all very confusing. We can't even decide on a denomination!! Or a style of worship! I mean, I know what I would prefer, but I wonder if God is altogether impressed with my preferences factoring into my decision. The husband and I pieced together an Ideal Bride (teacher from one church, pastor from another, music guy from yet another, weekly communion service from here, embracing kids in the worship from there, attitude towards the least from there..) and laughed at the implausibility of all those disparate elements ever joining up in one Body. It would likely require both a ring and a Taser to get that bride to agree.

Okay then. I think that is it for today. I'm going to let the kids help me make a pumpkin pie to take to Grandmother Pate's house. Here's a poorly lit picture of those three one night last week, the first night they thought it might be cold enough for fleecy footy pj's. I don't want to forget that this is where we end most nights, in Helena's room. We turn on her cd and sing "The Grand Old Duke of York" with hand motions, because it is the song that comes just before her lullabies. She hops in her bed and the other two march upstairs for their big kid read aloud time.Pleasant little routines. There is much for which to be thankful.

Orange belted

Hudson pronounces 'unicorn' like "yearn a kern." This morning at breakfast, Helena asked for some "Buhnola" and Hudson said, "No Helena, it is NOT BUHnola, it is "gruh-NER-la," and I laugh to myself about all of the pots and kettles calling one another black around here.

Harper and Hudson got their orange belts at their last Taekwondo class on Friday. They had to break a board using a heel kick, and I was a little worried Hudson's whopping 35.5 pounds might not be quite enough to do it. He got it on the second try, thankfully, and I was so excited I ended up videotaping the floor of the gym instead of the actual board breaking. I was trying to take video for the Daddy and also pictures, which means that both turned out pretty terrible. But when has that ever stopped me. The kid standing between Harper and Hudson is their mutual hero. He's been in Taekwondo for awhile, and earned a blue belt. Here's the class with the very patient Coach J:

 Then we got home and Hudson decided to do a skills demonstration in the driveway, while Harper decided to cut the grass with her pink utility knife:

Jesus in a shoebox

For the past few years, we've participated in Operation Christmas Child, the ministry of Samaritan's Purse through which rich Americans (and other rich countries too, I presume) fill shoeboxes with toys and other useful items that are then sent to children in the developing world who might otherwise not receive any Christmas presents. (why yes, you certainly may hire me to write the blurbs for your nonprofit). In theory, I like these opportunities to remind myself and the kids how the world is full of people in need, and that we've been given much and, therefore are charged to DO SOMETHING. In practice, however, I am conflicted. How shocking.

So, we load up in the car this morning and head to Walmart, because it is close, and because I assumed we could get more for our money there. Then we get there and I remember why it is that I rarely shop at Walmart: everything looks really cheap, only it really isn't. The kids would pick up some cheap looking toy and the price would be $6.97, and I would picture some sweet kid in Guatemala playing with it once and then it would break into large sharp pieces, which their baby sister would crawl over on the dirt floor resulting in a bad cut on her knee which would really need stitches, only the nearest  doctor is 50 miles away, so she gets a raging infection which then turns into cellulitis and there are no antibiotics in their village and it is all WALMART'S fault but everyone knows you can't file a class action lawsuit against Walmart if you live in Guatemala. Then I realized that we are buying the kinds of toys that I generally avoid buying for my kids (you know: plastic, garish, in need of excessive batteries...) and what kind of message is that sending to my kids? That we don't want this junk littering up our house, but it's super special for some poor kid in Madagascar?? Anyway, I managed to keep functioning in spite of this chaos going on in my brain. We ended up also going to Target, because for some reason the stuff in the Dollar Spot somehow seems a tad less crappy, and it really is just a dollar. Although, I always have a vague unease when things are so cheap. A few weeks ago, the husband and I walked through the store Forever 21 (while we were strolling through the mall after my birthday dinner) because I had never been in there before, and a blogger who puts together these really cute outfits and then tells you where she buys everything seems to find lots of cute (and super cheap) things there. We got all the way to the back and I was overwhelmed with the magnitude of the trendy gaudiness, and the husband said something like, "You can practically smell the sweat of all the child laborers it took to sew all of this crap," and I had to agree.

So, now that I've totally ruined it for all of us, here are the spoils. May the children who get them be blessed beyond measure, in spite of our paltry efforts. See Jesus and his love for you in these flashlights and crayons and Matchbox cars and Hello Kitty gel pens and princess Polly Pockets. But please know that this is not even close to real treasure. And also please don't let your baby sister swallow the batteries from your flashlight.

Slip sliding away, part 2

Hudson had a spill on his bike yesterday and he scraped up his elbow pretty badly even though, and this is disappointing, he was wearing elbow pads. Although I know the elbow and knee pads and other gear I find so annoying to keep up with has saved him from many, many other skin abrasions in bike adventures over the year or so since he's been on the two wheeler. Anyway, he was really loudly sad about the blood, and Helena was, as usual overly solicitous in her sympathies, which required Hudson to show great restraint in his agony, because I am certain he wanted to knock her clean out.

He recovered and spent the rest of the afternoon shooting the two new Nerf guns the daddy came home with this week. The daddy may or may not be stockpiling weapons of all kinds because of the results of the recent election.

I think this is fascinating: I had two separate friends give birth yesterday. They both had baby girls. Which isn't that interesting until I tell you that Mrs. S added this sole daughter to her FIVE sons,  and Mrs. M added this sole daughter to her FOUR sons. Then I started thinking about it and realized I have several other friends with a similar ratio: Mrs. Y had three lovely sons before Miss C showed up, Mrs.C had four sons, then Miss K, then two more sons, and Mrs. F had four sweet boys before Miss M showed up seven months ago. What do you think this means? Is there an army of magnificence in our future? Or will our daughters have a delightful array of suitors who will have to prove themselves worthy amongst impressive competition? Anyway, welcome to the world little P and little C. Your brothers are sure to love and protect you well.

I just had to push Sasha off my lap because she does this thing where she nudges her way in without any sort of invitation and makes it very difficult to type on the iPad (which already tries my patience and skills). She is already on my bad side today because she ran outside into the front yard just as we were loading up the van for school this morning. Of course I always leave plenty of time for such contingencies as a wayward chihuahua. OR we were already a touch behind schedule and I had to chase her down. She was, ironically, seeking shelter in our neighbors' side yard just a few feet away from an enormous dog that likely would eat Sasha in a single bite if she got out of her fence. Her name is Gucci. Anyway, the reason Sasha was trying to escape in the first place is because she is so utterly despondent at being placed in her crate when we leave the house. I think I have mentioned before the feral howl she emits every single time we leave the house. I even tried to give her a treat one day this week as we left to go to the park. She did not eat it. She waited until we got home and then I heard her crunching it as soon as we walked in the door. I thought that showed incredible restraint, and it also made me realize that her grief is such that she gives herself up for dead when she is denied our community. Why eat a treat when the world is as good as ended?

Perhaps you will make your own spiritual metaphors based on my dog.

Oh, I forgot to mention that I woke up in the middle of the night last night with a coughing spasm. Which has happened more nights than not this past week. The husband got me some water and I got a cough drop which I've kept on my nightstand for emergencies (Hudson has asked approximately 56 times if he might have it) and I sort of dozed off and swallowed the cough drop accidentally. I had a moment where I thought it might be the end of it all (and was just awake enough to realize that Death By Lozenge is super humiliating) but thankfully it went safely down my esophagus.

The end.

Slip sliding away

Well, how about this! Three days in a row. I think the most pertinent thing that happened today is that I fell down the stairs this morning. Thankfully, it was only 5 steps from the bottom and I did, indeed, fall on my bottom and not face forward. It is, however, surprisingly painful to fall down only five steps. I am going to have a monstrous bruise on my hip, there seems to be some sort of toe strain involving the fourth metatarsal of my left foot, and I'm pretty sure I wrenched both shoulders out of their respective sockets in the process of reaching back to try to stop myself. I think there are four specific things to blame:

 1. I had just woken up and had not had any coffee,
 2. I was awake until midnight last night watching people debate colors on a map,
 3. I was wandering around aimlessly because I could faintly hear a child calling for help in a bathroom, but my morning deafness impeded my ability to discern which child in which bathroom, and
4. My new birthday houseslippers. There was a serious malfunction. I now have a working theory that many falls of the elderly which result in hip fractures could be directly linked to malfunctions of comfy house slippers. Maybe I will write an email to the CDC requesting an epidemiological study. Then I will be published and will qualify for tenure.

 I was also forced to concede that, though I still have not figured out how to vacuum them properly, which has caused me to complain, I am exceeding glad for the carpet on the stairs. It would have hurt so much worse without it.

 I think that is it for today. We finished reading The Tale of Despereaux and we all enjoyed it. Hudson in particular is a little nervous about the idea of a dungeon, but we are all very glad that Despereaux prevailed against the darkness in the end. Harper even made a Despereaux out of a tiny mouse she had on hand:

'sup

Overheard just now as the kids are sitting at the table playing with their play-doh (that we made over a month ago--I was astounded to find it was still soft):

Harper: Hudson, guess how Paddington spells soup? S-O-O-P!
Hudson: (fake laughing because he thinks this sounds fine, but senses from the derision in Harper's tone that it is not) HAH! Um. How do you spell soup really?
Harper: S-U-P.


Which explains why just this afternoon, we began a spelling program. I was hoping that Harper would be an intuitively good speller (I am. Is that bragging?) just by reading lots of good books. Alas, it doesn't seem to be working. It has something to do with her self confidence. She really feels like her spelling is better than the actual spelling, and that the rest of us should go along with her.

We went to a park with some friends this morning. It is lovely weather here in Houston for election day .I voted last week because one of the early polling places happened to be at our library. While we were waiting in line, Harper asked me who I was voting for. I told her that we have a secret ballot, and that as she gets older we can talk more about the issues and how that informs our choices, but that I wanted to keep my vote a secret. A lady about my mom's age turned around and said , "Good for you!" and told me her mom had never told her how she voted when she was young and that she had not told her own kids when they were young. Another mom, closer to my age, looked a little defensive, and added that she thought it was Important to tell her kids how she was voting and WHY. I suspect she doesn't have extended conversations with her kids about the nuance of the issues. It reminded me of my college roommate freshman year who told me she was a Democrat. When I asked her for specific reasons why, she got really defensive and said her parents were Democrats and that, by golly, that was good enough for her. At the time, I thought that was a really dumb answer. I still do. Although I probably vote in a way similar to my parents at this point, it has more to do with shared sensibilities than any loyalty to their particular party affiliation. Isn't that how it should be?

 Here's a picture of us doing some school this afternoon. Hudson was working on writing some zeroes, Harper was writing a story with her spelling words (and mostly spelling them correctly) and Helena was playing with her purple play-doh. Sasha likes to sit at the table while we are learning. I do not have a lesson plan for her.