In a mirror, darkly

Last Friday night, we were on our way home from meeting the Daddy for dinner (the Fred Astaire Dance Studio was giving free lessons on the town square. I learned the first 8 counts of the Rumba, then Hudson said he was ready for BED NOW, so we left) and the kids, as usual when we are in the car at night, began asking Deep Questions. The discussion went something like this:

Hudson: Does everyone in the whole world have their lights on right now? Wait, I know the answer..NO!
Me: Well, let's see. It's almost 3 a.m. in England, so most people there are probably asleep. In China it is daylight.
Hudson: And Japan! Is Japan our friend?
Me: Yes, Japan is our friend now.
Harper: Which countries are not our friend right now?
Me: Well, that is a complicated question. Because it changes. For example, Japan wasn't always our friend. The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and that's what pulled our country into WWII. The Japanese were allied with the Germans. Remember how we talked about Adolf Hitler?
Harper: BUT WHY would the ninjas be friends with that bad foolish man?
Hudson: SATAN!
Me: Well, I don't know all of the details, but generally wars start and continue because people want more power. Also, I don't know that there were any actual Ninjas fighting with the Japanese. We can look that up when we get home.
Harper: Well, I do not know why there are wars because bad people want more power. I do not understand that AT ALL.
Hudson: SATAN!
(we had a short conversation about Satan and why he exists. Because that is easy to do while driving a minivan. At night. At the end of a long day.)
Me: Well, as to why people want more power,  I noticed that you were the leader at the playground with our friends today.
Harper: (defensively) Well, yes. But that is only because I won when Izzy did "eenie, meanie, miney, mo."
Me: Nonetheless, you seemed to enjoy being in charge and telling everyone what to do and where to go.
Harper: (affronted) Well, yes, but I wasn't telling them to do BAD things.
Hudson: (cheerily) And I did not mind not being in charge. And we all said, "Yes, My Master," whenever she told us to do stuff like guard the castle. And we put the bad guys in jail when she said to!
Me: Hmm. So yes, that is pretty much what happens.

I say sin, you say sane.

We are studying European geography in Classical Conversations this cycle. We learned the major rivers a couple of weeks ago, and the river that runs through Paris was causing some pronunciation consternation. I said that I was fairly certain my four semesters of college French had assured me that Seine is pronounced 'Sin.' Another mother in the class said she was pretty sure it was "Sane," and the official cd agreed with her. My friend Janie told me it's probably one of those words we have our own American version of;  like, for example, how we say Rio Grand instead of Rrrrio Grahn-day. Though we do (well, most of us) say "tor-teeya" instead of "torTILLa," and "quesa-deeyah" instead of "quesa DILLa." So, we just get to DECIDE when we are going to change up the pronunciation of non-English words? I think I am going to keep calling it the River Sin, because Msr. Professor Whose Name I've Long Forgotten would want me to. On principle.

I've told you before, haven't I, that the country we call Hungary, is, in Hungarian, called Magyarorszag? Where in the HECK did we get Hungary out of Magyarorszag??

When I was thinking about this on the way home from our campus, I realized that Sin-Sane almost rhymes with Sinn-Fein (though I'm pretty sure that is pronounced SHin-Fain. I remember looking it up in college so I would sound smart if it came up in casual conversation. Which, to be honest, it didn't very often at Texas A&M)  and I realized I haven't heard much about Sinn-Fein in many, many years. Is there still a conflict in Ireland, or has everyone clinked their glasses of Guinness and decided to stop caring who is a Protestant and who is a Catholic? One time I was on the subway in London and this guy asked me where I was from, and I told him, and then he told me he was from Arlen. I asked where Arlen was, thinking maybe it was a suburb of London, or perhaps a small town in Belgium. "Yer dunno where ARLEN is???" he cried. And I am certain he told the story of The Very Stupid American Girl Who Never Studied European Geography to all of his friends later that night at his local.

Helena calls porcupines "pickle pines" and she says "puh-nano" for piano. She seems to enjoy mispronouncing words, then waiting for the other two to lose their MINDS trying to correct her. There's a Ninjago character named Lord Garmadon, and Helena, anytime she sees Hudson looking at his Ninjago book will say, " Is that Lord Garnagon?" and he and Harper both get extremely agitated.

I am generally annoyed with Ninjago and very much wish Lego had never succumbed to the siren song of merchandising of any sort. Though I am sure the billions of dollars they make from Star Wars/Chima/Hobbit/Ninjagoetc.. are very persuasive in the other direction.

A few weeks back, Helena "was just brushing" the yarn hair of her beloved Raggedy Ann, and this was the result:

 Now Harper and Hudson have taken to calling poor Raggedy Ann "Benjamin Franklin" presumably because of her vast expanse of forehead. Perhaps Helena was just helping Raggedy Ann to see that bangs (or, as my friends in Arlen would say, "a fringe") are almost always regrettable.

I will leave you with Ballerina Bat Girl who came to visit me one morning with her sidekick Simon the Bear.

The ringing bell

A few posts back, I mentioned Hudson's gymnastics coach Luba (or, as I call her in my head, Marta Karolyi) and I glibly noted that he would be doing a cartwheel within a couple of weeks based on sheer terror. Well, guess who did a cartwheel at gymnastics today? I'm not sure what she was saying to him in the process, but she looked fearsome. Then he finally did it and she trotted over to this bell, which I had not noticed before, and she rang it. The entire gym came to a screeching halt and Coach Luba announced that Hudson was going to perform his cartwheel. Then he did it like it was no big deal, everyone cheered, and Coach Luba lifted him up and swung him around and he looked to be equal parts mortified and exhilarated.

Then right after that Helena somehow stubbed her toe and it was bleeding the tiniest bit and she lost her mind. All of my kids have gone through this period during which they are UNDONE by the sight of their own blood and any modicum of pain. She may even be more dramatic than I remember the other two being. She throws her head back and her mouth opens super wide and she HOWLS. For  a very long time. You can imagine that Coach Luba was unimpressed by these histrionics. She pointed to a toddler class and said, "Look at the babies! The babies wonder and laugh at you why you act like the babies and crying!" Helena finally managed to stop howling and bounded into the foam pit, not like a baby. Then as soon as class was over and she was outside and away from Coach Luba's highly unsympathetic gaze, she began howling again. Then again when she had to get into the bathtub. Maybe I will ask Coach Luba if she wants to move into our guest room. I feel like she could also handle Harper and her ambivalence in memorizing her math facts.

On Wednesday for our co-op all of the kids were invited to wear costumes celebrating another country. I mentioned it on Tuesday afternoon thinking the kids wouldn't really care to. Of course they cared to. Hudson and Harper immediately said they were going to celebrate Japan by dressing up as ninjas. Which made me sigh. Then Helena said she would like to be a ballerina, so I said I guessed that sort of celebrated France, kind of. Anyway, I didn't get a picture. Which is probably for the best in case they ever want to go into politics.

My kingdom for a piece of chalk!

I don't suppose I have ever expressed it specifically, but this blog is generally a "best of" compilation when it comes to what I choose to write about. I think blogs (or single posts) that focus on the funny (usually self-effacing)  worst-mom-ever, most-mud-encrusted, free-range-kids-ever moments ARE funny, but I don't necessarily enjoy reading them. I do want to remember that these years are not always funny and delightful and meaningful, but I don't necessarily want to remember it in a public written forum. There now. Expectations adjusted.

So, welcome to Good Times Central. Or, as Helena said at the end of the day on Friday, when my parents were here, "Today was the loveliest day I have ever seen!"

Tonight she also made up a song, which she sang over and over: "God you are my savior. My very cute savior!"

Today I decided to start Hudson's handwriting lessons and I had what I thought were all of my materials. I had my tiny sponge. I had my tiny chalkboard. I had my teacher's book and my student book. Then I realized I needed a piece of chalk. I looked everywhere. I dug and sifted and shuffled. I found three identical sets of addition flashcards all bought at the Target dollar spot. Meanwhile, Hudson was downstairs at the table flipping through the workbook declaring it WAY too easy and also he already KNOWS everything in it. At which point I gave up the chalk quest and settled on a piece of much too fat sidewalk chalk I found in the garage. It did not go well from there. I took a picture of a very brief moment when everything seemed to be fairly steady, just so I will remember that even on days when homeschooling is not fun, there are still moments when things are fine.

We have been doing school for three weeks and already most of our pencils (or "pencles" as Harper prefers to spell it) have no erasers.

For my Dad's birthday, Hudson gave him three of his favorite (used) Matchbox cars (including a Cougar like Grandfather's, only a different color) and a (used) pencil that had Hudson's full name printed on it. He wrapped them by himself. I thought it was all very cute. You know, like God our
savior is very cute.

Without any segue, here is my second Tip For Being Thinner at 42 Than I Was at 25. You'll remember that:

Rule 1: Eat real ice cream instead of self-serve frozen yogurt.

Now,

Rule 2: Eat real sour cream, butter, yogurt, and cheese. Avoid nonfat and low fat substitutes. 

My exception here is milk. I don't really drink much milk, but when I do buy it, I buy 2%. But, interestingly, when I weighed more, I always drank skim. And I bought fat-free or low-fat  EVERYTHING. It just does not taste as good. I would  use this spray "butter" that supposedly had 5 calories a serving or somesuch nonsense. You can imagine the list of chemicals involved in making something taste "buttery" while having only 5 calories.

That's it for today's installation. May tomorrow be the loveliest day you have ever seen

Monday.

I had several titles swirling around in my head and none of them seemed quite right. So, Monday it is. Let's make up for that with a picture of Helena and Baby Gus. She loves him. She looks a little smug about how much she loves him.

Well, I was in such a good groove for the more frequent blogging and then I went and let a whole week go by. Remember that odd song, "Groove is in the Heart"? Obviously, the groove was not in my heart. I've been thinking about something I read about that book Outliers by Malcom Gladwell (I haven't read it, but it has been on My List for a very long time). Apparently he posits that it takes around 10,000 hours to achieve excellence in a given something. So I was thinking that if I blogged more frequently, maybe at some point my cumulative hours of writing would get to 10,000 hours and then I might be an excellent writer. It just seems very tiring. Maybe if I just do, say, 500 hours and become a slightly above average writer?

When something like Syria is going on I get very gloomy and inside-my-brain-y, and instead of doing productive things to overcome the gloom, I get stuck on random questions of great significance like Why Is It That I No Longer Like Frozen Yogurt. Because I just don't. I used to love TCBY white chocolate mousse. I don't know that TCBY even exists anymore, but there are at least 5 other frozen yogurt places near our house, and I am never interested in partaking. I am especially affronted by those places where you pump your own frozen yogurt in the gigantic cup and then they weigh it and you pay around $8.45 for something that would have been $2 back at TCBY circa 1993. I think the sweet flavors are too sweet (and I would rather use those calories for real ice cream with real butter fat. Hi Ben! Hello Jerry!) and the tart flavors don't seem desserty enough. I'd rather eat Greek yogurt and pat myself on the back for all that protein. Then have a nice bowl of  Haagen Daaz chocolate peanut butter.

Maybe I need to do an entire series on my Eating Philosophy. It is bizarre and yet effective: I eat whatever I want and yet I weigh significantly less than I did when I was 25. Rule 1: Don't eat frozen yogurt that you pump yourself. Eat real ice cream.

The grandparents P were here this weekend to babysit while I went to the dentist (not great) and then celebrated Mrs. S turning 40 with fondue and some other delightful couples at Mr. and Mrs. W's house (splendid, just splendid). I tried to cram lots of dentistry into one appointment and that ended up being a bad idea. Though I was reminded of C.S. Lewis' observation that it is right to give frequent thanks that we live in the Age of Anesthesia. They even put topical stuff on so you don't feel the shots in your mouth anymore. That is something, isn't it? Then on Saturday night, Mr. and Mrs. W outdid themselves with the fondue. O warm, wine-infused cheese! How I love thee on a bread cube!

That will have to be all. The 5:30 am Bible study with the church ladies is back in full swing, which means my alarm will sound in 7 hours.

Swim, swam, swum.

Yesterday was the last day our neighborhood pool will be open. And thank goodness, because the temperature dipped down to 101 degrees Farenheit today, which is, of course, much too chilly to think about going swimming.

 Helena decided, on Saturday, to start swimming without her beloved floatie. She just stuck her head under the water and started kicking and swimming like it was no big deal. Hopefully she will remember this newfound confidence when the pool opens again in eight months.

This means that all three of my kids have learned to swim (or maybe "not drown" is more accurate) in their own time without swim lessons or swim team or any other swim activity which costs us lots of money and also necessitates waking up at some crazy early hour every morning in the summertime. Nope, none of that. Unless you count the two weeks Harper and Hudson had of 30 minutes a day swim classes at the Houston Swim Club back in the spring of 2011, after which neither of them could actually swim at all, and during which both of them became addicted to goggles (an addiction which is still entrenched today).

We started a homeschool gymnastics class today and it was terrific, mostly because all 3 kids will be meaningfully engaged in physical fitness for FOUR hours a week while I get to sit there and talk to friends or maybe read a book. The gym is 35 minutes from our house and I don't even mind. Because ALL THREE KIDS sweating and somersaulting and trampolining and having fun with other sweet kids for many hours under the same roof and I am not in charge. WINNING. Hudson's coach reminds me of Marta Karolyi. He is going to be doing a nice cartwheel within a couple of weeks out of sheer terror. Helena even gets to take a ballet class during the first hour. You can imagine that she put a great amount of thought and planning into which of her costumes she was going to wear. I was pleased that she chose an actual ballet practice leotard so that I did not have to crush her dreams before they even began to take flight.

The husband made a delicious tuna casserole for dinner last night. With actual tuna. Because we are nothing if not always surprising. And with that, good evening.

Messily bobbed.

Three posts in three days!

Here is a picture of my hair in its natural state:

Here is the new arrangement:
 

Some thoughts:

1. I have no idea how people get such cute pictures of themselves in their bathrooms. The light is weird and I could NOT figure out how to hold the camera. I am sure it is an art that takes many hours to perfect.

2. About 10 minutes before I left for my appointment, I decided to look on the computer and find a new haircut. I am not on Pinterest, but I went to the main page, typed in 'haircuts,' and found something on the first page called a Messy Bob. The girl in the photo seemed to have hair with a similar texture to mine, so when I got to the salon, I said to the stylist who, along with everyone else in the salon, spoke Vietnamese, "I will take a messy bob, please! And feel free to chop and chop."

I went to a salon my friend Araceli told me about where a haircut is $12. I wasn't especially nervous about this because I've had bad cheap haircuts before and they do, indeed, grow out. I do actually like this one, but I am not sure I will be able to break out of my twice a year haircut routine in order to keep it maintained. My favorite thing about it is that my hair is no longer on my neck making me feel like my neck is wrapped in a scratchy wool blanket in the 100 degree heat.

Today is my dad's 77th birthday! We love him. The kids are on the phone with him right now giggling like crazy. They think he is a comedian extraordinaire. Also, an excellent Giver of Hugs and an Exemplary Reader of Stories.