His eye is on the parakeet

It is 9:45 pm on July 5, which means that, for the fourth night in a row, I can hear fireworks outside. Sasha has shown her great displeasure with this fact by excreting in various places throughout the house: we've had vomit on day 1, poop on day 2 (particularly galling because she had woken me up at 3:30 am to let her outside, then still proceeded to leave a trail of poop on our bedroom carpet at some point before? after? RIDICULOUS.) and urine on day 3 (on my upholstered rocking chair. I have just finished wrestling the newly washed slipcover back on the seat cushion, cussing all the while.) I am not sure what she has left in her repertoire, but the night is young.

We had a low key holiday. Harper made a patriotic dessert, we went to the pool, and the husband spent around $40 on some fireworks that were very noisy and also bright. We have some new neighbors across the street who are from Pakistan, and their little girls seemed to really enjoy the sparklers. Our Nigerian neighbors also came down. I asked them if Nigeria celebrates a day of independence, and she affirmed that indeed they DO (October 1, I think) and that it is even louder and more raucous. Our next door neighbor, who was an officer in the South Vietnamese army during the Vietnam War, did not come out. He experienced the real thing, at very close range, which probably makes the facsimile a touch jarring.


While we were at the pool, there was a little bike parade at the park. Someone had set up some speakers, and they played a John Philip Sousa march to start, and the little kids were riding their red, white, and blue festooned bikes along to the patriotic beat. Then, inexplicably, the next song was the Elvis Presley version of "How Great Thou Art." The kids looked a little confused, and by the second verse the neighborhood DJ had switched over to something more authentically patriotic. The husband said, in a loud voice, "I CERTAINLY HOPE WE ARE NOT CONFLATING JULY 4th WITH CHRISTIANITY." I mean I love Jesus, and America too, but "How Great Thou Art" for a parade seems...not quite right. Maybe it was a Pandora station gone rogue?

Well, one of the birds died on Monday. Our dear Peeper, mother of both Hobbes and Bitty. Harper had taken the cage out in the morning to clean it, and when I realized it was getting pretty hot after lunch, I went to bring the cage in and there was Peeper, lying still on the bottom of the cage. I grabbed her out and tried a couple of things to revive her, but in vain. The kids were upstairs playing with the neighbors, and I held her for a few minutes, not wanting to tell them just yet. It is a mysterious thing for a living creature to pass from life to death. She felt heavy in my hand. We had a little funeral service, and buried her in a Williams-Sonoma peppermint bark tin, right next to Timmy the Turtle. YES, I cried a little. SO WHAT? Harper wrote on the tin in Sharpie: "Here lies Peeper. Beloved bird of the H- family," and Helena made several little grave markers that are very precious, and full of misspelled descriptions of Peeper memories, like how she would, "barc at Sasha, and liked to eat milit." May heaven be full of millet and friendly Chihuahuas, Peeper. Thank you for the joy you brought.

We will end on a high note. Hudson is playing baseball for the first time ever. The team has won both games so far, and Hudson scored his first run after walking to first, then stealing his way round the bases. He even got to slide into 3rd, which dirtied up his white pants very nicely.

Harper is 12.

The kids are even numbers again: 8,10, 12. That means I have been blogging for 10 years. We are in the process of getting our house ready to sell so we can quit with all the excessive driving. This means I am having to deal with 12 years of memories I have piled into boxes and corners and cabinets. You can imagine this is all very troubling. Sunrise, sunset. BAH.

There are lots of fledglings in the neighborhood this year. The girls and I found a grackle baby on the ground and put her back in her tree. Helena named her Twig. Twig spent a day peeping plaintively for her mom and dad to discover her. She was gone the next day, and we are hoping for the best. Every morning when I take Sasha out, there is Bird School happening on our back fence. Grackle, mourning dove, and mockingbird fledglings all lined up on the fence waiting, not very patiently, for breakfast and flying practice. Over the past few days, the fledglings are bigger than the parents, and the parents scold from the rooftops as the fledglings PEEP incessantly and plaintively, and then, finally, reluctantly, hop down from the fence and start pecking for their own worms.

My friend Jill gave us her Houston Ballet tickets to "The Tempest" two Saturdays ago. The girls and I went and, while it was beautiful, Shakespeare is downright confusing with no words to guide us. Helena kept stage-whispering, "Is THAT the bad guy?" and then I couldn't remember if Prospero is, technically a bad guy, since "The Tempest" is considered one of the comedies.

On Saturday, we loaded up and drove to Galveston for the day again. We met friends this time. It was another good time, and yet another opportunity to prove my ineptitude at keeping my kids properly covered in sunblock. VITAMIN D!

A smattering of pictures from the day of her birthday. We were camping, and that morning Hudson, Helena and I walked over to the camp store to buy presents: a stuffed Great Blue Heron, an Inks Lake cap, and a bag of M&Ms. She got rollerblades from the Grandparents Pate, and I think she resembles a fledgling Great Blue Heron when she skates. The night after her birthday, we went out for barbeque, then the husband discovered a go-cart place across from the restaurant, so they had a spin.

Harper started a newspaper. It details the vagaries of The Life of Ernie, and you'd be surprised how newsworthy his life is: "Ernie, the infamous puppet, was ripped on June 8, while he was at the local pool! None of the witnesses, when questioned knew the cause of this nefarious deed. The question still remains." I also really like the part where she refers to herself as a "filmier"--let's pronounce that Fil-me-AY, please. As in, "The winner for Best Filmier of Stop Action Puppet Videos IS..."

Hallelujah anyway

Anne Lamott has a new book. I checked it out from the library and am about half way through. I think Anne is probably the 21st century version of the sort of human who would have been right there in Jesus' inner circle, and I think that is why she loves him. I find, even though she and I differ significantly on rather significant things, that reading her words tends to remind me of the beauty of the gospel. So, Hallelujah, anyway, Anne.

Harper had her piano recital on Sunday. She played Mozart's "Arietta" with vigor and confidence, and was also recognized for the fact that she has practiced over 100 days in a row, without missing a single day. She also has her Book 2 graduation recital this Saturday, which makes me wonder how big families with multiple kids taking music lessons manage to fit it all in.


I don't want to forget that on afternoons when the weather is nice, I like to sit out on the porch, sometimes with the birds in their cage behind me, reading the newspaper. This is the view: the kids with some neighbor kids trying to figure out what game to play next.

We are listening to the Melendy quartet on the school commute. We just finished The Saturdays, and have moved on to The Four-Story Mistake. We are all enjoying it.

Well, I wrote all of that a few weeks ago. We are now three weeks into summer. We are on the fourth book of the Melendy quartet. We went camping to Inks Lake. Harper turned TWELVE. Here are some pictures:

Many hours have been spent on this puzzle. That is the Daddy's purview. I do not enjoy puzzles. A few nights ago, the kids went out at dusk and blew bubbles in the cul-de-sac. They, at eight and ten and twelve, can still delight in bubbles. That brings me joy.

White House Down

Last summer we bought a White House cookie kit at Trader Joe's. My plan was to spend a summer day reading many books about the history of the White House, and then maybe create lovely watercolor paintings of the White House, then maybe journal a little about the White House, and then, as the grande finale, the kids would work together in perfect harmony to build and frost and decorate their very own miniature cookie White House. Well, I did actually request a bunch of books from the library, and we did read those at some point over the summer. As for the portraits, and the journaling, well, that never happened. The kids would ask about the cookie house, but I kept finding reasons to say NOT TODAY. It seems like it was always someone's birthday, and we had a cake to eat, or some other holiday where everyone had gotten lots of candy. Every few weeks, one of the kids would see the box in the pantry and ask, "WHEN are we going to build our White House??" and the answer was always NOT TODAY. At some point, they all gave up. Last week, Hudson spied it in the very back of the cereal shelf and said, "I guess we might as well just throw away the White House since we are never EVER going to make it," and I surprised us all by saying, "TODAY! Let's make it today!"

It looked nothing like it did on the box. I deemed it White House: War of 1812 Edition. Harper added a gummy bear representing Dolly Madison running out with the portrait of George Washington, then Hudson added a roof-top hot tub on the portico, put a gummy bear reclining in it, and deemed it Donald Trump. Then it collapsed and we ate some of it. It tastes like cardboard, probably because it had an expiration date of September 2016.

My kids have this thing they do to each other when one of them is having a bad attitude. I can't really remember when it started--maybe 3? years ago. They sing this little song they made up, and the only words are, "LET'S BE HAPPY AND POSITIVE (ABOUT IT)!!" They will also sometimes shorten the admonition to "L.B.H.A.P.!" It is most often sung to the Hudson bear, and it NEVER EVER makes him happy or positive. It does not, however, create as much friction as the other Balm of Gilead sometimes employed. When things aren't going someone's way, for example, all of the leads from one's automatic pencil have just spilled out over the floor of the van, there is the Too Bad For You! chant. This is said in this sneery, nasally voice that my kids think is how teenagers talk. It is sometimes shortened to "T.B.F.Y.!" and sung. The tune is grating, and it never fails to trigger a reaction that makes all of us peevish.

To close, the yearly Narnia party is at school today. My two little soldiers, all suited up for the Last Battle. You probably didn't know Athena and Thor were in the Narnia books. It pretty much sums up what had been my mantra for most of this year: CLOSE ENOUGH.

Fleet of foot, Fair of Science

Harper had her last cross country event on Saturday. It was a 5K sponsored by Free the Captives, an organization working to end human trafficking. Hudson decided to run too, and is now the proud owner of a t-shirt with "Fighting Teen Sex Trafficking in Houston" emblazoned on the back. Wince with me, won't you. They both ran really well, even though it was a hot, muggy morning. Hudson's time was 31 minutes, which is terrific considering he didn't train at all except for running a single mile around our cul-de-sac few weeks ago. He was displeased with his performance, which is further evidence that he is my son. I think I was ten when I realized I was getting too old to be a prodigy at anything. I didn't handle the disappointment very well. We are hoping he is internalizing the reality that being really good at anything requires lots of hard work, and some people have to work harder than others.



I teared up when I saw Harper coming into the home stretch holding hands with the friend she has consistently run with in practice all year. They stayed together the entire race. Harper is so independent, sometimes to a fault, so this show of teamwork and mindfulness of the needs of others was beautiful to me.



Her beloved 3rd grade teacher, and current art teacher, Ms. Pf, dressed up as Stupendous Man from Calvin & Hobbes to honor the Super Hero race theme. We are so thankful for her.



Harper had her Science Fair on Monday. Her hypothesis was that male parakeets solve problems faster than female parakeets. She worked really hard (as did Hobbes, who proved her hypothesis correct) on her research, her written report, and her board. Other than a few minutes spent showing her how to use Word to type her report, I was completely uninvolved. I was so impressed with all of the experiments, and amazed at how much these fifth graders have grown, both physically and academically, this year.

 Now I need to go to the grocery store. My days alone are waning fast.

Bird eat bird. Also, Uranus.

A few weeks ago, we discovered this sharp-shinned hawk swooping around our neighborhood. He is very handsome, but we were troubled to find his diet consists primarily of small birds. We are just starting to get a wider variety of song birds to our feeders, including a pair of house finches, a pair of cardinals, and a little flock of waxwings. I wish the hawk would instead go hang out down the street in the Kroger parking lot and eat the grackles that keep stealing my suet. Sometimes I sit outside reading my newspaper, and when the grackles come I clap and clamor until they leave. One of our little neighbors was startled by this behavior and wanted to know why I was yelling at those black birds. I tried to explain to her why cardinals are better than grackles. It was an awkward conversation.

We went to the library a couple of weeks ago, and there were four large broods of Muscovy ducklings--probably 50 ducklings in all. They were adorable. We went back a few days later to visit them again, but there were just a few ducklings left, and several Muscovy mothers wandering around looking dazed and confused. We were puzzling over where all the darling babies had gotten off to when SUDDENLY, the biggest red-tailed hawk I've ever seen came swooping a couple of feet over my head and landed in a tree right next to us. The kids admired him for a minute, then I saw Harper realize what exactly was going on here, and she started yelling and chasing him off. He was a little sluggish, and flapped off very slowly, because he was FAT with ducklings. The natural world is brutal.


I finished another book this week. A Long Walk to Water by Linda Sue Park. It's a fictional story based on the real journey of one of the lost boys of Sudan. It is inspiring and convicting. Read it. Actually, go ahead and read anything by Linda Sue Park. I am also listening to Seven Women by Eric Metaxas. I just finished the chapter on Susannah Wesley. She was a marvel. When she needed a moment or two of escape from her NINETEEN children, she would sit down, pull her apron over her head, and pray. I think I am going to implement that strategy.

I want to remember that Harper asked to sit in my lap at church on Sunday. I love that she still does this. She is almost 5 feet tall, weighs just under 70 pounds, and her string bean legs dangle all the way to the floor. Sunrise, sunset...

Helena did a great job on her solar system presentation last Wednesday. She was well prepared this time, and her teacher told them beforehand in what order they would go. They were each assigned a particular planet to present, and she was Uranus. It never stopped being funny. I did manage to convince her not to start her presentation with, "I am Uranus!"  The Greek god that Uranus is named after is actually Ouranos. Why didn't they go with that spelling? Early astronomers had a scatological sense of humor, no doubt.

I finally started my Couch to 5K again this morning. I had to go all the way back to week 2, but my knee only hurt the tiniest bit, so I feel encouraged. That will have to be it for today. Two posts in a week, though!

Easter 2017: Burned Cross Buns

There is a patch of bluebonnets that pops up every year in front of the gym where our church meets. They were in full bloom about 3 weeks ago. We didn't get a family picture then, and we didn't get one yesterday. Thankfully, there are other ways to celebrate the resurrection.

We continued the hot cross buns tradition. I decided to make the real thing this year. YEAST IS SCARY. We made the dough Saturday night. The recipe told me I could refrigerate it overnight. Only the container I put it in apparently wasn't closed tightly enough, because when I got up early Sunday, there was a YEASTY DOUGH MONSTER oozing all over the middle tray of my refrigerator. I salvaged it, rolled out the dough, formed the rolls, let them rise AGAIN, and put them in the oven. AND set the timer for 30 minutes instead of 20. Sing with me?  Burned cross buns, burned cross buns, cuss cuss cuss cuss, cuss cuss cuss cuss, burned cross buns! Again, salvageable. When will I accomplish feats in the kitchen that don't necessitate words like "salvageable?" There's an Easter metaphor in there somewhere. The kids did their own icing crosses. I refrained from making any metaphorical speeches.

 Our church is going through lots of transition right now, and my friend Carrie still managed an egg hunt. Grandmother Pate made sure everyone had new finery.

 My friends Sarah and Emily used their patience and talent to prepare the kids for a sweet rendition of "Lamb of God." Their voices were accompanied by 8th grader Marco on violin, and 7th grader Daniel on cello. That's a hint of heaven, I am sure of it.

The husband made steaks and asparagus for lunch. He also cleaned up afterwards, while I took a little nap. These are the days, they really are.