Aye Carumba

Holy guacamole. My Little Man is driving...with my one year old! Uncle Captain Jack Sparrow, aka Daddy Warbucks, bought two vehicles for his darling nieces and nephew. Needless to say, the jeeps were a huge hit! That's Uncle Captain Jack standing next to Little Man's car on Christmas morning. What you can't see is that he's in his bathrobe, wearing his new combat boots with the tags still on, holding a cigarette. Very suburbanite. The ironic thing is that the darlings are actually getting the hang of these vehicles. I hope they don't run over Super Dog. Actually, Super Dog went for a ride this evening. What a surreal life.

Right now my house looks like one of Santa's elves threw-up. We've just now gotten the boxes and papers out to the alley for trash pick-up. The darlings made a haul, I must say. It was loads of fun watching them Christmas morning.

Try #2

Okay, now the map has been moved to the very bottom of the page. Don't give up on me.

New Feature

Because I'm insatiably curious some would say nosey please find the map on the right margin of the blog and mark where you are so that I can see it!

So Good

Who would have thought the Muppets could sum it up. Those little foam creatures have a lot of wisdom and have said everything I could think to say. Really listen to the lyrics. It's okay if you get teary - I do every time I hear this song.

I doubt I'm going to get Christmas cards out this year, so here's my blog-card. Merry Christmas.

It's a Beautiful Blur

I didn't mean for this picture to turn out this way, but after looking at it, it really captures what I feel like my life is like. It's a blur, but there's a beauty to it as well.

I think, usually, we feel guilty about the speed at which our life passes by - no matter how fast it really is. I'm sure people two hundred years ago felt the same. I can't see a farmer on the frontier sitting back and thinking "Gee, I'm glad we have so much free time." Yet I often daydream about how "slow paced" life back then would have been. I think that's a very romantic daydream, but probably not realistic. I'm going to try to quit spending my energy feeling guilty about how fast life moves, and instead, enjoy my babies, my husband, my friends and family while I can. I guess my picture made me see that even in a blur, there is beauty.

In effort to enjoy "the blur," school has been called off this week so that we can enjoy friends, deliver Christmas baskets and have a good time.

Right now Darlings One and Two are developing their own computer game on a non-working calculator, while the two younger Darlings are on the porch playing with Super Dog. I'm so glad that they have time to be together.

Little Miss Independent

This is our Fourth Darling. She has just turned seventeen months, (for those of you who don't count kids by the month - that's a little more than a year and a half). As you can tell by her fashion choices, it's cold here, but you can also see a streak of independence, no? The sweater is GAP, the dress underneath is MaryKate&Ashley, the pants are Carters, the shoes are Koala Kids, and the hat is by Pooh Bear. She's quite the fashionista.

Last night I was out for awhile, and when I returned, the darlings were in bed, all except the little Fourth Darling. She met me in the kitchen wearing nothing but her brother's pull-up. Wow - what a bod. I think her measurements are 18", 18", and 18". She's been trying to potty train herself lately, and according to Darling Man, she's opted NOT to wear her diaper (as evidenced by several she had ripped off repeatedly) and insists on the pull-ups. While trying to put four monkeys to bed with no help, he happily agreed to her demands for underpants options. I can't blame him. It's survival.

Gee - Little Man is finally taking me seriously that I want him to use the potty regularly, and here's little sis showing him up. Oh well. Maybe everyone will be out of diapers by Easter! Fourth Darling's insistence on her own choices so early, kind of scares me makes me wonder what the next decade will bring.

A Bunch of Stuff

I just rolled myself out of my daughters' bed. We had two tall children, a grown-up and a dog jammed into one twin bed. Before you think we're living in squalor, we have several beds that are available, but apparently for the two oldest girls, none of them will do. It's much more fun to have a "sleep-over" with your sister every night. This night I gave in to their requests to join them. My reluctance has been that if I get my whole body horizontal, I'm instantly asleep. Even though it's bedtime for them, I've got laundry stuff to do. If I let myself fall asleep...it's all over. So here I am. Doing stuff. I should be a grown-up and get some chores done, but this is fun.


I have also come to realize that I think my life is on a lopsided cycle. I think I write this blog like I do laundry. I'm really good at keeping up with it for a wile, then something breaks, blows up, gushes water happens and I play catch-up for the next month. Don't give up on me though...I'm sure Christmas will be chock full of ca-ra-zi-ness.

True Toddlerhood

My Fourth Darling has officially entered toddlerhood in full force. She kicked it off in Chick-Fil-A yesterday with a full blown kicking, screaming, drooling and snot flying temper tantrum. I wouldn't let her take her juice box (vile creation) into the play area. Well, she slightly disagreed with my decision, and unfortunately, when her little fists of fury balled up, her juice box was in them, so apple juice spewed forth like a fountain.

Of course I was mortified, but only for a second. I ripped the spouting juice box away from her, plopped her in the play area and shut the door. I could still hear her screaming from inside the plexiglass area. I thought about taking her and leaving, but my my other three darlings had been so good. I didn't want to cut their fun short just because the little one decided to freak out. She cried and cried, and e-v-e-n-t-u-a-l-l-y calmed down and played with her sibs.

I wonder if the fact that her fit didn't really bother me is a good sign that I'm okay with stress, or is it just exhausted resignation? Well....whatever. I did have the epiphany that I just CANNOT go Christmas shopping with any of my children. Too many X-factors, as my Darling Man likes to call them.

After Chick-Fil-A, we ran into a nearby store to pick up one gift. She was not interested in sitting calmly in her stroller. No....she needed to scream and arch her back until she could get down and look at all of the crap they keep at eye level.

Ho. ho. ho.

Power to the People

Most of you probably haven't even heard what's going on in Maryland, but I would suggest that you check this out.

In Maryland, parents are being threatened with jail if they don't vaccinate their children. Are you kidding me? Since when does the state own one's children? Apparently since so many of our fellow citizens have rolled over and let them. One thing to note: look at the picture in this link. That's a policeman with a police dog. Now think.....where have you seen armed police with dogs?...... From reading accounts of people who were there, this was not the only officer with a dog. What were they expecting? or more accurately, what were they trying to impress upon those who were there?

http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/11/17/maryland.vaccines/index.html#cnnSTCText

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'd be one of those parents on my way to jail while my children were being secreted out of the state. Reason number 999 why we homeschool our children.

If you're interested, click this link to a blog by the president of NVIC (National Vaccine Information Center) for more details about Maryland's forced vaccination incident: http://vaccineawakening.blogspot.com/2007/11/
police-with-dogs-vaccinating-kids-in.html

It's Alive!!!!!

I don't know how it happened but some- how, my dead little digital camera has resurrected! I was cleaning off my horribly somewhat cluttered kitchen window sill, when I realized I had to get rid of it. One last try - I turned the dial to "on" and it sputtered to life (no doubt draining half the energy from the battery). But, it works!!!! Yea!!!! I think it got what I've been needing....a long, long, long vacation.

I have included this picture of Little Man that I have taken with my newly healed camera. Someone, and I'm not mentioning names, Second Darling, has clued him in on the "I need a drink before bedtime" routine. He's three now, so I guess his sisters decided to break him into the "gray areas" surrounding bedtime. How can you deny your child water? It's such a basic necessity, but oh, I find the strength. In one hand I was holding the camera, in the other....the notorious spanking spoon. (One day I'll tell you more about it...it's more legendary than it is used). One drink - then off to bed, and NO MORE GETTING UP!

What do you think?

Is it a sin to make your one-year-old dance for food? Our Fourth Darling has learned that she loves bananas, and when she sees them, she gets so excited that she does the cutest little dance. Those chubby little baby feet can move! Now, I look forward to those little dances. I'm actually planning on when I can give her another banana. (Is it possible to give a kid too many bananas?). After four babies, the budget gets pretty tight - so I get my entertainment where I can. It's okay though, I know she'll have me and Darling Man dancing quite a jig by the time she's a teenager.

Back to the Dark Ages

Ugh. Our digital camera died. Actually, I think it committed suicide. One day I snapped it on and then it just said "No. I can't do this anymore." It's actually been about six weeks now. All of these cool/precious/funny/extortion-worthy photo ops keep passing me by! I have my good 'ol film camera - which I love, but for everyday stuff I need my technology fix! Maybe Santa will bring me one. Probably not though - I think I saw him trying to dig loose change out of the couch the other night.

I was told that digital cameras aren't worth fixing. It's just cheaper to buy a new and updated one. You know this is how the nerds are screwing us, right? All of those high school years of torment are coming back to haunt us...just think about it. Everything technology based "isn't worth fixing." They're exacting their revenge by making us cough up even more money for technology that we don't even know how to fully use.

So for now, my millions six readers are going to have to put up with clip art and stuff off the web until I actually get a digital camera. How dull!

Cougars, Pirates and Butterflies

Hello chickadees. One of my latest adventures is my outing ("field trip" for you homeschoolers) to our neighborhood pub. This is the equivalent of Cheers for my brothers and cousins. We've been invited many times in the past, but yea, who has the time? Well, Saturday night we got the darlings to bed and my mom came over to watch the babies.

Darling Man and I got dressed and headed out the door around 10pm. I haven't started an evening that late since I was in college! Man, do I feel old. (Wait...I'll feel older in a minute). Arriving at the pub (pub sounds classier than bar, don't you think?) we could hear the live band through the walls. Inside we peered through the smoky haze, trying not to make eye contact with people we didn't know. Finally, Darling Man found my sibs in the farthest corner. We could tell it was them because it was the only group of about fifteen people (half of whom I'm related to).

After fully enjoying my sibs' and cousins' looks of shock, and something a little less than horror, we introduced ourselves to the people we didn't know as Mike and Carol Brady. (Old moment number 2 - some of these kids thought those were our real names). I don't think they ever thought we'd come by their hangout. Just the surprise factor was worth getting out past our bedtime.

It actually was a lot of fun. I got to see a real cougar in action, trying to make the moves on my little bro, aka Captain Jack Sparrow. (For those of you, like my mom, who don't know what a cougar is, google Oprah and cougar - I think she did a show on it). You don't know how disturbing it is to watch a late 40-ish woman, dressed as a skanky butterfly, tag teaming your brother with her daughter. After I pushed past the gag reflex, I laughed....and laughed....and laughed. Who would have though he'd be able to blush through all that fake tanning stuff? I enjoyed seeing him squirm. Another upshot to the situation of watching Madame Butterfly was that I didn't feel as old as I did just a few minutes earlier. By-the-way: the above pic is my actual brother - he looks a lot different with his eyes open!

My other bro was a vampire, sans creepy make-up. He only dressed up because his girlfriend "made" him do it. I guess he drew the line at face paint. They were a cute un-dead couple. I have to give her credit for keeping him safely away from the single girls trolling for a Halloween hook-up. Vampire brother had a nice little collection of give-aways from the alcohol companies and distributors, who apparently give stuff away at pubs. He slid the mound of flashing necklaces, key chains and Halloween goodies to me, "for the kids." The kids at homeschooling park day will love the Bud Lite Halloween bat necklace! (Hey, if the Halloween theme of the necklace doesn't get us excommunicated from the group, the Bud Lite insignia probably will). It was sweet that he was thinking of the darlings. Both bros are really good uncles.

Darling Man and I, wearing jeans and pullovers our mom and dad costumes, hang out for about an hour as we slam back the diet cokes. I can feel my eyes getting droopy and I'm ready to lay my head on the table - not from alcohol, mind you, but rather because it's almost midnight and I've got four kids who are going to be up and running in just a few short hours. We say our good-byes and leave before the costume judging contest. My brother, the pirate, won first place and $150. I think he spent that much on the fake beard and spray-on-tan.

Darling Man and I are not on the club/bar scene, and we never have been. But just having a place to "hang out" and visit was nice. Hmmmm.....how could we modify that scene for people in our homeschooling-yuppie-semi-granola-prohibition-crowd? Play dates and park days aren't it because our husbands aren't with us (and the kids are). Hey! I think I've got it.....wait, I think I've just invented Starbucks!

Wow! It Worked!

Well, who would have thunk it. I actually loaded Mozilla Firefox and it now allows me to reach my blog...all from the comforts of my nest! Yea technology!

So, how are you? I am sure, (and I'm sure Darling Man would agree), that I have sooooo many other things I should could be doing, but this is a great stress reliever for me. It's way better than compulsive shopping, counting the cracks in the foundation, and trying to figure out what I'm fixing for dinner tomorrow night. Ahhh...those were the days.

I digress...what have I been up to? Hmmmm. Where to start, where to start? Let's see. The nursery staff at our church basically insinuated that our Fourth Darling was being abused. They weren't so blunt or politically incorrect, but they were "concerned that she had so many bruises"...and..."were we doing 'okay'?" and" did I feel safe?" First and foremost, (because so many people aren't smart enough to recognize sarcasm) I understand the horrible realities of child abuse and 'objectively' I understand the nursery's concern - so don't send me any self-righteous comments about me not taking it seriously. What really pissed me off was that so many things were not taken into consideration before throwing such a loaded "insinuation" out there. First, my daughter is just slightly more tan than Casper the ghost. Secondly, she's one year old and a rookie at walking (although she has just about mastered climbing up on top of the dinning room table). Lastly, I had been asked once before, in a non-threatening aside, about her bruises. I explained then, without thinking twice, that all my children bruised at that age: they're white, (super white)- and very active. We don't keep them in a padded room (although right about now, I wouldn't mind one with a diet coke and some magazines). The first questioning didn't really phase me. I guess at the core of it, what just "got my goat" was that I felt that despite my assurances, they were questioning my love and mothering of my daughter, let alone the veiled implication that my husband was up to no good. I'm still pretty steamed...obviously.

Well darlings. Enough rage for one night. God is good. We are all fine...even the pale bruised one. Just so you'll rest easy...we had the Fourth Darling checked out at the pediatrician's office the very next day. (I was playing beat the clock with speed dial when I knew his office should be opening in the morning). He was incensed that we were questioned because, according to him, "these are very typical bruises for a toddler." She is not anemic nor a hemophiliac. I did let the nursery know the doctor's opinion, and thanked them for their concern, (of course my jaw hurt afterwards - it's very difficult to speak through clenched teeth).

On to next week. Monday morning the big green van will be bouncing down the loop towards the dentist's office. Poor thing, she has no idea what's about to burst into her office.

Sweet dreams!

AAAAAgggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh!

I know, I know. I'm a slacker. Actually, I have a legitimate reason for not posting in almost a month. My computer has decided to NOT go to the website for writing new posts. So, here I sit - surrounded by used up cigarette butts, clothes scattered and an unmade bed....nope, not my house - although it could be except for the cigarettes. I'm at my brother's bachelor pad.

I can't believe my kids are being quiet. Now that I've actually got the chance, I don't know what to write about. Oh, I've got lots to say, but I can't get it together at this moment.

So, don't give up. Hopefully I'll be posting soon about such things as my night out with my brothers (yikes!), the drama-drama-drama with people who make me realize why the world hates Christians and more.

I've got to get Little Bro 2 to fix my computer. I can't think without piles of laundry around me, the dishwasher running full and the dog sleeping on a pile of groceries that still need to be put away.

Rescue Rangers

Wow. Did we have an adventure today. The darlings were outside playing with two little friends when they came screeching that there was a dead bird outside. Gross. Of course, I pushed through the crowd of crumb crunchers children to see what was going on. There, just off the patio was a dove that was, as Miracle Max from The Princess Bride described, "mostly dead." The dove was breathing, one of the darlings pointed out. Ighhk. What to do? "Let's let her rest. Everyone inside!" Okay nature, take your course. A nice nasty cat would be good...no spare parts please.

After our playmates went home my own darlings and I went outside. I fully expected the bird to be eaten gone, but she had actually hopped a little ways away.
Okay. I had an ethical dilemma. What do I do? She wasn't injured enough to be put on the alley-cat-buffet, and we're not going to mummify a live bird (we're studying Egypt in school), but she sure wasn't coming into my house. (Despite what many may think because I'm a breastfeeding, non-vaccinating homeschooler, I am actually not a crunchy granola earth mother. I enjoy wildlife in the wild). I sure wasn't prepared to render first aid myself, but I did want to help it. Aha, call the head of the household!

I called The Man, who told me to just leave it there till he got home. I think I could hear one of his patients snickering in the background as he heard The Man's side of the phone call. Thank you wise one, but I still have a bird here that something has to be done to help it. Super Dog's about to scratch a hole in the sliding glass door to get out to it, and my children are going to need thousands and thousands of dollars worth of therapy if I just leave it outside de-feathered and bleeding.

So...here's the adventure. We found the address to the Wildlife Rescue center. Hey, it's only 55 miles away. My bigger darlings helped to pack lunches. I found some surgical gloves (we perform unlicensed surgery in the garage on weekends) and carefully put the bird in last year's Easter basket. (Thanks Easter Bunny!) Wow. Did you know doves have really long and scary beaks when you're up close? Frightening. So, as my mom would say, we go "barreling off" in the big green van in search of the wildlife rescue, God-knows where, not telling anyone else what's going on.

I didn't worry until we had travelled several back farm roads in the Texas hill country (which was gorgeous) and lost service on my cell phone. But no worries. We found the place and just drove on in. There was actually a building labeled "animal receiving." So, I took my four darlings, and an injured suburban dove, and sloshed into the building. They took our dove and gave us a special ID number so that we could call and check on it. How cool is that? The "animal receiving" lady asked if we wanted to make a donation. While that would be nice if I had millions of dollars, I figured the gallons, and gallons, and gallons of gas I spent bringing it out was enough of a donation.

I really hope that they didn't feed it to one of the mountain lions out back that's there for rehab. As far as my kids know...."Ice Cream" or "Tweety" (depending upon whom you ask) is in an animal rehab hospital.

God is good though. My kids really felt good about what we did. I loved being spontaneous with them (which many of you know I'm not very often). I hope that they always remember this. I sure will.

It's a cloud...no, it's a train!

Last week I got the rare opportunity of going to the park with just my two littlest Darlings. The big ones were scouting out possible garage sale hits with their Nana - one of their favorite things to do.

I don't know if it was because I had fewer people to keep up with, or if it was, as my precious philosophy professor put it, an "existential experience," but I had such a magical time with my Third Darling Little Man, pushing him on the swing at the park. How simple, but so complex in my heart that I hardly know how to write about it. I definitely can't write it without shedding unexplainable tears. How I pray that I will always be able to see him in my memory as he swings up and down, smiling up at me.

"Wat you think 'dat wook wike, Mama?" he asked on an up-swing, gazing at the clouds. I looked up at a plump cottony cloud. "I don't know...a crab?" I offered. "Noooo" he said as if I had intentionally tried to be funny, "it's a twain." Of course it is my little man.

In those few minutes we shared at the swing, surrounded by others playing tag or looking for frogs, I was struck by so many things...at how our lives really are like vapor, as I thought about how much he had grown. Does God create the stars out of little giggles like his? What was God thinking when he made such beautiful laughter? Will my Little Man ever really, really know how much I love him? As I sit here, literally with a lump in my throat, I realize what is so precious is that I was really with him.

I wasn't hurrying him up to get his shoes on. I wasn't asking him for the 9,438,342 time if he needed to go potty. I was just with him. For just a few moments, time did not exist, (and thank God Fourth Darling didn't wander off). It was just him and me. I was just in awe of the beauty of him as a creation of God. Oh, how beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time. I realized just how much I'm not with him or the others: when tasks, school, housework and just plain selfishness keep me shuffling them along and not stopping to just be with them in their own little personhood. I'm going too fast.

I'm stopping now. I'm going to go snuggle with my firey little Second Darling as she goes to sleep. Perhaps time will stop again.

Viva la Revolucion

Ahh. Revolucion. Taking your ball and going home. Has it come to this?

I used to think, or rather, I fancied myself a fighter. I had a few pet causes, but who doesn't in college? Now...who has the time? In groups that we inevitably find ourselves, I have found that my fight is gone. When I find myself in a situation that I cannot support, or defend, more and more I find myself withdrawing from the whole group. My husband will disagree because he still gets an ear full from time to time, and he's convinced revolution soon follows me. (I tend to think it's a strong Germanic streak that doesn't like being told what to do).

Could that be the catalyst of my homeschooling adventure? I sure didn't think that the public schools were where my kids needed to be - academically or spiritually, but I didn't want to fight the system. I didn't have the time or the energy. All my energy has been wrapped up into these four little people. To fight the fight, of say changing the face of public school, I would have missed out on watching them learn. I would have missed out on them. They are now my cause.

I think my revolution is in the home. (If you've seen my laundry pile couch you would have thought there had been a revolution in the house). But really, in today's world, the home is revolutionary. It's counter to everything that we're fed through the mass media and modern convention.

There are some people who I wonder why they ever had children - they seem so unjoyful about that situation, but for those who have chosen to really be in their families, I encourage them whenever I can. They are the revolutionaries. They are fighting the system from their own dinning room tables. Whether they have no children, or seventeen, those people who have decided that which really matters is the people around us - those are the revolutionaries.

So, as I have written this, I have thought that I had no fight left in me. I've just realized that my fight is not gone, but rather it's a new one - one that you'll not read about in Glamour or in Newsweek. It's fought by living in families where compassion, selflessness, generosity and forgiveness are learned. Those are virtues that can change the world.

The Mysteries of Men

My little boy is a man. Well, as much of a man as a three year old can be. He "tee-teed" at the potty standing up! There was much jubilation, knuckle punching and whooping between him and his daddy. All of this while the sisters and I watched the celebration in a confused disgust. Knowing that Little Man is outnumbered in the house, I was glad he had reached this manly milestone, but all the while I was thanking the potty gods that our bathroom is tiled four feet up on all the walls. (What really makes me need a margarita is that I've been warned that four feet is not nearly enough). This also means that midnight screeching will soon be upon us when one of the sisters lands in the water after Little Man has obligingly left the seat up. He's well on his way into the Man Club. Good for him, but we girls have no idea why it is so cool for guys to be able to stand up for the task. I've asked Darling Man, with all academic sincerity, and the only answer I can get is "I don't know, it's just cool!"

What Big Eyes You Have

Comics joke about it, parents lament together over it, and it will never change. It is the uncanny ability a child has to ask you a question about someone or something at just the wrong moment. You know, questions like "Why's that lady so fat?" or at McDonald's, when the eyebrow pierced, goth goon hands you your food, " Is that a boy or a girl?"

Well, my Second Darling, who is quite the spunky one, has had several of those questions in the past week, and the amazing thing is that I've learned her "face" when she's about ready to lay one on me. For instance, the other day at our mega-buying club, a man had some sort of pigmentation disorder. His skin was splotchy and oddly colored. She turned up and looked at me with the most enormous blue eyes. Just as she said "Mom," I realized what was coming, and I was quickly able to head her off by saying, "Just wait. I'll tell you in a minute." Thank God she was willing to wait.

I'm not stupid - I'm fully aware that I'm being lulled into a false sense of super-momdom. One of these days, probably in the not too distant future, she's going to bust out with the nastiest on-the-spot question. I'm just enjoying my delusion for the moment. I'm sure you'll hear about it.

Conquering the Beast

Yes, we did it! We made it through our first day of school today. It was great! I think I smiled a little more than this vanquishing squirrel killer. (I HAD to use this picture....it was just to funny to leave out!). There were no tears, no struggles and both Darlings actually told me how much "fun" it was! Miracle of miracles, I even managed to go out for brunch with my Darling Man. The mere fact that I got more than one thing done today, in and of itself, is a true miracle. Today was a great day!

Not every day is this victorious, mind you. Sometimes we are not so fortunate. I am praying that this will be a good indicator of the year ahead. On those days that I feel more like this squirrel than the warrior, I'm going to re-read this post and remember today.

Of Disappointment and Dinosaurs Video Update

Here's the video that goes with my post below.A Christmas Story~Decoder Ring Funny Jokes at JibJab

Of Disappointment and Dinosaurs

After watching this clip from A Christmas Story, you will have experienced the anticipation, elation, and then the final disappointment that my two oldest Darlings experienced a few days ago when we went to our town's museum. I had pumped them up with excitement about the dinosaur exhibit, and the mummified hand on display. We're getting ready to study Egypt in school, so this was particularly relevant. I had even discussed and explained provenance so that the Darlings would understand how fortunate we were to have this special, limited time exhibit. I couldn't believe that an eight and six year old actually "got" provenance.

We first walk through the dinosaur exhibit. It was basically a prehistoric "Small World." It's just robots that creak up and down, and maybe have a

pre-recorded roar. Well, that's a good intro, I guess. Let's get to the fossils. We walk out into an open space that has a triceratops skeleton, t-rex scull, and a few other smaller skeletons. As these historical monsters loom over us and the stroller, I read the info cards to Darlings. Each card ended with replica. Replica, replica, replica. What the heck? We want some REAL dinosaurs. Even my Second Darling asked, "so if they're replicas, how is that different from a model airplane?" I had to concede that to me, there wasn't much difference. "So where are the real dinosaurs, Mommy?"

Diversion. Let's go check out the mummified hand. Oooooooo. We traipse upstairs to the "Early Peoples" exhibit. We blaze through, truthfully uncaring at this point, about the people of the Lower Pecos Valley. We want some mummies! Jackpot! There's a mummified person, in a full-on fetal position, placed down inside a Plexiglas box. "Wow guys. That person died right there and was buried under so much ash, etc. that he stayed just like that. Let's see if they know if it was a man or a woman." As I scan the info card, replica appears once again- mocking me. And the greatest injustice - the mummified hand was absent. Probably because it was the one real thing in the display, it had to be removed to make the replicas less conspicuous. Tell me this - can a museum be a museum if it's full of replicas?

So, the Darlings and I felt like we got the shaft. We want some real stuff! So, now I'm on the search for some real historical mummies and dinosaur fossils. I'm checking into Houston and Dallas' museums. We'll see. I have a sneaking suspicion that we'll eventually end up at the Smithsonian. cha-ching

Maybe now, the silly little video clip makes sense. Darling One and Two, and I very much felt like Ralphie as he decoded the secret code. Just to note: Darling Three was content to dig in the fake sand for fake dinosaur bones.

It's the End of the World

I was nursing Darling #4 in my bedroom, when I heard something.....actually, I heard silence. (If you live with small children you'll understand that silence is a tangible, dynamic experience). I unplugged baby (thanking God she stayed asleep), and walked out into the hall. It was deserted. Into the kitchen, and still no signs of life. Terror gripped my soul. It can't be...they're probably foraging for snacks! Unfortunately, the refrigerator was sitting happily unmolested, and the TV was off. (Also unfortunately, the dish fairy has lost directions to my house). Super Dog was lying on the porch panting, which is a sure sign that there's no one outside to play with him. Where were my darlings? I went back down the hallway and ventured into the Shadowlands, also known as their bedrooms. Every single one of them was under their own covers, asleep!!!! I dropped to my knees and shook my fists at the heavens....Nooooooooooooooooo!

Because you know what this means? No, it doesn't mean I get a nap too. Nor does it mean that I have super responsible adults that masquerade as small children. It means that everyone of them is sick! - $#%^&^%@**!

Mblll.......

I can't even write the sound I make when I think about what I've just done. What could be so horrible you ask? Fishing a Matchbox car out of the toilet? - please. Catching a toddler's vomit in your hands in order to protect your new beautiful comforter? Rookie. No - what causes me to heave is sorting and zip-loc-bagging the bulk meat I bought. Beef and chicken::::shudder. Usually, I handle things as they come, and now that we're on Darling #4, it takes a lot to ruffle me, or for that matter, gross me out. But for this.....blllll....I have to prepare myself.

After waiting as long as possible, you know - when today is the expiration date-I have to set the scene. It takes me ten minutes to clear off my counter space (don't be impressed - I mearly clean the side off that I'm using), then I must 409 the entire area. As that dries (because I doused it) I get all my little baggies...(okay, they're the gallon size b/c my family is larger than average)...opened and labeled. Then, it is the donning of the latex gloves. Oh yes my friend, latex, latex, latex!!!! If I could afford the haz-mat suit, believe it baby!

Qwkkk....I pull open the fridge and find the first tray of meat. Of course, even though I triple bagged it at the store, meat spooge is all over shelf. Bllll. Okay, I kept it down. I drop the tray in the sink, forcing it to fit and bust open the plastic. Eeewwwwww. As I grab the first hunk of ground meat I'm trying not to breathe. Okay, don't think about why the meat is red on top and brown underneath...don't think about it. Finally, the beef is done. Now............the most frightening of all.....the boneless skinless chicken breasts. Aaaagggghhhhhh.

Of course after cleaning off the counter from the beef incident (409-ing, hot water, etc.) I wash my once gloved hands, just for good measure, then get a new pair for the poultry. This has got to be the worst feeling ever. I don't know how surgeons slop around inside squishy bodies. I couldn't keep a ridiculous chicken breast from slipping out of my hands. How in the world do you hold a human liver during surgery and not shoot it across the room? ...don't think about it....don't think about it.....

Now it's all done. I've sufficiently showered and scorched my counter with a blow torch. Is it possible to have OCD as it relates to just one thing? I can't seem to wash my hands enough after bagging this meat. And all this drama just to save a little money by buying in bulk. Am I the only person affected this way by handling raw meat. Yes, dear. I know I would have never survived two hundred years ago...yada, yada, yada. Does my husband know what I go through to put food on his table? If he did, he would laugh and laugh, and laugh.

For Old Time's Sake

Here's a nod to all the corny things we did in high school that still make us smile.

By-the-way, these two are homeschoolers. Who said homeschoolers had no sense of humor? These two crack me up.

Pockets: To Check or Not to Check

It's one of those eternal questions in a marriage...one of those your mom probably doesn't tell you about. No, the question is not "exactly how much dignity will I have left after having a baby?" or "How many times can you serve spaghetti before it becomes a problem?"

The question is "WHOSE JOB IS IT TO CHECK THE PANTS POCKETS BEFORE THEY'RE WASHED?" According to me, the washer, it is the wearer of the pants who should check/empty all pockets before depositing said pants in the hamper. Darling man, the wearer, feels that it is the washer who should empty the pockets. Who wins? . . . . . . . let me tell you who wins....THE WASHER!

Obviously Darling Man and I have different answers to this question...and it's one I'm not budging on. It's one of the few things in our household that I refuse to do...not because I'm too good to do it, or because it's a man's job, but because I'm doing good just to get the dang clothes washed, let alone to remember to check the pockets!!!!

Hmmm....let's see what we've washed and dried: a cell phone, pocket knife, chap stick, hand sanitizer, numerous pens, notes, money (which upon discovery becomes the property of the washer), a razor blade which was used in some home repairs, and most recently, our one and only credit card! Did you know that after drying a credit card that it comes out warped? Oh, it does!

Sorry Darling Man, as long as I do the laundry, I don't check pockets!

Death by Ice Cream

Today was one of those days when everything got on my nerves. The darlings were pretty good, but they too were feeling the same vibe. Several times I would hear snipping and curt responses between all of them. Was it the oppressive humidity? The phase of the moon? The fact that there have been too few new Kim Possible episodes on the Disney Channel? Who knows?

In hopes of getting the fam out and about, (and me a little de-stressed), Darling Man took us to McDonald's to get everyone an ice cream. If you don't have a toddler/preschooler, you don't know the rule about NOT giving one of them an actual cone. You ask for "an ice cream cup." If not, the results are horrifying and will haunt you in your dreams.

Somehow, I, in my agitated state, ended up driving, and therefore dealing with the cretin on the ordering speaker. She actually handled multi-syllabic words pretty well. (I know you're now feeling my vibe), so the big green minivan pulled to the second window.

The fresh faced and empty headed highschooler (graduate? - I can only hope not) greeted us with my much needed grande diet coke, Darling Man's gourmet McFlurry, and three CONES!!!!!!!! Okay. At this point I could still deal, so I handed the cone back and speaking slowly, asked for three c-u-p-s, instead of cones. Perhaps genius-order-girl entered it wrong in McRegister. After some confused conferencing at the ice cream machine, we were given the original three ice cream cones jammed into cups - upside down!!!!! Regular cones weren't dangerous enough for little kids, but now they're expected to dig out the ice cream from under the cone in a cup. Oh no...that couldn't at all end up badly. Do you see where the idea of life-long imprisonment actually seemed reasonable in exchange for reaching through the window and shoving the upside-down cones up her nose?

I usually deal with McWorkers pretty well, even though most are not intellectually well endowed, but this was almost too much. After shooting rays out of my eyes, I demanded new ice creams in cups! You would have thought I'd asked her to fry me up a Tiffany diamond in the fryer. I couldn't see him, but I could feel Darling Man cringing because he knew this McChick had chosen the wrong minivan-driving-mom to mess with.

The great thing was that the darlings knew none of this was going on. They were happily anticipating the pseudo-ice-cream coolness. Needless to say, once I started nursing my diet coke, I felt a lot better. Ranting in the front seat to/at my Darling Man just made him laugh harder. I guess it turned out okay. I wonder if McChick knows how an ice cream cone almost killed her?

Sleeping With the Chickens

As I walked by my son's room tonight, I saw something strange in his bed. From the distance, I couldn't quite make out what it was. As I moved closer I was both horrified amused that tucked under his arm was a featherless rubber chicken. You know, the kind you find in the joke shops? Why in the world would he sleep with that? It's kind of creepy looking, if you ask me.

Darling hubby had it at work (he's the workplace version of the class clown). I think my Third Darling's affinity to the pathetic foul has more to do with his daddy's ownership of it than any cuddle factor it might hold. Scattered around his bed were his Texas longhorn - Beevo, the teddy bear that jingles whenever you move it, as well as the jointed wooden snake. How this nasty chicken ever made it to the prestigious spot under his arm, I'll never know. But it will sure be a sweet memory that I hope I can use when I meet his first girlfriend!

Sadness & Wonder

It was one of those afternoons that matched the situation. It's been raining here, forever it seems, which seemed appropriate when I found out that a new friend of mine is going through the saddest off all things....her baby is dying.

Little One passed away today, I think. He was eight months old. It wasn't until after he was born that it was discovered he had spina bifida, and several other health issues. But - he made it to eight months old! I didn't know his mom well, but she would always bring him to play dates and everyone cooed over him just as they should have. He had the clearest blue eyes. My Fourth Darling, who is about four months older than Little One, enjoyed trying to hug him as he would sit in his bumba seat.

All of this has made me sit in wonder as I think about the joy and devastation that his family must be experiencing. How blessed to have known him, but it was only for a short while. Then, I'm embarrassed to say, I turn inward and wonder, "what if that were us?" I almost can't bear to think too long.

One hundred years ago it wasn't uncommon for a woman to lose several children. How did women loose half their children and stay sane? or did they stay sane? I really don't think I could. It's easy to say that one gets through it through "the grace of God," but that's really it. It is that grace, which surpasses all understanding, that makes life exist after something so shattering. It's that mystical, unexplainable substance that picks up our soul when all we want to do is wither away. It is that miracle of Salvation which makes a mourning mother able to speak coherently to friends and family who have come to offer paltry comfort, when all the comfort she really wants is holding her baby in her arms.

How delicate we are. We like to forget that condition, but it takes these soul traumas to open our eyes to God working in us and holding us up. It is that faith which even allows me, an insignificant onlooker to her grief, to pray for her and believe with her that God will get her mother's heart through this, and that her soul will recognize her son one day when she is greeted by him in heaven.

The Vortex That Is Blogging

Well, it's happend. I've been sucked into the black hole of blogging. It is one of the many things I have sworn would never happen and yet somehow does - you know, like letting my kids leave the house with no shoes on, driving a minivan (green, no less) and even bread making. Blogging - who has time? ...not me! It's just the latest trend, and here I am doing it.



I guess I'm working out my writing compulsion. The longest thing I've written since the third baby came along is a grocery list. My English profs would flip if they knew. We'll see if this is "more than a flash in the pan," (something my grandmom used to say).



This is it for now. I've got to put bread in the oven. You know, the bread I swore I'd never make when I can buy a loaf for seventy-five cents....and yet here I am.