Hurrah for viability!
Thank you, Jesus!
7.28.2005
7.26.2005
If I were...
Emily tagged me, so here goes....
If I could be a gardener...
...I would have lots of fruit trees. And I would have a big herb garden, so I could cook with fresh herbs all the time. And I'd plant so many flowers that there would be plenty left over to make the garden pretty even after I'd filled every corner of the house with cut flowers and given lots to my friends. I recently sat on someone's porch swing who had lots of big, fragrant mint plants by the porch... it was sublime. I would definitely plant tomatoes, but I'm not so sure about carrots. Carrots just sound like a lot of work---and the freshness of carrots just isn't nearly as exciting.
If I could be a chef...
...then I guess my husband would just have to be a gardener. Actually, we'd both be gardeners and chefs together. Cooking together is so much fun. Besides, I'd need somebody to keep me from getting too adventurous. (That cucumber smoothie surely would have been spectacular if I'd just put in a little less salt...)
If I could be a musician...
...I would be every bit as adventurous as if I were a chef! I would write lots of avant-garde music that pushed the envelope. But don't worry. It would still be pretty and joyous and hopeful and poignant and innocent. It would also be heartbreaking and tragic and bittersweet.... but things can only be really heartbreaking and tragic against the backdrop of our glorious hope. Basically I would write music for the 21st century that was firmly rooted in a Christian aesthetic.
If I could be an athlete...
...I wouldn't be constantly bumping into things, for one thing, and my apartment would be a lot cleaner. My sport would never be more than a hobby, but I think that the discipline would stand me in good stead in all areas of my life, making me a better citizen of the physical universe.
If I could be an architect...
...I would first have invested heavily in South American hardwood, because I despise both carpeting and the destruction of rainforests. By investing in South American tree farms, I would be providing good employment for local laborers and gorgeous floors for my homes... all in an environmentally friendly sort of way.
Okay... now I think I shall tag Sharon, and Becka, and Snugbug Snell.
Here are the "questions." Answer five of them, and tag three more friends. =) If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician...If I could be a doctor...If I could be a painter...If I could be a gardener...If I could be a missionary...If I could be a chef...If I could be an architect...If I could be a linguist...If I could be a psychologist...If I could be a librarian...If I could be an athlete...If I could be a lawyer...If I could be an inn-keeper...If I could be a professor...If I could be a writer...If I could be a llama-rider...If I could be a bonnie pirate...If I could be an astronaut...If I could be a world famous blogger...If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...If I could be married to any current famous political figure...
If I could be a gardener...
...I would have lots of fruit trees. And I would have a big herb garden, so I could cook with fresh herbs all the time. And I'd plant so many flowers that there would be plenty left over to make the garden pretty even after I'd filled every corner of the house with cut flowers and given lots to my friends. I recently sat on someone's porch swing who had lots of big, fragrant mint plants by the porch... it was sublime. I would definitely plant tomatoes, but I'm not so sure about carrots. Carrots just sound like a lot of work---and the freshness of carrots just isn't nearly as exciting.
If I could be a chef...
...then I guess my husband would just have to be a gardener. Actually, we'd both be gardeners and chefs together. Cooking together is so much fun. Besides, I'd need somebody to keep me from getting too adventurous. (That cucumber smoothie surely would have been spectacular if I'd just put in a little less salt...)
If I could be a musician...
...I would be every bit as adventurous as if I were a chef! I would write lots of avant-garde music that pushed the envelope. But don't worry. It would still be pretty and joyous and hopeful and poignant and innocent. It would also be heartbreaking and tragic and bittersweet.... but things can only be really heartbreaking and tragic against the backdrop of our glorious hope. Basically I would write music for the 21st century that was firmly rooted in a Christian aesthetic.
If I could be an athlete...
...I wouldn't be constantly bumping into things, for one thing, and my apartment would be a lot cleaner. My sport would never be more than a hobby, but I think that the discipline would stand me in good stead in all areas of my life, making me a better citizen of the physical universe.
If I could be an architect...
...I would first have invested heavily in South American hardwood, because I despise both carpeting and the destruction of rainforests. By investing in South American tree farms, I would be providing good employment for local laborers and gorgeous floors for my homes... all in an environmentally friendly sort of way.
Okay... now I think I shall tag Sharon, and Becka, and Snugbug Snell.
Here are the "questions." Answer five of them, and tag three more friends. =) If I could be a scientist...If I could be a farmer...If I could be a musician...If I could be a doctor...If I could be a painter...If I could be a gardener...If I could be a missionary...If I could be a chef...If I could be an architect...If I could be a linguist...If I could be a psychologist...If I could be a librarian...If I could be an athlete...If I could be a lawyer...If I could be an inn-keeper...If I could be a professor...If I could be a writer...If I could be a llama-rider...If I could be a bonnie pirate...If I could be an astronaut...If I could be a world famous blogger...If I could be a justice on any one court in the world...If I could be married to any current famous political figure...
7.25.2005
Centrifugal Force
Wheels are always good for spinning, and the stroller, lying folded up on its side, has been a source of great fun for some time. But the wuggies have found a new game, now, that is positively thrilling. They place a small object on the wheel, maybe a baby wipe, or one of their Little People, and spin the wheel. The object, of course, goes flying off, sending the boys into paroxysms of laughter.
I must say, the physical universe is a very exciting place!
I must say, the physical universe is a very exciting place!
7.24.2005
Attack of the Rabid Giraffe
It's lots of fun to splish and splash in the bathtub, but getting lathered up is, for some reason, a bit intimidating. So a few weeks ago, I had a brilliant idea. They love the Baby Einstein giraffe puppet that Aunt Karen got them last Christmas, and the label does say it's a "bath puppet".... Perhaps being lathered up by a friendly giraffe would be so much fun they would forget to be intimidated.
Alas, it did not occur to mommy that perhaps the giraffe might not seem quite so friendly if he was foaming at the mouth.
We still play with the giraffe at bathtime. But he is strictly for rinsing, now.
Alas, it did not occur to mommy that perhaps the giraffe might not seem quite so friendly if he was foaming at the mouth.
We still play with the giraffe at bathtime. But he is strictly for rinsing, now.
7.22.2005
Spam
This morning I was a bit taken aback by the shocking subject line of a bit of spam. No, it wasn't that kind of shocking subject line... quite repeatable...
"Elena, electric chair at little or no cost!"
Gulp.
Took me a second to figure out that they were selling motorized wheelchairs.
"Elena, electric chair at little or no cost!"
Gulp.
Took me a second to figure out that they were selling motorized wheelchairs.
7.21.2005
Soggy
Yesterday was a very wet day. This was most decisively confirmed around 10:30 pm, when I spilled a bottle of cold water all over my peacefully sleeping son. But really, it all started when Natebug spilled a big glass of instant breakfast all over himself and the clean laundry.
This meant Bathtime. Bathtime can be quite an... um... adventure with two toddlers, if you know what I mean. One time a few weeks ago, I got the boys all ready to hop in, and as we waited for the tub to fill, naked little Isaiah peed all over the floor, slipped in the resulting puddle, and hit his head. Like I said, it can be an adventure.
But this time I was smart. I filled the tub before undressing the boys. I tidied up the bathroom, cleaned out the tub, adjusted the water temperature, and left to get the boys ready while the tub filled. Like any good, conscientious mother, I of course carefully shut the bathroom door behind me lest a small person sneak in for an unsupervised dip.
Things took a bit longer than I expected --with toddlers they generally do!-- and by the time I went to see if the tub was full...
...let's just say that it was.
The boys had lots of fun wading, while the rubber ducky floated merrily on the floor. One cup at a time, I scooped the water off the floor into the toiled, and the wuggies gleefully joined in, sprinkling tiny fistfulls of water.
And that big pile of dirty laundry in the hallway got a good pre-soak.
This meant Bathtime. Bathtime can be quite an... um... adventure with two toddlers, if you know what I mean. One time a few weeks ago, I got the boys all ready to hop in, and as we waited for the tub to fill, naked little Isaiah peed all over the floor, slipped in the resulting puddle, and hit his head. Like I said, it can be an adventure.
But this time I was smart. I filled the tub before undressing the boys. I tidied up the bathroom, cleaned out the tub, adjusted the water temperature, and left to get the boys ready while the tub filled. Like any good, conscientious mother, I of course carefully shut the bathroom door behind me lest a small person sneak in for an unsupervised dip.
Things took a bit longer than I expected --with toddlers they generally do!-- and by the time I went to see if the tub was full...
...let's just say that it was.
The boys had lots of fun wading, while the rubber ducky floated merrily on the floor. One cup at a time, I scooped the water off the floor into the toiled, and the wuggies gleefully joined in, sprinkling tiny fistfulls of water.
And that big pile of dirty laundry in the hallway got a good pre-soak.
7.06.2005
Things I learned yesterday
1. Fountains are lots of fun to splash in.
2. So are toilets.
3. Diapers can absorb an astonishing quantity of water.
4. So can little sneakers and corderoy pants.
5. This last can be a bit disturbing to anyone who is unaware of 1.
6. Automatic doors are extremely bizarre, and just a little bit scary.
7. So are swinging gates.
8. On most elevators, there is only one button within wuggy-reach... the alarm button, of course.
9. Likewise, on most bulletin boards, there is only one announcement within reach. The one that will start the largest chain reaction when tugged upon.
10. Dancing on manhole covers is great fun.
12. Trees look like flowers when viewed from below.
2. So are toilets.
3. Diapers can absorb an astonishing quantity of water.
4. So can little sneakers and corderoy pants.
5. This last can be a bit disturbing to anyone who is unaware of 1.
6. Automatic doors are extremely bizarre, and just a little bit scary.
7. So are swinging gates.
8. On most elevators, there is only one button within wuggy-reach... the alarm button, of course.
9. Likewise, on most bulletin boards, there is only one announcement within reach. The one that will start the largest chain reaction when tugged upon.
10. Dancing on manhole covers is great fun.
12. Trees look like flowers when viewed from below.
7.05.2005
Let there be light!
The electrician cometh! After months of extension cords, our working outlet count is finally up from 2 to 7. Let us rejoice and be glad!
Moving from the ridiculous to the sublime, I've been musing about Biblical poetry in general, and Genesis 1 in particular. The other day I read the creation account in the New Living Translation, and was horrified to discover that the refrain "and there was evening, and there was morning, the first day" was replaced with "this all happened the first day." Certainly that's an accurate distillation of the bottom line, clearly and directly expressing the total factual content implied in the phrase. At cost, of course, of the rhythm and poetry.
Until I deeply explored the first few chapters of Genesis, the factual status of the account was deeply important to me. My faith cannot rest on a Book that is demonstrably false at the outset. If the first chapters fall, the rest of Scripture falls with it. "Liberals" may interperet it as mere poetry, but surely that's just an euphamism for nonsense... I saw theistic evolution as something along the same lines as a metaphorical interperetation of the resurrection.
But... then I actually experienced the poetry. Regardless of factual status, to call the Genesis account primarily poetic is most certainly not a euphamism. The deeper I delved into its richness, the less I was concerned with its literal accuracy. Genesis may or may not shed significant light on natural history, but in any case, that makes up a small portion of the meaning packed into those lines. The question of how God actually went about creating life began to seem a relatively trivial distraction from the more significant insights into the relationships between God, man, time, and nature.
It's so easy for people like me to busily distract ourselves with analyzing factual questions as a sort of protection against the life-shaping power of poetry. Ironic that this would be my tendency as a musician... perhaps it is because I'm particularly vulnerable... Discussions of what happened on what day, how long the days were, and how to account for the geologic record are relatively safe. Stimulating and pious, they don't require much change. At the end of the day, the Christian life remains the same no matter how God chose to create the universe. The poetry, on the other hand, is anything but safe. It penetrates deep into the human soul, demands that we conform to its rhythms and cadences... 'tis most uncomfortable to our fallen selves.
And we, too, who are His spiritual creation, remain formless and void until we hear His Word speak to our hearts "Let there be light!"
And there was evening, and there was morning, the first day.
Moving from the ridiculous to the sublime, I've been musing about Biblical poetry in general, and Genesis 1 in particular. The other day I read the creation account in the New Living Translation, and was horrified to discover that the refrain "and there was evening, and there was morning, the first day" was replaced with "this all happened the first day." Certainly that's an accurate distillation of the bottom line, clearly and directly expressing the total factual content implied in the phrase. At cost, of course, of the rhythm and poetry.
Until I deeply explored the first few chapters of Genesis, the factual status of the account was deeply important to me. My faith cannot rest on a Book that is demonstrably false at the outset. If the first chapters fall, the rest of Scripture falls with it. "Liberals" may interperet it as mere poetry, but surely that's just an euphamism for nonsense... I saw theistic evolution as something along the same lines as a metaphorical interperetation of the resurrection.
But... then I actually experienced the poetry. Regardless of factual status, to call the Genesis account primarily poetic is most certainly not a euphamism. The deeper I delved into its richness, the less I was concerned with its literal accuracy. Genesis may or may not shed significant light on natural history, but in any case, that makes up a small portion of the meaning packed into those lines. The question of how God actually went about creating life began to seem a relatively trivial distraction from the more significant insights into the relationships between God, man, time, and nature.
It's so easy for people like me to busily distract ourselves with analyzing factual questions as a sort of protection against the life-shaping power of poetry. Ironic that this would be my tendency as a musician... perhaps it is because I'm particularly vulnerable... Discussions of what happened on what day, how long the days were, and how to account for the geologic record are relatively safe. Stimulating and pious, they don't require much change. At the end of the day, the Christian life remains the same no matter how God chose to create the universe. The poetry, on the other hand, is anything but safe. It penetrates deep into the human soul, demands that we conform to its rhythms and cadences... 'tis most uncomfortable to our fallen selves.
And we, too, who are His spiritual creation, remain formless and void until we hear His Word speak to our hearts "Let there be light!"
And there was evening, and there was morning, the first day.
7.04.2005
6.21.2005
Bananas!
Andy and I were sitting on the couch catching up on the day, and I asked him to toss me a banana. Sweet husband that he is, he got up and fetched me said banana. Then he broke the top of the peel for me. That was thoughtful, I suppose, but when he actually started to peel it, I thought that was going a bit too far. Then he broke off a bite-sized piece and handed it to me...
Sigh. I used to make fun of couples who called one another "Ma" and "Pa." Now if I approach Andy while he's busy with bedtime snacks, the moment I open my mouth, I find it full of yogurt.
Sigh. I used to make fun of couples who called one another "Ma" and "Pa." Now if I approach Andy while he's busy with bedtime snacks, the moment I open my mouth, I find it full of yogurt.
6.19.2005
Sing-alongs
We were just listening to Andy's new Michael Card CD, and very much enjoying it...
But then on one song, there was an entirely superfluous line of backup vocals... entirely superfluous, and rather off-key.
Then I discovered that it was just Isaiah humming along. Come to think of it, it was pretty impressive after all!
But then on one song, there was an entirely superfluous line of backup vocals... entirely superfluous, and rather off-key.
Then I discovered that it was just Isaiah humming along. Come to think of it, it was pretty impressive after all!
Musings on the Eucharist
Andy is at Mass right now, and I wish that I could be there, too. Alas, the wuggies are sniffly, so instead of actually partaking of the Lord's Supper, I'm jotting down the musings that have been brewing over the last week or so.
I don't remember the circumstances... something trivial must have gone awry... in any case, a humiliating awareness of my inadequacy seized my consciousness. I dug my nails into my flesh, bracing myself, as it were, as gruesome and all-too-familiar images of self mutilation flooded over me. I reasoned with myself that I was grossly over-reacting. My little embarrassment was really insignificant, and not entirely my fault, anyway. Certainly nothing to justify the ghastly judgments I was envisioning.
And yet... all was not utterly trivial. All my failings loomed over me in a great tangled jumble. The most prominent were absurd in their insignificance, but hiding behind them were pride, jealousy, bitterness, laziness, and self-absorption.
Nevertheless, my self-hatred was quite unneccessary, since the things I was really upset about didn't even matter much at all.
I was condemned by the very triviality of my offenses. I was more concerned over minor embarrassment than real sin. There was no way out.
Strange... those moments when we see in startling clarity the truth of words oft repeated and long believed. From toddlerhood I knew that the cross was the answer to the abstract theological necessity that my blood be shed. Suddenly I clearly saw it as the answer to the very immediate psychological necessity of my destruction. I need no other argument, I need no other plea. Indeed, I have none.
And so I eat of His broken flesh, drink of the life-blood poured out for the sins of many, and live, utterly justified, in undeserved wholeness.
Thanks be to God!
I don't remember the circumstances... something trivial must have gone awry... in any case, a humiliating awareness of my inadequacy seized my consciousness. I dug my nails into my flesh, bracing myself, as it were, as gruesome and all-too-familiar images of self mutilation flooded over me. I reasoned with myself that I was grossly over-reacting. My little embarrassment was really insignificant, and not entirely my fault, anyway. Certainly nothing to justify the ghastly judgments I was envisioning.
And yet... all was not utterly trivial. All my failings loomed over me in a great tangled jumble. The most prominent were absurd in their insignificance, but hiding behind them were pride, jealousy, bitterness, laziness, and self-absorption.
Nevertheless, my self-hatred was quite unneccessary, since the things I was really upset about didn't even matter much at all.
I was condemned by the very triviality of my offenses. I was more concerned over minor embarrassment than real sin. There was no way out.
Strange... those moments when we see in startling clarity the truth of words oft repeated and long believed. From toddlerhood I knew that the cross was the answer to the abstract theological necessity that my blood be shed. Suddenly I clearly saw it as the answer to the very immediate psychological necessity of my destruction. I need no other argument, I need no other plea. Indeed, I have none.
And so I eat of His broken flesh, drink of the life-blood poured out for the sins of many, and live, utterly justified, in undeserved wholeness.
Thanks be to God!
6.18.2005
For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction...
Meepo has discovered that it is great fun to get a rise out of Dadders by climbing up on the table by the door and putting pennies in his mouth. Dadders makes such funny faces. It is great fun.
Oh yes.
Oh yes.
Flowers!
Isaiah picked a flower and brought it to me!
Meanwhile, Nathan will point to flowers saying "Fffff!"
Meanwhile, Nathan will point to flowers saying "Fffff!"
6.17.2005
In the driver's seat
For some time I've been convinced that one of the keys to a happy marriage is simply knowing what to do together, and what not to do together. For us, this means that we should be sure to carve out lots of time for great discussions, keep each other posted our respective mathematical and musical pursuits, and cook together. It also means that we should never go grocery shopping together, as we have been known to argue ferociously over the various brands of peanut butter. Above all, I should never, ever drive when Andy is in the car.
Driving has never been a tremendous strength of mine, since I haven't done a whole lot of it. But as long as I stick to familiar routes, I'm reasonably safe and competent... unless Andy is in the car. It will start out with a little shifting error. Andy will comment that I stayed in first a little too long. I'll get flustered, and immediately shift into fourth. Things snowball from there, and as we argue, I miss our turn. By the time we finally reach our destination, we are quite at each other's throats.
Yes, having Nener drive is a bad thing to do together.
But it really is quite hampering to have only one of us comfortable navigating the LA freeway system. Even more, Andy pointed out, it was hampering to always have him in the driver's seat, metaphorically speaking. Andy's a take-charge sort or person by nature, and I'm more laid back. If there's a decision to be made, and nobody seems to be making it, Andy will quickly step in and fill the void. I, on the other hand, am incapable of making any decision whatsoever without first ascertaining that I couldn't possibly be stepping on the toes of anyone's imaginary monkey. Which generally means that Andy ends up running the family since nobody else is, while I dutifully stay out of the way, anxious lest I disturb his inscrutible master plan.
So we decided that whenever we get in the car together, I should get in the driver's seat by default... and Andy is not allowed to make any comments. Easier said than done. Old habits die hard. Transmissions, on the other hand, die quickly, so we modified the rules to allow for one shifting comment per trip. That one comment is generally used up within a block or two, and the rest of the trip is spent in playful banter as Andy struggles valiantly to keep quiet.
One of Andy's students, upon amusedly observing our interactions while riding with us the other day, commented how nice it would be if his parents could get along as we did.
We've come a long way, baby.
So... wanna go shopping for peanut butter tonight?
Or not.
Driving has never been a tremendous strength of mine, since I haven't done a whole lot of it. But as long as I stick to familiar routes, I'm reasonably safe and competent... unless Andy is in the car. It will start out with a little shifting error. Andy will comment that I stayed in first a little too long. I'll get flustered, and immediately shift into fourth. Things snowball from there, and as we argue, I miss our turn. By the time we finally reach our destination, we are quite at each other's throats.
Yes, having Nener drive is a bad thing to do together.
But it really is quite hampering to have only one of us comfortable navigating the LA freeway system. Even more, Andy pointed out, it was hampering to always have him in the driver's seat, metaphorically speaking. Andy's a take-charge sort or person by nature, and I'm more laid back. If there's a decision to be made, and nobody seems to be making it, Andy will quickly step in and fill the void. I, on the other hand, am incapable of making any decision whatsoever without first ascertaining that I couldn't possibly be stepping on the toes of anyone's imaginary monkey. Which generally means that Andy ends up running the family since nobody else is, while I dutifully stay out of the way, anxious lest I disturb his inscrutible master plan.
So we decided that whenever we get in the car together, I should get in the driver's seat by default... and Andy is not allowed to make any comments. Easier said than done. Old habits die hard. Transmissions, on the other hand, die quickly, so we modified the rules to allow for one shifting comment per trip. That one comment is generally used up within a block or two, and the rest of the trip is spent in playful banter as Andy struggles valiantly to keep quiet.
One of Andy's students, upon amusedly observing our interactions while riding with us the other day, commented how nice it would be if his parents could get along as we did.
We've come a long way, baby.
So... wanna go shopping for peanut butter tonight?
Or not.
6.16.2005
Rage
Sing, goddess, the rage of September's mother Elena.
Yesterday, under the influence of pregnancy hormones, I flew into quite a rage over absurdities with our apartment complex. Isaiah stared, enthralled, as I stormed about the living room, shouting my indignation and searching for harmless items to destroy. Then, gleefully, he began to join in, flapping his arms wildly, and shouting.
It may have been a pretty good impression, but the huge grin somewhat ruined the effect... and softened my rage.
=)
Yesterday, under the influence of pregnancy hormones, I flew into quite a rage over absurdities with our apartment complex. Isaiah stared, enthralled, as I stormed about the living room, shouting my indignation and searching for harmless items to destroy. Then, gleefully, he began to join in, flapping his arms wildly, and shouting.
It may have been a pretty good impression, but the huge grin somewhat ruined the effect... and softened my rage.
=)
6.13.2005
Hello again!
Long time, no see!
After months of silence, I'm emerging once again into the world of blogging. Hopefully.
We still don't have a computer (I'm at Biola right now) but our apartment is now officially in condition to support a computer.
Amazing how complicated that can be. You cannot have a computer until you have a place to put said computer. This place should not be in close proximity to a heater. It also should not be in close proximity to toddlers. Yes, we learned both of these lessons the hard way.
The first criterion is not terribly difficult to meet, once you realize the need to take it into consideration, since heater vents generally tend to stay in the same place. Of course, as we discovered last night, this principle does not necessarily apply to the grates covering them, due to the migratory nature of toddlers... but that is another tale for another day. The point is that the the migratory nature of toddlers also serves to make the second criterion for computer placement rather more complicated. Anything that can be climbed upon will be climbed upon....
But now we have a nice, enclosed hutch, and soon we will have a computer to go in it.
AFTER we get some toddler locks!
After months of silence, I'm emerging once again into the world of blogging. Hopefully.
We still don't have a computer (I'm at Biola right now) but our apartment is now officially in condition to support a computer.
Amazing how complicated that can be. You cannot have a computer until you have a place to put said computer. This place should not be in close proximity to a heater. It also should not be in close proximity to toddlers. Yes, we learned both of these lessons the hard way.
The first criterion is not terribly difficult to meet, once you realize the need to take it into consideration, since heater vents generally tend to stay in the same place. Of course, as we discovered last night, this principle does not necessarily apply to the grates covering them, due to the migratory nature of toddlers... but that is another tale for another day. The point is that the the migratory nature of toddlers also serves to make the second criterion for computer placement rather more complicated. Anything that can be climbed upon will be climbed upon....
But now we have a nice, enclosed hutch, and soon we will have a computer to go in it.
AFTER we get some toddler locks!
5.13.2005
A new career.
For Isaiah that is. He is now a computer programmer. Unfortunately, he is not very good at it yet, despite being more experienced than I would like him to be.
This is why I haven't posted in a while.
This is why I haven't posted in a while.
4.20.2005
A soul at rest
Today I've been working on a new piece. It's atonal (surprise, surprise!), and strangely enough, falls very naturally into a strict 7/4 meter. This is the first time I've worked with an irregular meter, and I'm falling in love with the fluid forward motion it gives to the piece. Come to think of it, this is also the first time I haven't struggled with the rhythm. It simply flowed out smoothly. For the first time, I actually have a legible first draft.
More significantly, though, this is the first time that a piece of mine has not been expressive of tremendous pathos. It's simply tranquil and a little bit playful. The sort of thing that I always found impossible to even play without infusing it with all sorts of extraneous emotions.
Thank you Jesus, for your peace.
More significantly, though, this is the first time that a piece of mine has not been expressive of tremendous pathos. It's simply tranquil and a little bit playful. The sort of thing that I always found impossible to even play without infusing it with all sorts of extraneous emotions.
Thank you Jesus, for your peace.
Quickening!
September is getting to be very wiggly. It is so different having just one baby in there. There's a much more direct connection. I feel her squirm within me, and I feel that it's her. Last time, I would feel a kick, and have to sort of analyze and try to figure out which one it was.
Singleton pregnancy is a new experience for me... I like it!
Singleton pregnancy is a new experience for me... I like it!
Everything's just ducky
Well, "guck," to be precise. The bathtub is a wonderful teaching opportunity, and a few weeks ago, they started calling their beloved rubber ducky "guck."
Now Nathan calls everything "guck." He has begun pointing to things, and gleefully exclaiming "guck!"
Here I thought he'd learned associated the word with the object. It turns out he's associated it with the action of pointing.
They're such delightful little people, and I love them more by the minute.
Now Nathan calls everything "guck." He has begun pointing to things, and gleefully exclaiming "guck!"
Here I thought he'd learned associated the word with the object. It turns out he's associated it with the action of pointing.
They're such delightful little people, and I love them more by the minute.
4.19.2005
Carbonated sugar water
We've been spending a small fortune on fast food lately. I'm working on getting menu-planning and homecooked meals under control, but in the meantime, as a small step in the right direction, I'm trying to kick the soda habit. It's a total ripoff... and I don't need the caffein... but when it all comes down, in a moment of thirst I'd rather be ripped off than drink water.
So it was that on my last trip to KFC, I found myself ordering a medium Pepsi despite all my good intentions. It wasn't very crowded, so I let the pickles doopa about while I enjoyed my meal. As I watched my rambunctious boys drag chairs from table to table about the dining room, I saw another exhausted mom stumble in after her two boys. They were every bit as energetic as mine, but being considerably larger, had a much greater capacity for mischief. Their mom was obviously quite worn out trying to keep up with them. All four kids had a great time playing together, as the mom became frustrated trying to figure out what her sons wanted for lunch.
In the course of their explorations, the younger boy, about 7, grew bored with the pinball machine and turned his attention to the soda fountain. One by one, he poked his finger up each of the taps, pausing to lick it off before proceeding to the next one.
Our budget is much indebted to that little boy. Just thought I'd pass this service on my readers. =)
So it was that on my last trip to KFC, I found myself ordering a medium Pepsi despite all my good intentions. It wasn't very crowded, so I let the pickles doopa about while I enjoyed my meal. As I watched my rambunctious boys drag chairs from table to table about the dining room, I saw another exhausted mom stumble in after her two boys. They were every bit as energetic as mine, but being considerably larger, had a much greater capacity for mischief. Their mom was obviously quite worn out trying to keep up with them. All four kids had a great time playing together, as the mom became frustrated trying to figure out what her sons wanted for lunch.
In the course of their explorations, the younger boy, about 7, grew bored with the pinball machine and turned his attention to the soda fountain. One by one, he poked his finger up each of the taps, pausing to lick it off before proceeding to the next one.
Our budget is much indebted to that little boy. Just thought I'd pass this service on my readers. =)
3.30.2005
A little less wise...
...but oh, ignorance is bliss!
Yesterday I had an impacted wisdom tooth removed. The world is much brighter today. My sons are once again my darling wuggies, no longer the monsters they were the first half of the week. ("What? You want milk?!? But I fed you yesterday, you little...")
The whole experience was a surprisingly good one. The doctor was very good with the psychology of pain management. He gave the anesthetic a little bit at a time to minimize the pain, but when it came time for the final shot, he told me that this one was going to hurt. And he poked me, to show me precisely where it would hurt. Sure enough, it hurt... but I was ready for it. Then when it came time for the actual extraction, he poked first my nose, then my jaw. "See, pressure doesn't hurt. But it's quite easy to fool yourself into thinking it does." Because he had been honest in telling me when something was going to be painful, I could believe him when he told me that this wouldn't hurt. And so I ignored the sickening crack, and it didn't hurt. I'm so used to doctors and dentists trying to reassure you by lying about how it isn't going to hurt a bit.... which is really rather terrifying. In stead of giving you the reassuring thought that it isn't going to hurt, it produces the idea in your mind that you are in the hands of an untrustworthy torturer, and who knows what he's going to do to you. Honesty is really refreshing. Anyway, if you ever find yourself in need of an oral surgeon in the Whittier area, I can highly recommend Dr. Brian Chung.
Besides, he has everything all decorated with surf boards, flip-flops, and In-N-Out ads. How cool is that?
Yesterday I had an impacted wisdom tooth removed. The world is much brighter today. My sons are once again my darling wuggies, no longer the monsters they were the first half of the week. ("What? You want milk?!? But I fed you yesterday, you little...")
The whole experience was a surprisingly good one. The doctor was very good with the psychology of pain management. He gave the anesthetic a little bit at a time to minimize the pain, but when it came time for the final shot, he told me that this one was going to hurt. And he poked me, to show me precisely where it would hurt. Sure enough, it hurt... but I was ready for it. Then when it came time for the actual extraction, he poked first my nose, then my jaw. "See, pressure doesn't hurt. But it's quite easy to fool yourself into thinking it does." Because he had been honest in telling me when something was going to be painful, I could believe him when he told me that this wouldn't hurt. And so I ignored the sickening crack, and it didn't hurt. I'm so used to doctors and dentists trying to reassure you by lying about how it isn't going to hurt a bit.... which is really rather terrifying. In stead of giving you the reassuring thought that it isn't going to hurt, it produces the idea in your mind that you are in the hands of an untrustworthy torturer, and who knows what he's going to do to you. Honesty is really refreshing. Anyway, if you ever find yourself in need of an oral surgeon in the Whittier area, I can highly recommend Dr. Brian Chung.
Besides, he has everything all decorated with surf boards, flip-flops, and In-N-Out ads. How cool is that?
3.28.2005
Tootti Flutti
Nathan and Isaiah have been making great progress on the recorder, practicing a good deal. Now it seems that Nathan has decided that having figured out how to make a nice, consistent tone, it must be time for him to start working on some moderately advanced articulation.
And so he wanders about the apartment all day, mumbling "du-gu-du-gu-du-gu-du-gu-du-gu."
Silly boy. He should start out by cleaning up his single tonguing.
And so he wanders about the apartment all day, mumbling "du-gu-du-gu-du-gu-du-gu-du-gu."
Silly boy. He should start out by cleaning up his single tonguing.
Oh, how I love September...
We have a very important meeting tentatively scheduled for September 20.
Meanwhile, this is a time of great personal growth, both for me and for the family at large.
Meanwhile, this is a time of great personal growth, both for me and for the family at large.
3.19.2005
Share the Luvs
Actual testimonial displayed on an actual box of actual diapers...
"I like your diapers, especially how they hug the baby's legs. My granddaughter uses them now. We are passing them down from generation to generation."
h
"I like your diapers, especially how they hug the baby's legs. My granddaughter uses them now. We are passing them down from generation to generation."
h
2.20.2005
Failed Epics
I recently read LeRoux's The Phantom of the Opera. It utterly blew me away with its exquisite, delicate interweaving of good and evil, love and hate, light and darkness. The supernatural mysteries with their quite rational, human, explanations all swirling about the mysterious supernatural power of that ordinary human phenomenon we call music... I was in a daze for about a week, just relishing the beauty of the tale. I have certainly read better novels, but that is among the best stories I have ever experienced.
Thus it was with great disappointment that I pulled out Andy's old soundtrack from the musical. It's... a musical. A good musical, full of delightful, charming songs. Broadway at its best.
But the Phantom, after all, haunts the Paris Opera, not Broadway. Whatever the merits of Webber's score, it is not music of the soaring beauty that drives men mad. His songs are the songs of a wonderful evening's entertainment, not the songs of sirens. And as lovely and lucid as the performance was, it lacked that inexplicable genius which forms the entire theme of the story. Sarah Brightman has a gorgeous voice, but I am not entirely convinced that she has heard the Angel of Music.
I was pontificating to Andy the other day, voicing my complaints against the predictable love songs written for this delicately unexpected romance, and the bombastically forceful overture with absolutely no harmonic interest to justify its sweeping pretentions. As Andy responded, I realized that this conversation was treading on very familiar territory. My husband, as usual, took pity on Webber, the composer, the man. Was I saying that this man's greatest work was a failure? Well, no... it's really good, just nowhere near good enough to justify the subject matter.
My mind flipped back to a similar conversation we'd had a while back about Michael Card. I absolutely love his Ancient Faith album. He beautifully draws out the poignant stories of individual men as they weave in and out of the grand story of redemption. It's absolutely breathtaking.
I am much less impressed, however, with his album based around the book of Revelation. He seems to be rather over-reaching himself, trying to paint a sort of grandeur that he simply does not have the tools to paint. As a result, the overture in particular winds up coming across as bombastic rather than profound.
Although it wasn't Andy's favorite of Card's album's either, he was almost personally hurt by my harsh critique. Was I saying that Card is a failure? Of course not--just that he should stick to approaching the Great Story via the small stories of particular men. But Andy still thought that I was being a bit harsh to tell someone that they should stick to the little stuff, leaving the big stuff for people like Bach and Handel.
I still think I'm right in a sense. It's not just about the skills of a particular composer, it's about the capacities of a form. The music in a Broadway musical can only go so deep. It must be easily accessible to the general public, and it cannot build up much of a macrostructure, being necessarily broken up by dialogue. A musical can do a lot of things, but it cannot produce the sort of music that the Phantom is about. In the same way, I really do think that a ballad is well suited to tell Abraham's story, probably better than an oratorio could. But to sing about Revelation, you probably need an oratorio.
Nevertheless... at the end of the day, would you rather be Milton, your life's work a failed epic, a deeply flawed poem reaching for magnificent grandeur, striving to explicate the deepest mysteries of God and Man, and failing...
....Or Steinbeck, with his really excellent, practically perfect novels.
Cannery Row is just about flawless. Mack's complaints in the intro to Sweet Thursday notwithstanding, I can't think of any room for imrovement. Funny and endearing and poignant and tragic, it gives humanity and dignity to the lives of the bums and whores and drunks and loonies in a tiny close-knit community on the Monterey Bay. It's a fabulous book.
But then again, I suspect that Handel was overreaching himself too, I just don't know enough to see it.
And aren't we all failed epics?
Someday there is redemption and wholeness. But woe to him who has safely buried his treasure.
Thus it was with great disappointment that I pulled out Andy's old soundtrack from the musical. It's... a musical. A good musical, full of delightful, charming songs. Broadway at its best.
But the Phantom, after all, haunts the Paris Opera, not Broadway. Whatever the merits of Webber's score, it is not music of the soaring beauty that drives men mad. His songs are the songs of a wonderful evening's entertainment, not the songs of sirens. And as lovely and lucid as the performance was, it lacked that inexplicable genius which forms the entire theme of the story. Sarah Brightman has a gorgeous voice, but I am not entirely convinced that she has heard the Angel of Music.
I was pontificating to Andy the other day, voicing my complaints against the predictable love songs written for this delicately unexpected romance, and the bombastically forceful overture with absolutely no harmonic interest to justify its sweeping pretentions. As Andy responded, I realized that this conversation was treading on very familiar territory. My husband, as usual, took pity on Webber, the composer, the man. Was I saying that this man's greatest work was a failure? Well, no... it's really good, just nowhere near good enough to justify the subject matter.
My mind flipped back to a similar conversation we'd had a while back about Michael Card. I absolutely love his Ancient Faith album. He beautifully draws out the poignant stories of individual men as they weave in and out of the grand story of redemption. It's absolutely breathtaking.
I am much less impressed, however, with his album based around the book of Revelation. He seems to be rather over-reaching himself, trying to paint a sort of grandeur that he simply does not have the tools to paint. As a result, the overture in particular winds up coming across as bombastic rather than profound.
Although it wasn't Andy's favorite of Card's album's either, he was almost personally hurt by my harsh critique. Was I saying that Card is a failure? Of course not--just that he should stick to approaching the Great Story via the small stories of particular men. But Andy still thought that I was being a bit harsh to tell someone that they should stick to the little stuff, leaving the big stuff for people like Bach and Handel.
I still think I'm right in a sense. It's not just about the skills of a particular composer, it's about the capacities of a form. The music in a Broadway musical can only go so deep. It must be easily accessible to the general public, and it cannot build up much of a macrostructure, being necessarily broken up by dialogue. A musical can do a lot of things, but it cannot produce the sort of music that the Phantom is about. In the same way, I really do think that a ballad is well suited to tell Abraham's story, probably better than an oratorio could. But to sing about Revelation, you probably need an oratorio.
Nevertheless... at the end of the day, would you rather be Milton, your life's work a failed epic, a deeply flawed poem reaching for magnificent grandeur, striving to explicate the deepest mysteries of God and Man, and failing...
....Or Steinbeck, with his really excellent, practically perfect novels.
Cannery Row is just about flawless. Mack's complaints in the intro to Sweet Thursday notwithstanding, I can't think of any room for imrovement. Funny and endearing and poignant and tragic, it gives humanity and dignity to the lives of the bums and whores and drunks and loonies in a tiny close-knit community on the Monterey Bay. It's a fabulous book.
But then again, I suspect that Handel was overreaching himself too, I just don't know enough to see it.
And aren't we all failed epics?
Someday there is redemption and wholeness. But woe to him who has safely buried his treasure.
2.08.2005
Sold
I always thought the whole Baby Einstein hoopla was pretty silly. So when my sister-in-law gave the boys some DVDs for Christmas, we weren't tremendously sad about the fact that we do not have a DVD player. But... the lack of a DVD player also means that we can't watch that spiffy salsa dance instruction video Andy checked out of the library, so we borrowed Chris and Sheri's laptop to watch DVDs on. Of course, once there's a DVD player in the house, you cannot escape the necessity of watching the DVDs...
And they're wonderful!
They are actually really beautiful, setting the movements of everyday toys to music, incorporating rhythm and grace into the elements that make up a child's experience. They integrate aesthetic appreciation into a child's natural wonder and curiousity. They are very tasteful, being geared toward the simplicity of a child's comprehension, rather than toward the crudity of a child's taste. The boys are enthralled, and I, a classically trained musician, am not above delighting in its beauty.
Another wonderful thing is that they invite human interaction. The DVDs call themselves "digital board books," and indeed, the boys and I had lots of fun pointing out everything on the screen. The videos are so low-key that there is plenty of room for mommy to be involved.
All in all, I was very excited to see such a wonderful use of the available technology. The technology was used in such a way as to conform to a child's developmental needs, rather than conforming a child's development to the technology.
Meanwhile, moving from the sublime to the ridiculous, we watched a decidedly mediocre childrens show on PBS the other day. We watched it, not because we were particularly fascinated by the plight of the lazy, unmotivated insurance salesman, but because the advertisement at the begining of the show informed us that it was funded through the No Child Left Behind Act, and I was curious to find out what it was that they had deemed a higher priority than sufficient textbooks for underprivileged schools.
I am rather bewildered...
And they're wonderful!
They are actually really beautiful, setting the movements of everyday toys to music, incorporating rhythm and grace into the elements that make up a child's experience. They integrate aesthetic appreciation into a child's natural wonder and curiousity. They are very tasteful, being geared toward the simplicity of a child's comprehension, rather than toward the crudity of a child's taste. The boys are enthralled, and I, a classically trained musician, am not above delighting in its beauty.
Another wonderful thing is that they invite human interaction. The DVDs call themselves "digital board books," and indeed, the boys and I had lots of fun pointing out everything on the screen. The videos are so low-key that there is plenty of room for mommy to be involved.
All in all, I was very excited to see such a wonderful use of the available technology. The technology was used in such a way as to conform to a child's developmental needs, rather than conforming a child's development to the technology.
Meanwhile, moving from the sublime to the ridiculous, we watched a decidedly mediocre childrens show on PBS the other day. We watched it, not because we were particularly fascinated by the plight of the lazy, unmotivated insurance salesman, but because the advertisement at the begining of the show informed us that it was funded through the No Child Left Behind Act, and I was curious to find out what it was that they had deemed a higher priority than sufficient textbooks for underprivileged schools.
I am rather bewildered...
2.07.2005
Zen and the Art of Kitchen Floor Maintainance
We have a lovely Zen garden in the kitchen.
Yes, the boys got into the sugar.
I always did think Zen gardens were pretty sweet...
Yes, the boys got into the sugar.
I always did think Zen gardens were pretty sweet...
2.06.2005
Waiting...
...and waiting...
It seem's that Andy's boss was bragging about him down at headquarters, and landed him an unsolicited interview with The Head Honcho. Thanks to our wonderful neighbors, Andy was actually able to attend said interview, unhindered by the ill-timed accident our turtle-mobile attended immediately prior. Andy hit it off smashingly (no pun intended, thankfully!) with the Head Honcho, and walked away with the offer of a full-time position. Not only will he be teaching lots of math classes, but he will also be working with a very cool visionary math/philosophy guy on curriculum development. Perfect mentoring environment---and they'll even pay for his credentialing!!! Adequate salary, great benefits.... All in all a blessing from above.
The only problem is... we don't know when the job starts.
Can't make any plans, because any day now, they could call him in...
Can't choose a new pediatrician until we know if we're going to be on Blue Cross or Medi-Cal...
Can't actually hire the mother's helpers we've lined up, or tell them they can start looking for a different job...
Uncertainty---it's the gift that keeps on giving.
*cue Jeopardy theme*
It seem's that Andy's boss was bragging about him down at headquarters, and landed him an unsolicited interview with The Head Honcho. Thanks to our wonderful neighbors, Andy was actually able to attend said interview, unhindered by the ill-timed accident our turtle-mobile attended immediately prior. Andy hit it off smashingly (no pun intended, thankfully!) with the Head Honcho, and walked away with the offer of a full-time position. Not only will he be teaching lots of math classes, but he will also be working with a very cool visionary math/philosophy guy on curriculum development. Perfect mentoring environment---and they'll even pay for his credentialing!!! Adequate salary, great benefits.... All in all a blessing from above.
The only problem is... we don't know when the job starts.
Can't make any plans, because any day now, they could call him in...
Can't choose a new pediatrician until we know if we're going to be on Blue Cross or Medi-Cal...
Can't actually hire the mother's helpers we've lined up, or tell them they can start looking for a different job...
Uncertainty---it's the gift that keeps on giving.
*cue Jeopardy theme*
1.30.2005
Title I
Andy's job at the charter school in Whittier pays an excellent wage, but it's been a struggle to collect enough hours to make ends meet. Thus it was a huge answer to prayer when Andy's boss told him that through Title I, the school had funds set aside for remedial tutoring for students with low test scores. In all, his boss estimated that there was probably around four hours a week of semi-private math tutoring for Andy to do--at $30/hr. that's a sizable chunk of rent!--and sent him to talk to The Title I Guy. But the Title I Guy had a few reservations. Andy hadn't been there too long... wouldn't want to pile on too much responsibility all at once... maybe he should wait until he'd settled in a month or two...
<>So Andy waited a month or two, and got himself thoroughly settled in, as the students got further and further behind, and parents began to wonder where the promised tutoring was. Finally Andy's boss had a little chat with The Title I guy, and with great hesitation, he at last relinquished The List. This was a list of epic proportions. Five pages long, and nearly as wide, it contained the names, contact information, and test scores of every underachieving student in the great state of California who was, or ever had been, enrolled in the Gorman system. Our eyes grew wide as we gazed upon The List--a veritable gold mine brimming with gainful employment. All we had to do was sort through and find the students who lived near the Whittier site, and then sort them into groups of 2-4 students at the same level, coordinate everyone's schedules, and we would be all set.In other words, all we had to do was endure a nightmare of logistics. But the first step was simple enough. Armed with the Thomas Guide and a compass, we made a list of all the cities within a reasonable radius of Whittier, and then made another list composed of the intersection of The List and our list.
I tried the next call.
"Hello, this is--"
"Dad! I've got it!"
"This is Elena Johnston, and my--"
"Dad! Would you get off the phone?! I said I've got it!"
"My husband Andrew is a math teach--"
"Oh! Is this Mrs. Johnston? Are you Mr. Johnston's wife? I'm Amanda. This is so exciting! Mr. Johnston is my favorite teacher in the whole world! I've heard all about you and the twins... I bet they're cute."
"*chuckle* Yeah, they're a lot of fun. Maybe you'll get to meet them sometime when I bring them by. It was good to meet you, Amanda. Is your mom or dad around by any chance?"
"Oh, sure! You wanna talk to my dad?"
"That'd be great."
"Da-ad! It's for you!"
<>Some weeks later, Andy's boss told him about another boy who qualified for Title I. She said that this boy was working at the same level as one of the girls he was already tutoring, so it would work perfectly to put them together. That night Andy called the boy's parents. "Well, Mrs. Davis, if Thursday at 4 works with your schedule, I'm tutoring another third grader at that time, and I'd like to put them together.""Uh... Jimmy's in fifth grade."
1.17.2005
Home fragrances
The romantic sweet-almond aroma of amaretto is wafting through our apartment. I do generally like the smell, in smaller doses, but it's rather overpowering. And the floor is enormously sticky.
Looking on the bright side, the wuggies have acheived that important developmental milestone of unscrewing bottle caps.
Looking on the bright side, the wuggies have acheived that important developmental milestone of unscrewing bottle caps.
1.15.2005
To tutor two tooters to toot...
Natebug, our resident musical prodigy, has learned to play the recorder at the ripe old age of one year and two days. We've been trying to teach him for some time, but though he would dance when we played, and chew upon it merrily when we handed it to him, the other day was the first that he actually blew. Sometimes he hums while he blows (a very sophisticated, avant-garde technique, that!) and sometimes he just blows a loud, clear, note. Of course, he doesn't quite have the fingering down. As he was blowing, I covered and uncovered one of the holes to change the pitch, and he imitated me. But with his whole paw... the pads of his fingers aren't quite large enough to cover them all by themselves.
In case you haven't noticed, I'm rather proud of my little son.
In other news, and speaking of first kisses, not only is my firstborn prodigiously musical, but he is very cute and extraordinarily kissable. This is not just the opinion of his biased mother.... last night my opinion was quite corroborated by the lovely Brigid Elizabeth. Beautiful Brigid was enthralled with Nathan, grabbing his nose and kissing his forehead. It was very sweet.
I do hope Autumn won't be too jealous.
In case you haven't noticed, I'm rather proud of my little son.
In other news, and speaking of first kisses, not only is my firstborn prodigiously musical, but he is very cute and extraordinarily kissable. This is not just the opinion of his biased mother.... last night my opinion was quite corroborated by the lovely Brigid Elizabeth. Beautiful Brigid was enthralled with Nathan, grabbing his nose and kissing his forehead. It was very sweet.
I do hope Autumn won't be too jealous.
I found ink.
I even found where I had misplaced the pen.
Now if only I could find the nib that I dropped in the ink...
Now if only I could find the nib that I dropped in the ink...
1.12.2005
A Remarkable Discovery
I really enjoy being organized.
Moreover, I am getting a big kick out of my new job as secretary to Andy's tutoring business.
Anyone who knows me moderately well will immediately brecognize just how remarkable this discovery is.
Who'd'a thunk it?
Moreover, I am getting a big kick out of my new job as secretary to Andy's tutoring business.
Anyone who knows me moderately well will immediately brecognize just how remarkable this discovery is.
Who'd'a thunk it?
First Kiss
Isaiah had managed to squeeze through all my barriers into the computer corner, and was playing with extension cords. Instead of marching over and pulling him out as I usually do, this time I simply called to him and told him to come to me. Grinning, he toddled over to me, wrapped his arms around my neck, and gave me a big sloppy kiss.
I'm as thrilled as a giddy 16 year old... He loves me!
I'm as thrilled as a giddy 16 year old... He loves me!
1.09.2005
After months of slow preparation, all at last was in place. The time had come to strike back against the encroaching shadow. The first skirmish at the bedroom closet was a swift victory. Our forces were fresh and well-rested, and we caught the enemy unprepared. We quickly cleared the area, stuffing the suitcases one into the other, reducing a hideous mass into a single, well contained corner.
The battle of the office supplies was less successful. We sustained heavy losses, though minor in comparison to those we inflicted. As we beat back the hordes, more kept appearing. For every pencil we subdued, a dozen paper clips appeared. We were a small band against a multitude, and this ongoing battle was tying up much-needed resources at a tactically insignificant outpost. Eventually we were forced to make our retreat.
All day we pressed on, imposing order upon the unyielding masses. Our dungeons were filled with prisoners, box upon box of pre-pregnancy clothes and craft supplies, nevermore to menace the Shire. Some we destroyed, but most we preserved, treating them generously in the hope that they would eventually turn from the darkness and enter into the service of order and light.
The enemy proved fey indeed, piercing our hearts with despair, but our captain is a man of great valour, and even as our spirits failed us, he led on, inspiring us with courage to face the darkness.
Night fell, and the land was strewn with carnage. Our hopes for swift victory were crushed. We had made great progress, but our foe was far more formidible than he had seemed. We were weary to the bone, and could hardly move, but to clear space for an encampment would take hours. At last our fearless captain hung his head in despair.
His courage had girded me up throughout the day, and now, as defeat was upon him, I rose up with a daring and foolhardy plan. There was only a fool's hope, but it was our only hope--we would sleep on our own bed, and the wuggies would sleep in their own bed... alone. It was a small matter to clear a path through the bedroom, revealing an emerging order within the gloom. I spread our bed with a gorgeous new quilt--the last of the many given to us as wedding gifts. I gently rocked Meepo and sang to him, laying him in his crib just before he went to sleep. He started, and began to whimper, but as I stroked his back, he began to relax again, and eventually went to sleep. Wuggidy had already fallen asleep on the living room floor, and we left him there, covering him snugly in a blanket, until such time as he would awaken. Then, basking in the magnitude of even this partial victory, we slipped between the sheets and fell asleep.
Several times Nathan woke and began to cry, but each time, after a breathless, agonizing moment, he put himself back to sleep, face pressed against the mesh walls of the wuggy bucket. Hours later, Isaiah woke up, and I brought him to bed and laid him between us. I gave him the breast and he was quiet, and did not significantly disturb our sleep. Eventually Nathan awoke in earnest, and would not console himself. I thought it best not to press the issue, and allowed him to join us. With battles behind and battles before, we could not afford to waste our precious hours of repose seeking yet more battles. Nevertheless, when we awoke the next morning, we found that although they slept with us, the night had passed in relative peace, and we were refreshed.
The second day progressed in grim silence. Every step was dogged by piles of boxes, crates, and high chairs, but we pressed on. We paused for refreshment in a small clearing in the office corner, and gathered around a large dish of chocolate chip muffins. There was plenty to go around, but the muffins are always chocolatier on the other side of the fence, and quarrels broke out amoung the hobbits in our ranks. Eventually they were content to sit quietly, crumbling their own muffins, and of the pieces I gathered twelve basketsful.
We came to rue having left the office supplies unsubdued. Small and insignificant though they seemed, items of great power hid among their midst, and the hobbits, ever with a keener eye to mischief than to sense, found them and began to toy with them, oblivious to their potency. As Andrew swooped down to their rescue, I built a strong fortress to keep the indomitable horde at bay, and all was well.
Slowly peace and order spread throughout the Shire, and our hearts sang as we saw the black shadow that had oppressed us for so long lifting away. All that was left was to clean up after the battles. In jubilant celebration, we turned on the CD player.
The introduction of Aeolian music lifted our spirits, but weakened our resolve. The move was not an utter mistake, however. As the hobbits merrily danced and clapped their hands, there were fewer domestic quarrels to distract us. If only we could remain undistracted by the unquenchable rhythm of our own dancing feet.
The great battles were over, but the small battles yet to come were intense indeed. We marched in and aroused the dormant horrors that had haunted us for so long, facing them at last so that we could vanquish them once and for all. The nauseating stench rose about us, but we pressed on, steeling ourselves.
At last, we were finished, and we were free. But before we could rest at last, there was one final battle to be fought.
It was time to put Mr. Wuggidy in his jammies.
The battle of the office supplies was less successful. We sustained heavy losses, though minor in comparison to those we inflicted. As we beat back the hordes, more kept appearing. For every pencil we subdued, a dozen paper clips appeared. We were a small band against a multitude, and this ongoing battle was tying up much-needed resources at a tactically insignificant outpost. Eventually we were forced to make our retreat.
All day we pressed on, imposing order upon the unyielding masses. Our dungeons were filled with prisoners, box upon box of pre-pregnancy clothes and craft supplies, nevermore to menace the Shire. Some we destroyed, but most we preserved, treating them generously in the hope that they would eventually turn from the darkness and enter into the service of order and light.
The enemy proved fey indeed, piercing our hearts with despair, but our captain is a man of great valour, and even as our spirits failed us, he led on, inspiring us with courage to face the darkness.
Night fell, and the land was strewn with carnage. Our hopes for swift victory were crushed. We had made great progress, but our foe was far more formidible than he had seemed. We were weary to the bone, and could hardly move, but to clear space for an encampment would take hours. At last our fearless captain hung his head in despair.
His courage had girded me up throughout the day, and now, as defeat was upon him, I rose up with a daring and foolhardy plan. There was only a fool's hope, but it was our only hope--we would sleep on our own bed, and the wuggies would sleep in their own bed... alone. It was a small matter to clear a path through the bedroom, revealing an emerging order within the gloom. I spread our bed with a gorgeous new quilt--the last of the many given to us as wedding gifts. I gently rocked Meepo and sang to him, laying him in his crib just before he went to sleep. He started, and began to whimper, but as I stroked his back, he began to relax again, and eventually went to sleep. Wuggidy had already fallen asleep on the living room floor, and we left him there, covering him snugly in a blanket, until such time as he would awaken. Then, basking in the magnitude of even this partial victory, we slipped between the sheets and fell asleep.
Several times Nathan woke and began to cry, but each time, after a breathless, agonizing moment, he put himself back to sleep, face pressed against the mesh walls of the wuggy bucket. Hours later, Isaiah woke up, and I brought him to bed and laid him between us. I gave him the breast and he was quiet, and did not significantly disturb our sleep. Eventually Nathan awoke in earnest, and would not console himself. I thought it best not to press the issue, and allowed him to join us. With battles behind and battles before, we could not afford to waste our precious hours of repose seeking yet more battles. Nevertheless, when we awoke the next morning, we found that although they slept with us, the night had passed in relative peace, and we were refreshed.
The second day progressed in grim silence. Every step was dogged by piles of boxes, crates, and high chairs, but we pressed on. We paused for refreshment in a small clearing in the office corner, and gathered around a large dish of chocolate chip muffins. There was plenty to go around, but the muffins are always chocolatier on the other side of the fence, and quarrels broke out amoung the hobbits in our ranks. Eventually they were content to sit quietly, crumbling their own muffins, and of the pieces I gathered twelve basketsful.
We came to rue having left the office supplies unsubdued. Small and insignificant though they seemed, items of great power hid among their midst, and the hobbits, ever with a keener eye to mischief than to sense, found them and began to toy with them, oblivious to their potency. As Andrew swooped down to their rescue, I built a strong fortress to keep the indomitable horde at bay, and all was well.
Slowly peace and order spread throughout the Shire, and our hearts sang as we saw the black shadow that had oppressed us for so long lifting away. All that was left was to clean up after the battles. In jubilant celebration, we turned on the CD player.
The introduction of Aeolian music lifted our spirits, but weakened our resolve. The move was not an utter mistake, however. As the hobbits merrily danced and clapped their hands, there were fewer domestic quarrels to distract us. If only we could remain undistracted by the unquenchable rhythm of our own dancing feet.
The great battles were over, but the small battles yet to come were intense indeed. We marched in and aroused the dormant horrors that had haunted us for so long, facing them at last so that we could vanquish them once and for all. The nauseating stench rose about us, but we pressed on, steeling ourselves.
At last, we were finished, and we were free. But before we could rest at last, there was one final battle to be fought.
It was time to put Mr. Wuggidy in his jammies.
1.07.2005
Fountains of Ink
My sister gave me a fantastically wonderful Chrismas present--a music-writing caligraphy pen. In addition to a normal nib, the pen also has a special 5-pronged nib with which to create staves. I am extremely excited about this, since staff paper is absurdly expensive, and printing paper with rows of underlines, while quite convenient, is decidedly unromantic. A spiffy staff-writing caligraphy pen will be just the thing to get my creative juices flowing.
But I don't have any ink.
I didn't think this would be much of a problem, but it turns out neither JoAnns nor Staples carries bottled ink. When I was in Wal-Mart the other day, I searched high and low among the pens, with no success. I did, however, find an employee--a miraculous occurence in a SoCal Wallies. Even more miraculously, she was quite willing to help me, even though she was presumably headed on break with her blue vest tucked under her arm. I probably shouldn't have bugged her... but seeing an employee is such a rare occurence, you can't afford to quibble about whether or not they're actually on duty.
In any case, this young woman was quite friendly and helpful. Did I need refill ink cartriges for a pen? No, bottled ink, like you'd use for a fountain pen.
She paused for a moment, then said "I'm not sure if we have any in yet, but if we did, they'd be in the garden department."
The garden department? Why in the world would it be in the garden department?
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. That's just where we keep them."
Suddenly, recognition flashed across her face. "Oh! You mean for caligraphy!"
She then directed me toward the scrapbooking and crafts section. Which didn't have what I was looking for, either, but at least it made sense.
Looks like I'll have to make a trip out to Michaels.
But I don't have any ink.
I didn't think this would be much of a problem, but it turns out neither JoAnns nor Staples carries bottled ink. When I was in Wal-Mart the other day, I searched high and low among the pens, with no success. I did, however, find an employee--a miraculous occurence in a SoCal Wallies. Even more miraculously, she was quite willing to help me, even though she was presumably headed on break with her blue vest tucked under her arm. I probably shouldn't have bugged her... but seeing an employee is such a rare occurence, you can't afford to quibble about whether or not they're actually on duty.
In any case, this young woman was quite friendly and helpful. Did I need refill ink cartriges for a pen? No, bottled ink, like you'd use for a fountain pen.
She paused for a moment, then said "I'm not sure if we have any in yet, but if we did, they'd be in the garden department."
The garden department? Why in the world would it be in the garden department?
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. That's just where we keep them."
Suddenly, recognition flashed across her face. "Oh! You mean for caligraphy!"
She then directed me toward the scrapbooking and crafts section. Which didn't have what I was looking for, either, but at least it made sense.
Looks like I'll have to make a trip out to Michaels.
1.06.2005
There's a hole in my bucket...
I wanted to make bananna muffins this morning, but everything was going wrong, and after a very bad night's sleep, I was too hungry and tired to deal with it. Thus I decided that this was a morning for cheerios.
There was just one problem.
In order to eat cheerios for breakfast, you must have clean bowls and spoons.
In order to have clean bowls and spoons, you must do the dishes.
In order to do the dishes, you must have a clean dishrag.
In order to have a clean dishrag you must do the laundry.
You know... bananna muffins are sounding really good right now...
There was just one problem.
In order to eat cheerios for breakfast, you must have clean bowls and spoons.
In order to have clean bowls and spoons, you must do the dishes.
In order to do the dishes, you must have a clean dishrag.
In order to have a clean dishrag you must do the laundry.
You know... bananna muffins are sounding really good right now...
1.04.2005
1.03.2005
Back to the Pickle-Pad!
Ah.... It's good to be home. We had a wonderful vacation, renewing relationships with all the dear people in Andy's family, rediscovering just how blessed I am with wonderful in-laws. But now we are back again, and it's good to be home. LA is not Vacaville, instead of gently rolling green hills we have smog and graffiti, instead of magnificent ancient oaks, we have sterile little suburban trees planted at regular intervals along the median. We dreaded the return to our dreary little world... but as soon as we walked in the door late last night, we realized just how sweet it is to be home. This place, this life is ours, and I'm glad to be living in it.
The wuggies feel it, too, and they relish their mobility. At last, they are back in doopah-land, land of the free and home of the brave, where no china sits on low shelves, and the Christmas tree is wired to the wall. There is freedom in babyproofing. For the boys... but mostly for mom!
The wuggies feel it, too, and they relish their mobility. At last, they are back in doopah-land, land of the free and home of the brave, where no china sits on low shelves, and the Christmas tree is wired to the wall. There is freedom in babyproofing. For the boys... but mostly for mom!
12.26.2004
Housebound
Looks like we'll be heading up north tomorrow...
...if we can figure out what the wuggies did with the car keys.
...if we can figure out what the wuggies did with the car keys.
Ole!
Given the boys' passion for mariache, I found the perfect gift for them. Oh dear--have I forgotten to tell you how much they love Spanish music? It started before they were even born... there would be dance party in my womb whenever we listened to anything with a latin beat. A few months ago, Natebug figured out how to turn on the radio to one of the ubiquitous mariache stations, and dance to the beat. The Nutkin-bubble's tastes run more along R&B lines, but we all love dancing around the house to Shakira.
Anyway, at Wally's I found a little maraca containing a band of little bobbly fruit-shaped dancers, who start playing the first few bars of the Mexican Hat Dance and shouting Bravo! and Ole! whenever.a wuggy shakes the maraca. This is every bit as much a hit as I expected, and Natebug is surprisingly good at it. As soon as the music starts playing, he adjusts his beat accordingly, with admirable acuracy. I do believe that he has as good a sense of rhythm as I did before I came to college and sat under Gary's tutelage. (My, did he have to go to extreme measures with me! I recall whole flute lessons spent marching around the music building, subdividing my footsteps. My walk was irregular, my heartbeat was irregular... and I could not persuade my flute to keep a steady beat. I've come a long way... Now I can play other people's music with only a little bit of rubato, although my own music is still of a very fluid metre. It does my still-arrhythmic heart good to see my little son so rhythmically precocious!)
The bug-a-nate has finally put down his maraca, and is instead shaking his sleeping father's glasses. I'd best go rescue them!
Anyway, at Wally's I found a little maraca containing a band of little bobbly fruit-shaped dancers, who start playing the first few bars of the Mexican Hat Dance and shouting Bravo! and Ole! whenever.a wuggy shakes the maraca. This is every bit as much a hit as I expected, and Natebug is surprisingly good at it. As soon as the music starts playing, he adjusts his beat accordingly, with admirable acuracy. I do believe that he has as good a sense of rhythm as I did before I came to college and sat under Gary's tutelage. (My, did he have to go to extreme measures with me! I recall whole flute lessons spent marching around the music building, subdividing my footsteps. My walk was irregular, my heartbeat was irregular... and I could not persuade my flute to keep a steady beat. I've come a long way... Now I can play other people's music with only a little bit of rubato, although my own music is still of a very fluid metre. It does my still-arrhythmic heart good to see my little son so rhythmically precocious!)
The bug-a-nate has finally put down his maraca, and is instead shaking his sleeping father's glasses. I'd best go rescue them!
12.20.2004
My husband is a bachelor...
of the sciences, that is.
It's a really good feeling... we're right exactly where God wants us as a family. Andy is done with school, and is doing what he loves, and what he feels called to do. He's changing kids lives.
And I'm doing what I love best, and as I cuddle my wuggies, music flows from my pen. Yeah, yeah, everything's up in the air, Andy still needs more work, etc. etc. etc. But I feel an incredible sense of peace and right-ness.
This is where we're supposed to be... and I'm ever so glad we get to take part in this adventure together.
So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by
and the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness.
We have heard of those princes' heroic campaigns...
Natebug has been practicing to be a great warrior, learning to control his spear... well... the broom anyway. It's hard work, heavy and unwieldy, but Meepo has the spelunknoi.
Oh yes.
and the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness.
We have heard of those princes' heroic campaigns...
Natebug has been practicing to be a great warrior, learning to control his spear... well... the broom anyway. It's hard work, heavy and unwieldy, but Meepo has the spelunknoi.
Oh yes.
Cider
Yesterday afternoon, Andy and I watched ROTK. No, not the extended version--that would require a DVD player--just the regular version, which, believe it or not, we hadn't seen yet. (We were otherwise occupied when it came out!) Anyway, we finally saw it, and it was an amazing achievement. No, we weren't that impressed with the film--it was our least favorite of the trilogy. (Perhaps they figured they didn't need to work so hard on it, because the first two determined its box office success?) SEEing the movie was an impressive accomplishment. We all curled up as a family on the bed, and the boys were riveted by the images on the screen. Unfortunately, the images tended to be rather disturbing most of the time, so the boys were relegated to the Wuggy Bucket. (AKA playpen) Thus I spent most of the movie running back and forth finding things to occupy the pickles. Sippy cups finally kept them happy... once I found them. It was quite a search, though. I know we have dozens of sippy cups, so where are they and why do they keep disappearing? It was quite frustrating.
Anyway, this morning I found Natebug vigorously going at a sippy cup. I hadn't given him a cup this morning, neither had Dadders...and it was full of hard cider.
Suddenly everything fell into place. The boys are operating their own brewery, hiding their sippy cups behind the couch, in the toy basket, and behind the tree...
Time to crack down on the operation.
Anyway, this morning I found Natebug vigorously going at a sippy cup. I hadn't given him a cup this morning, neither had Dadders...and it was full of hard cider.
Suddenly everything fell into place. The boys are operating their own brewery, hiding their sippy cups behind the couch, in the toy basket, and behind the tree...
Time to crack down on the operation.
12.18.2004
Xtreme Sports
Natebug has a new hobby--ottoman surfing. He has figured out how to climb up onto the gliding footstool that goes to our glider, and it is great fun.
Until he goes splat.
Then it is not so fun.
Until he goes splat.
Then it is not so fun.
12.13.2004
The eggducation of hatchlings
Yesterday after church, as we made our ritual stop at Trader Joes, Andy decided to run into the learning supplies store next door to look for math manipulatives. Unfortunately, they really didn't have much that looked terribly useful for his purposes---instead of explicating math concepts in interesting and engaging ways, these products attempted to mask the fact that this is math class with utterly irrelevant "exciting" elements that have absolutely nothing to do with the concepts at hand. Like the pen that "motivates students with flashing lights!" Most of the items displayed seemed as though they would be quite effective in teaching children that math is boring in itself, and needs a heavy dose of "interesting" stuff to make it palatable. Perhaps I should ask my mother to dig out the wonderful math games from my childhood... The fun stuff is intrinsic to math, not extrinsic. Numbers actually are much more interesting than flashing lights--even to a third grader, as long as they are properly understood--but you'd never know that from looking at these educational tools.
But I digress. While we were in the store, we looked various educational toys for pickles of the small variety. They had a lovely little play area, in which the wuggies sat upon little pint-sized stuffed chairs, grabbed a toy train from a little boy, played with a different toy train, grabbed toy trains out of each others hands, and played with the eggs. It was one of those toys consisting of a row of small characters which pop up when you push the button, flip the appropriate switch, or whatever. In most such toys, the characters are hidden under a flap door, but in this case, they were concealed inside an egg. When you push the button, the creature "hatches." I thought it was immensely cute, and contemplated getting it for a Christmas present. However, the boys found it interesting... but no more interesting than the massive quantity of toys that already covers our living room floor.
What to get the boys for Christmas? They like the noisy toys---the little "piano," the talking lizard, and the pajama-clad "Prayer Bear" that recites "Now I lay me down to sleep." And they especially like taking canned goods out of the pantry. But what they really get the biggest kick out of is just anything new. They spend their days going doopah-doopah all over the place, in search of new experiences.
I always thought of the day-after-Christmas-boredom phenomenon as something pernicious, a sign of ingratitude and discontent. Certainly we ought to learn to appreciate what we do have, instead of always wanting more, more, more. Yet can we really be surprised, or upset even, that the much desired sparkly toys lose their charm once obtained? A child's task is to learn, learn, learn, and he pursues that task with vigour. He must see the world in different, new ways, he must add new experiences to his perception of the world. Toys are generally designed to give a child wonderful new experiences, which, by definition, cease to be new rather quickly.
Perhaps the toys which would be most conducive to fun would be those which encourage them to explore deep, rather than wide, enabling them to see different elements of the things that already surround them, rather than just showing them new stuff. As in math, the best sort of fun is intrinsic to the structure of the world, not extrinsic.
At Trader Joes, they gave the boys a perfectly marvelous educational toy--a helium balloon. They were utterly enthralled. This strange red globe contradicted everything they had figured out about gravity. They spent the afternoon conferring together, trying to expand their theory to account for this new phenomenon.
Of course, even a balloon loses its charm after a while, not to mention its helium, and so late last night they found something else to get into.And thus it came about that we found the kitchen floor covered in eggs.
But I digress. While we were in the store, we looked various educational toys for pickles of the small variety. They had a lovely little play area, in which the wuggies sat upon little pint-sized stuffed chairs, grabbed a toy train from a little boy, played with a different toy train, grabbed toy trains out of each others hands, and played with the eggs. It was one of those toys consisting of a row of small characters which pop up when you push the button, flip the appropriate switch, or whatever. In most such toys, the characters are hidden under a flap door, but in this case, they were concealed inside an egg. When you push the button, the creature "hatches." I thought it was immensely cute, and contemplated getting it for a Christmas present. However, the boys found it interesting... but no more interesting than the massive quantity of toys that already covers our living room floor.
What to get the boys for Christmas? They like the noisy toys---the little "piano," the talking lizard, and the pajama-clad "Prayer Bear" that recites "Now I lay me down to sleep." And they especially like taking canned goods out of the pantry. But what they really get the biggest kick out of is just anything new. They spend their days going doopah-doopah all over the place, in search of new experiences.
I always thought of the day-after-Christmas-boredom phenomenon as something pernicious, a sign of ingratitude and discontent. Certainly we ought to learn to appreciate what we do have, instead of always wanting more, more, more. Yet can we really be surprised, or upset even, that the much desired sparkly toys lose their charm once obtained? A child's task is to learn, learn, learn, and he pursues that task with vigour. He must see the world in different, new ways, he must add new experiences to his perception of the world. Toys are generally designed to give a child wonderful new experiences, which, by definition, cease to be new rather quickly.
Perhaps the toys which would be most conducive to fun would be those which encourage them to explore deep, rather than wide, enabling them to see different elements of the things that already surround them, rather than just showing them new stuff. As in math, the best sort of fun is intrinsic to the structure of the world, not extrinsic.
At Trader Joes, they gave the boys a perfectly marvelous educational toy--a helium balloon. They were utterly enthralled. This strange red globe contradicted everything they had figured out about gravity. They spent the afternoon conferring together, trying to expand their theory to account for this new phenomenon.
Of course, even a balloon loses its charm after a while, not to mention its helium, and so late last night they found something else to get into.And thus it came about that we found the kitchen floor covered in eggs.
12.11.2004
My daddy just sent me a CD full of the pictures he took over thanksgiving. Here's Natebug playing with his spiffy ball. Incidentally, that ball truly is one of the spiffiest balls I have ever seen. When you bounce it, or hit it just right, it starts flashing red and blue. Natebug, as enthralled with light as ever, finds it particularly fascinating.
12.09.2004
Clickety-clack!
The boys are coming in with their next set of teeth. As before, they bring with them pain and grumpiness, but it is not nearly so bad as last time. The boys are learning how to make the best of things, to make lemonade out of lifes lemons. Er... maybe that's make lemons out of life's lemonade. They do love snacking on lemon slices. In any case, Isaiah has a wonderful new pastime. Now that he has teeth both on the top and on the bottom, he can clack them together. This is almost as much fun as trying to clap his hands.
Speaking of Isaiah's hands, yesterday we noticed that he has picked up one of his Dadders' mannerisms. As Andy was taking a moment to assess what he next needed to do, he leaned back a bit, and, as he often does in this attitude, absent-mindedly rested his wrists on his stomach and patted his middle rhythmically a few times---then looked down to see Isaiah doing the exact same thing. It was very cute... oh well, I guess you just had to be there.
Speaking of Isaiah's hands, yesterday we noticed that he has picked up one of his Dadders' mannerisms. As Andy was taking a moment to assess what he next needed to do, he leaned back a bit, and, as he often does in this attitude, absent-mindedly rested his wrists on his stomach and patted his middle rhythmically a few times---then looked down to see Isaiah doing the exact same thing. It was very cute... oh well, I guess you just had to be there.
12.08.2004
12.04.2004
11.30.2004
Thanksgiving
Every year as we begin to eat out turkey and cranberry sauce, we go around the table and tell what we are thankful for in the past year. Somehow we forgot that tradition this year.
No matter. They were right there, sitting next to us in high chairs, throwing mashed potatoes around and playing with cranberry sauce.
One year ago... just yesterday, and an eternity ago. This Christmas will be very different from the last... and yet the same. Last Christmas was Advent, was Lent. The year has cycled around, and we are back again, and now it is Christmas, now it is Easter, and now we sing with loud hallelujas.
Praise be to God Almighty, source of life and every good gift, and glory be to Christ His Son, who became incarnate, who made himself a feeble child for the salvation of my children. All honor and wisdom and power and strength be to Him who sustains our faith through the long desolate night. All majesty belongs to Him who is faithful, who fulfils his promises at last, and breaks forth in radiant light.
Lo, the winter is past and the rain is gone...
Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!
No matter. They were right there, sitting next to us in high chairs, throwing mashed potatoes around and playing with cranberry sauce.
One year ago... just yesterday, and an eternity ago. This Christmas will be very different from the last... and yet the same. Last Christmas was Advent, was Lent. The year has cycled around, and we are back again, and now it is Christmas, now it is Easter, and now we sing with loud hallelujas.
Praise be to God Almighty, source of life and every good gift, and glory be to Christ His Son, who became incarnate, who made himself a feeble child for the salvation of my children. All honor and wisdom and power and strength be to Him who sustains our faith through the long desolate night. All majesty belongs to Him who is faithful, who fulfils his promises at last, and breaks forth in radiant light.
Lo, the winter is past and the rain is gone...
Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!
Thanksgiving
Every year as we begin to eat out turkey and cranberry sauce, we go around the table and tell what we are thankful for in the past year. Somehow we forgot that tradition this year.
No matter. They were right there, sitting next to us in high chairs, throwing mashed potatoes around and playing with cranberry sauce.
One year ago... just yesterday, and an eternity ago. This Christmas will be very different from the last... and yet the same. Last Christmas was Advent, was Lent. The year has cycled around, and we are back again, and now it is Christmas, now it is Easter, and now we sing with loud hallelujas.
Praise be to God Almighty, source of life and every good gift, and glory be to Christ His Son, who became incarnate, who made himself a feeble child for the salvation of my children. All honor and wisdom and power and strength be to Him who sustains our faith through the long desolate night. All majesty belongs to Him who is faithful, who fulfils his promises at last, and breaks forth in radiant light.
Lo, the winter is past and the rain is gone...
Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!
No matter. They were right there, sitting next to us in high chairs, throwing mashed potatoes around and playing with cranberry sauce.
One year ago... just yesterday, and an eternity ago. This Christmas will be very different from the last... and yet the same. Last Christmas was Advent, was Lent. The year has cycled around, and we are back again, and now it is Christmas, now it is Easter, and now we sing with loud hallelujas.
Praise be to God Almighty, source of life and every good gift, and glory be to Christ His Son, who became incarnate, who made himself a feeble child for the salvation of my children. All honor and wisdom and power and strength be to Him who sustains our faith through the long desolate night. All majesty belongs to Him who is faithful, who fulfils his promises at last, and breaks forth in radiant light.
Lo, the winter is past and the rain is gone...
Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!
Thanksgiving
Every year as we begin to eat our turkey and cranberry sauce, we go around the table and tell what we are thankful for in the past year. Somehow we forgot that tradition this year.
No matter. They were right there, sitting next to us in high chairs, throwing mashed potatoes around and playing with cranberry sauce.
One year ago... just yesterday, and an eternity ago. This Christmas will be very different from the last... and yet the same. Last Christmas was Advent, was Lent. The year has cycled around, and we are back again, and now it is Christmas, now it is Easter, and now we sing with loud hallelujas.
Praise be to God Almighty, source of life and every good gift, and glory be to Christ His Son, who became incarnate, who made himself a feeble child for the salvation of my children. All honor and wisdom and power and strength be to Him who sustains our faith through the long desolate night. All majesty belongs to Him who is faithful, who fulfils his promises at last, and breaks forth in radiant light.
Lo, the winter is past and the rain is gone...
Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!
No matter. They were right there, sitting next to us in high chairs, throwing mashed potatoes around and playing with cranberry sauce.
One year ago... just yesterday, and an eternity ago. This Christmas will be very different from the last... and yet the same. Last Christmas was Advent, was Lent. The year has cycled around, and we are back again, and now it is Christmas, now it is Easter, and now we sing with loud hallelujas.
Praise be to God Almighty, source of life and every good gift, and glory be to Christ His Son, who became incarnate, who made himself a feeble child for the salvation of my children. All honor and wisdom and power and strength be to Him who sustains our faith through the long desolate night. All majesty belongs to Him who is faithful, who fulfils his promises at last, and breaks forth in radiant light.
Lo, the winter is past and the rain is gone...
Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!
11.20.2004
The day wears on...
...and we are all wearing clothes! Everyone is dressed for the day, I have finished getting my new piece on paper, and I have found the piece of paper on which the old piece resides, which was missing because my old music notebook fell to pieces.
I have also read a few pages of a devotional book, the slipcover of which is also now falling to pieces. If anyone requires the services of a paper shredder, I have two quite excellent ones who will be happy to help you in exchange for some important documents to rip up.
And I have located a recipe for enchiladas!
All in between diapers and feedings and cuddles and snoofles and nose-wipings and kisses and raspberries and playtime... I'm rather proud of myself.
Thus progresseth the day, and the progress therein....
I have also read a few pages of a devotional book, the slipcover of which is also now falling to pieces. If anyone requires the services of a paper shredder, I have two quite excellent ones who will be happy to help you in exchange for some important documents to rip up.
And I have located a recipe for enchiladas!
All in between diapers and feedings and cuddles and snoofles and nose-wipings and kisses and raspberries and playtime... I'm rather proud of myself.
Thus progresseth the day, and the progress therein....
And now it's time for Silly Songs with Dadders, the part of the show where Dadders comes out and sings a silly song.
Wuggy, Wuggy Crocket,
King of theWild Doopah-Land!
Born on a river-bank when he was three,
Killed a bumble-bear by swattin' at a bee!
Wuggy, Wuggy Crocket,
King of the Wild Doopah-Land!
Wuggy, Wuggy Crocket,
King of theWild Doopah-Land!
Born on a river-bank when he was three,
Killed a bumble-bear by swattin' at a bee!
Wuggy, Wuggy Crocket,
King of the Wild Doopah-Land!
A day in the life of a mommy...
...is an unpredictable sort of thing. She starts out the day with big plans and dreams and goals, and ends the day with plenty of funny stories about how everything went haywire. So, I might as well put it to good use, and share the laughter. In any case, this will give me extra motivation...
It is 10:06am. 10:07 actually, by now. My, how the day flies by. By the end of the day, the kitchen will be babyproof and in a moderate state of cleanliness, yummy cheese enchiladas will be on the table, I will have codified the rhythms on one piece, and my newest piece will have emerged into a more certain shape.
I'm sorely tempted to add laundry to the list...
Oh, what the snorkle.... And I'm going to get all the laundry done!
Okay, okay... I'll get the laundry put away.
Gentlemommies, start your engines!
On your mark...
get set...
Go feed the screaming baby!
It is 10:06am. 10:07 actually, by now. My, how the day flies by. By the end of the day, the kitchen will be babyproof and in a moderate state of cleanliness, yummy cheese enchiladas will be on the table, I will have codified the rhythms on one piece, and my newest piece will have emerged into a more certain shape.
I'm sorely tempted to add laundry to the list...
Oh, what the snorkle.... And I'm going to get all the laundry done!
Okay, okay... I'll get the laundry put away.
Gentlemommies, start your engines!
On your mark...
get set...
Go feed the screaming baby!
Escape from Doopah!
The wuggies are becoming quite adept at cooperative problem-solving. They empty the boxes which form the wuggie barricade, scoot them out of the way, and craw determinedly toward the kitchen sink. Their boundaries have hereby been expanded... and it's time to babyproof the kitchen. Can't stop the doopa-doopah!
11.19.2004
Searching for glasses...
...is rather difficult, because without them, you cannot see where you are looking. It becomes even more difficult in households where small objects tend to migrate about the room in disordered patterns.
11.18.2004
11.13.2004
Full Circle
My mommy just sent me a box full of, among other things, books from my early childhood. Her we are again... The Curious Kitten, The Real Mother Goose, The Bible in Pictures for Little Eyes, Bible Stories in Verse, The Tales of Peter Rabbit, and the wonderful poetry of Margaret Wyse Brown. Mommy and small person cuddled up together... But now I'm the Mommy. It's a very strange feeling, and reminds me just how much I love MY Mommy. I hope I can show my boys as much love as my mother did me.
Nibble, nibble, nibble, goes the mouse in my heart,
and the mouse in my heart is you.
Nibble, nibble, nibble, goes the mouse in my heart,
and the mouse in my heart is you.
11.12.2004
I dream of algebra...
When the boys woke up around 2:00 this morning, Andy was a bit frustrated at their inability to graph a certain equation.
Speaking of fish, Mr. Wugger's new favorite pastime is gnawing on a bright multi-colored plastic fish. (Rainbow trout?) We just need to be careful to limit him to 3 servings a week, due to mercury content....
But what constitutes a proper serving size for plastic fish?
Speaking of fish, Mr. Wugger's new favorite pastime is gnawing on a bright multi-colored plastic fish. (Rainbow trout?) We just need to be careful to limit him to 3 servings a week, due to mercury content....
But what constitutes a proper serving size for plastic fish?
11.09.2004
Wuggy, Put the Kettle On
I was sitting on the couch with both of the wuggies on my lap, introducing them to Mother Goose..
Polly, put the kettle on,
Polly, put the kettle on,
Polly, put the kettle on,
And let's drink tea!
As I sang, there was a good deal of squirming going on, and before going on to Sukey's verse, I paused to figure out what Natebug was up to. He had pulled himelf up, and retrieved my tea-mug from the desk beside the couch, and was merrily drinking the dregs of my tea.
Meeper, put it back again,
Meeper, put it back again....
I'm very glad that the tea was lukewarm!
Polly, put the kettle on,
Polly, put the kettle on,
Polly, put the kettle on,
And let's drink tea!
As I sang, there was a good deal of squirming going on, and before going on to Sukey's verse, I paused to figure out what Natebug was up to. He had pulled himelf up, and retrieved my tea-mug from the desk beside the couch, and was merrily drinking the dregs of my tea.
Meeper, put it back again,
Meeper, put it back again....
I'm very glad that the tea was lukewarm!
Get out your credit cards...
...I just saw a flashing ad for a fantastic online merchant.
GREAT GIFTS...
GREATER PRICES!
Yes, indeed, the fish is on.
GREAT GIFTS...
GREATER PRICES!
Yes, indeed, the fish is on.
11.06.2004
Glacier growing
Forget trivialities such as the proper way to squeeze a tube of toothpaste, or which way the toilet paper goes... the greatest source of tension in our marriage comes from forgetting to fill up the ice cube tray. To resolve this deeply important issue, we have taken to growing our own glaciers. Whenever one of us needs some ice, we crack the ice loose from the tray, retrieve three ice cubes, fill it back up with water, and put it back in the freezer. In this manner, when we next approach the ice cube tray wishing for ice, there are always lots of nice, fresh cubes for us to enjoy. However, as we fill up the three empty cube, we also end up filling in all the little cracks in and around all the cubes that are still left. Little by little, they have been growing... and growing... and growing. Every time we get more ice, our glacier has grown. You'd be amazed at just how much entertainment value we get out of this. Suddenly, refilling the ice cube tray is no longer a drudge, but one of our favorite hobbies. Only one question remains-- what in the world are we going to do with those enormous blobs of ice?
10.29.2004
My music
For your listening pleasure I've posted an audio link to the second movement of the 12-tone flute sonata I'm composing. It's very much a work in progress, so constructive criticism is welcome.
Meanwhile, if you listen closely, you can hear the wuggies in the background. No, that's not me "singing" to my flute again... believe it or not, I think I've finally conquered that bad habit. =)
Anyway, let me know what you think.
Meanwhile, if you listen closely, you can hear the wuggies in the background. No, that's not me "singing" to my flute again... believe it or not, I think I've finally conquered that bad habit. =)
Anyway, let me know what you think.
10.28.2004
Natebug and I were just sharing a special bonding moment. He cuddled up on my lap, and I kissed his little face as he gazed adoringly up at me and squinchled his nose. I took off my glasses to keep them from falling onto his face. Immediately, his adoring gaze turned toward the keyboard where my glasses lay. Does he love me... or just my glasses?
10.25.2004
Word Count
Now that my own name has been added to the list, I am feeling much less insecure, and I am exceedingly proud of my youngest son's extraordinary vocabulary. Mr. Wuggidy has been known to repeat...
Dada
No-no
Blucky
I love you
Baby
Occasional.
What a kid!
Dada
No-no
Blucky
I love you
Baby
Occasional.
What a kid!
A Whole New Word
Last night, Isaiah was lying snuggled up between Dadderwuggy and I, and sleepily, contemplatively, he said, "Dada." He considered for a moment more, and then said "Mama."
Ahh... My baby knows who I am. 'Tis a nice feeling.
My relationships with my wuggies have been so one sided for so long. But now, at last, more and more they are able not only to recieve my love, but also to love me back. Now that they are becoming mobile, and capable of choosing where they want to be, it thrills my soul that so often the place where they want to be is hugging my knees.
I love these little boys.
Ahh... My baby knows who I am. 'Tis a nice feeling.
My relationships with my wuggies have been so one sided for so long. But now, at last, more and more they are able not only to recieve my love, but also to love me back. Now that they are becoming mobile, and capable of choosing where they want to be, it thrills my soul that so often the place where they want to be is hugging my knees.
I love these little boys.
10.23.2004
The fish is on!
Having kids teaches you lots of wonderful things. For instance, how little sleep it is possible to live on.... and just how much sleep is worth. The law of supply and demand is more broadly applicable than you ever thought.
You also learn that baby talk actually didn't originate from the clumsy attempts of small children to learn to talk, but rather from the clumsy attempts of parents to be quasi-realistic as they interperet their pre-verbal childrens discourses. Nathan and Isaiah have been known to spout off deep mathematical profundities and clever witticisms---all in baby-talk of course.
Most importantly, however, you learn that you don't always make a whole lot of sense. The converse also applies--things don't always make sense to you. Especially at 2 am. So when your husband shakes you awake to urgently inform you that the fish is on, just make a mental note to set up an aquarium...
...and you might as well feed the screaming baby while you're at it.
You also learn that baby talk actually didn't originate from the clumsy attempts of small children to learn to talk, but rather from the clumsy attempts of parents to be quasi-realistic as they interperet their pre-verbal childrens discourses. Nathan and Isaiah have been known to spout off deep mathematical profundities and clever witticisms---all in baby-talk of course.
Most importantly, however, you learn that you don't always make a whole lot of sense. The converse also applies--things don't always make sense to you. Especially at 2 am. So when your husband shakes you awake to urgently inform you that the fish is on, just make a mental note to set up an aquarium...
...and you might as well feed the screaming baby while you're at it.
10.20.2004
The truth of the matter...
...is that the tooth is the matter.
The tooth count in the Johnston household has suddenly jumped from 64 to 68 in the past week. It has been a painful process.... for their gums, and our ears.
Everything comes two by two by tooth.
Double trouble... double time.
The tooth count in the Johnston household has suddenly jumped from 64 to 68 in the past week. It has been a painful process.... for their gums, and our ears.
Everything comes two by two by tooth.
Double trouble... double time.
10.15.2004
10.14.2004
Diaper boxes are great for when you're learning to stand up all by yourself. Meanwhile, Isaiah is grasping at straws. Drinking straws, that is. He has a passion for straws... or anything else long and thin like that, for that matter. (Don't worry, we don't let him play with them without supervision!) Isaiah clutched that straw all evening, merrily waving it about on our walk. By the end of the evening, that was one mighy beat-up straw! =)
10.08.2004
The latest word
The other day the boys and I took a walk to the library. We had a delightful time reading about Pinkerton, and Socrates and the Three Little Pigs. Mr. Wuggidy made friends with the nice lady who was shelving childrens books, and they spent some time gleefully making faces at one another. Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, he reached over and grabbed a handfull of my hair to munch on. The library lady shook her finger at him, saying "no-no-no! Don't grab mommy's hair!" Isaiah thought this was great fun, and started laughing and waving his arms about. One of those arms inevitable whacked me in the face, spurring the librarian on to a repeat performance. "No-no-no! Don't hit mommy!" This excited him greatly, and he began beating his chest with his fist. Once again, the librarian shook her finger at him. By then, his glee could no longer contain itself, and burst forth in imitation of this wondrous new word. "No-no-no-no-NO!"
When will he ever learn to say "mammawuggy"?
When will he ever learn to say "mammawuggy"?
Tutti Frutti
From the very beginning, Mr. Wuggidy has had three beautiful, plump, scrumtious strawberries, and Mr. Meep-Meep has only just now been able to catch up to his little brother. The other day he learned to blow raspberries!
We're all a little fruity around here.
We're all a little fruity around here.
10.06.2004
booiinngg!!
From the time we brought them home from the hospital, the boys have loved "the bouncy throne." The bouncy throne came with lots of spiffy bells and whistles, which we made great use of... for about a week. This wonderful invention was carefully designed to teach babies about cause and effect by flashing colorful lights and beeping out little tunes whenever they kick. Since Mr. Meep-Meep tended to kick the most when he was throwing temper tantrums, he was rather insulted that the chair responded to his righteous anger by singing twinkle, twinkle, little star. I found it entertaining... but I eventually took pity on him and turned it off.
Other spiffy features were more useful, like the soothing vibrations. They really liked those... but it went through batteries at a morocious rate, and soon it became unneccessary, anyway. Although we had disabled the spiffy song and lights mechanism, the boys still managed to learn about cause and effect. Instead of learning that kicking produces strange lights and beeps, however, they learned that kicking makes things bounce. This proved a very useful life lesson, and widely applicable. Hence whenever they want to bounce, they know that they don't need to wait for Mammawuggy to change the batteries, and will start kicking whatever it is that they are sitting on... the floor, the stroller, mom's chest... They're still trying to figure out why it doesn't always work.
Although initially, the more complicated features of the bouncy throne were wasted on the wuggies,
now that they're getting older, new horizons are opening up. When Dadders or I are busy in the kitchen, we will bring the bouncy throne out so that one of the boys can watch the cooking show... or the cleaning show... or, in the case where the wuggies have spilled pink grapefruit juice all over a pile of freshly graded papers, the homework-drying show. That one was a smash hit, but we're not planning any reruns or sequels.
Since the wuggy throne has been so popular, we kept on intending to get another one, so that both of the wuggies could join in the fun. I was just about to actually get around to ordering one, when I discovered that it was entirely unnecessary. There was Nathan, sitting in his throne, boincing away... and there was Isaiah, standing right behind him, holding on to the back of the chair, supplying the bounce, and having even more fun than his brother.
Hurrah for teamwork!
Other spiffy features were more useful, like the soothing vibrations. They really liked those... but it went through batteries at a morocious rate, and soon it became unneccessary, anyway. Although we had disabled the spiffy song and lights mechanism, the boys still managed to learn about cause and effect. Instead of learning that kicking produces strange lights and beeps, however, they learned that kicking makes things bounce. This proved a very useful life lesson, and widely applicable. Hence whenever they want to bounce, they know that they don't need to wait for Mammawuggy to change the batteries, and will start kicking whatever it is that they are sitting on... the floor, the stroller, mom's chest... They're still trying to figure out why it doesn't always work.
Although initially, the more complicated features of the bouncy throne were wasted on the wuggies,
now that they're getting older, new horizons are opening up. When Dadders or I are busy in the kitchen, we will bring the bouncy throne out so that one of the boys can watch the cooking show... or the cleaning show... or, in the case where the wuggies have spilled pink grapefruit juice all over a pile of freshly graded papers, the homework-drying show. That one was a smash hit, but we're not planning any reruns or sequels.
Since the wuggy throne has been so popular, we kept on intending to get another one, so that both of the wuggies could join in the fun. I was just about to actually get around to ordering one, when I discovered that it was entirely unnecessary. There was Nathan, sitting in his throne, boincing away... and there was Isaiah, standing right behind him, holding on to the back of the chair, supplying the bounce, and having even more fun than his brother.
Hurrah for teamwork!
ウェ’れびぃんぐあｌのｗ！
Ｎａｔｅｂｕｇ ｈａｓ ｃｈａｎｇｅｄ ｔｈｉｓ ｔｏ 染め足案ラング上げｏｒ ｆでｏｔｈｅｒ． Ｉ’ｍ ｎｏｔ ｓｕｒｅ ｈｏｗ ｔｏ ｓｗｉｔｃｈ ｉｔ ｂａｃｋ． ｗｅ ｓｈａｌｌ ｓｅｅ．
10.01.2004
The Diaper Game
When he was tiny, Natebug hated to have his diaper changed, and would scream out eloquent expressions of wrath and indignation. Somewhere along the line, he got the hang of it, and the diaper game is now the highlight of his day. Well, one of the many highlights, anyway. He experiences life rather like the first book of a used Illiad---more words highlighted than not. At any rate, he loves the diaper game, and that once-traumatic ritual is now filled with gleeful laughter. Even something so fascinating as the diaper game can get a little boring after a while, though, so Mr. Meeper has decided to introduce a new twist. Quite literallly. He has taken to twisting his squirmy little legs free from my grasp, and crawling away. As I scramble about chasing him, he gives me an impish grin, as if to say "Can't stop the doopa-doopa!"
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