Marshmallows are super-duper. Not only are they scrum-tiddly-uptious, but they're also good for throwing. The wuggies had a splendid marshmallow fight. It was lots of fun.
Oh yes.
But then... uh-oh! Marshmallows are sticky. When the wuggies went on their next TP-ing expedition, the tissue stuck to their fingers in funny long, white, trails.
Isaiah quickly became very absorbed in the fascinating problem of disentangling himself from the marshmallows and toilet paper. Nathan, on the other hand, was very upset, and threw himself across my lap, crying piteously.
I must confess, I had very little sympathy. Wuggy-o-mine, you just covered the entire living room with our second-to-last roll of toilet paper, and ground marshmallows into into the carpet....
....and now you're upset because your fingers are a little sticky???
11.24.2005
11.23.2005
11.22.2005
More blessings, still more cleverly disguised...
As I was reaching for a little spouty measuring cup in which to mix up some homemade salad dressing, it occurred to me for the very first time that a salad dressing bottle would be awfully nice. That way I could save some for next time, instead of trying to guess exactly how much we would use in one meal. Besides, dressings really ought to be shaken, not stirred---and a pyrex measuring cup looks pretty silly on the table.
A faint splashing sound snapped me out of my reverie.
Well, it was a different flavour than I was initially intending, but my balsamic vinaigrette was quite lovely in the beautiful red wine vinegar bottle.
So much for my cinnamon-scented kitchen.
A faint splashing sound snapped me out of my reverie.
Well, it was a different flavour than I was initially intending, but my balsamic vinaigrette was quite lovely in the beautiful red wine vinegar bottle.
So much for my cinnamon-scented kitchen.
11.21.2005
Echoes
September is a baby, and wherever there is a baby, there are a few favorite pastimes that everyone around likes to engage in. One of the most prominent of these is searching for family resemblance.
Almost always, they spend a few moments unsuccessfully attempting to find Andy or me in her features. When they move on to her big brothers, they are faced with a different sort of dilemma. Nobody can quite decide which one of her brothers she looks like.
But one thing is certain. She bears a decided resemblance to both of her brothers, and not particularly to either of her parents. Which is very strange indeed, since Nathan and Isaiah look very much like us, and very little like one another.
But most people are agreed on this, so there you have it. The transitive property is very much applicable to equations, inequalities, and cranberry juice... but apparently not to facial features.
Even though her face doesn’t particularly look like either of ours yet, though, her soul does. As I look into my little daughter’s eyes, I see my own soul looking back at me. In an intangible but very real way, I sense that she perceives the world in precisely the way that I do.
She is a reverberation of my soul, and wonder of wonders, the echo is every bit as real as I am.
Almost always, they spend a few moments unsuccessfully attempting to find Andy or me in her features. When they move on to her big brothers, they are faced with a different sort of dilemma. Nobody can quite decide which one of her brothers she looks like.
But one thing is certain. She bears a decided resemblance to both of her brothers, and not particularly to either of her parents. Which is very strange indeed, since Nathan and Isaiah look very much like us, and very little like one another.
But most people are agreed on this, so there you have it. The transitive property is very much applicable to equations, inequalities, and cranberry juice... but apparently not to facial features.
Even though her face doesn’t particularly look like either of ours yet, though, her soul does. As I look into my little daughter’s eyes, I see my own soul looking back at me. In an intangible but very real way, I sense that she perceives the world in precisely the way that I do.
She is a reverberation of my soul, and wonder of wonders, the echo is every bit as real as I am.
Rude Awakening
Waking up to a glass of cold water in the face is one thing.
Waking up to a glass of cold cranberry juice in the face is another.
Waking up to a glass of cold cranberry juice in the face is another.
11.20.2005
Happiness is...
...rushing home after realizing that my fabulous Saturday morning with girlfriends had stretched muuucchh looonger than it was supposed to, and finding peacefully napping children, a sparkling clean apartment, and 18 gloriously red roses on the table.
And a wonderful husband.
And a wonderful husband.
11.18.2005
The Transitive Property of Cranberry Juice
Nate-bug likes to pour his juice all over himself.
Nate-bug likes to give everybody lots of cuddles.
Now everybody's covered in cranberry juice!
Oh yes.
Nate-bug likes to give everybody lots of cuddles.
Now everybody's covered in cranberry juice!
Oh yes.
Blessings in disguise
A while back, we were at the mall of a Sunday afternoon, and stopped at Cinnabon to remedy one of those sudden late-pregnancy blood-sugar drops. And I marvelled at how absolutely scrumptiously cinnamony their rolls were. Ever so much better than mine. There's just a whole new dimension to the flavor that's utterly missing from my baking. I wondered if maybe they used cinnamon oil in addition to powdered cinnamon?
Well, it turns out that I must not have been the only one wishing to incorporate their marvelous cinnamoneyness into my own kitchen, since the next time I was at Cinnabon, the counter was lined with little jars of high-quality cinnamon for sale.
But I had lots and lots of cinnamon at home. I was still only about half-way through that humongous jar of cinnamon that I got as a wedding present three years ago. Of course, by now it tasted more like wood than like cinnamon, but it was cinnamon nevertheless, and there was no way I could justify buying more cinnamon until I used it up... in another six or seven years. (My cinnamon use was rapidly declining, as my cinnamon grew staler and staler.)
Last week, however, Mr. Wuggidy solved my dilemma. If the cinnamon loses its flavor, it is fit only to be flung about the floor and trampled on, so my sons did precisely that. It made quite a mess, but it vaccumed up easily, and the kitchen smelled wonderful.
And everytime I used the vaccum, the scent of cinnamon filled the air.
Er... make that the scent of cinnamon-ish wood.
Well, it turns out that I must not have been the only one wishing to incorporate their marvelous cinnamoneyness into my own kitchen, since the next time I was at Cinnabon, the counter was lined with little jars of high-quality cinnamon for sale.
But I had lots and lots of cinnamon at home. I was still only about half-way through that humongous jar of cinnamon that I got as a wedding present three years ago. Of course, by now it tasted more like wood than like cinnamon, but it was cinnamon nevertheless, and there was no way I could justify buying more cinnamon until I used it up... in another six or seven years. (My cinnamon use was rapidly declining, as my cinnamon grew staler and staler.)
Last week, however, Mr. Wuggidy solved my dilemma. If the cinnamon loses its flavor, it is fit only to be flung about the floor and trampled on, so my sons did precisely that. It made quite a mess, but it vaccumed up easily, and the kitchen smelled wonderful.
And everytime I used the vaccum, the scent of cinnamon filled the air.
Er... make that the scent of cinnamon-ish wood.
11.17.2005
Unfoldings
Last night September smiled. She's smiled before, but this time it was her own smile, not ours reflected back. Dadders made silly faces at her, and played ski-jump with her upturned little nose, and tickled the little snuggle-spot between her chins, and she smiled. She smiled and smiled and smiled, a beautiful, flickering, everchanging expression of her very own delightful delight.
A new dimension of her personality is unfolding for us, shedding light on everything we knew about her before. So utterly continuous with everything we've known of her so far, and yet so surprising and unexpected. The unexpectedness of it all is not so much who she turns out to be, but the fact that it is who she was all along. Indeed, given everything we've known of her over the past months, she couldn't possibly be any other way. And yet we didn't know her, know this part of her, until last night.
It's like staring at a half-finished jigsaw puzzle in bewilderment. Suddenly, you look at the box and everything makes sense, and you no longer can comprehend how you didn't see it all along.
Birth was the same way. When I was pregnant with the twins, I was very conscious of lots of in utero bonding going on. My whole life revolved around them, so of course I felt a powerful bond. But when I was pregnant with the Persephone-child, my life still pretty much revolved around the twins, and I was dreadfully disappointed to find that I didn't really feel much of anything about the unseen little person squirming in my belly.
She was simply a part of me.
It wasn't until she was born that I realized just how well I knew her, had always known her. From time to time a look or a gesture takes my breath away with its utter familiarity. Now I see what I felt in my womb so many times, felt and hardly noticed, but oh, the memory is so clear and precious now!
Like the memory of the first time I kissed my little Isaiah, too weak and feeble and numb and scared to savor the moment...
Or maybe it was just that the moment was too big and too precious to be savoured all at once.
A new dimension of her personality is unfolding for us, shedding light on everything we knew about her before. So utterly continuous with everything we've known of her so far, and yet so surprising and unexpected. The unexpectedness of it all is not so much who she turns out to be, but the fact that it is who she was all along. Indeed, given everything we've known of her over the past months, she couldn't possibly be any other way. And yet we didn't know her, know this part of her, until last night.
It's like staring at a half-finished jigsaw puzzle in bewilderment. Suddenly, you look at the box and everything makes sense, and you no longer can comprehend how you didn't see it all along.
Birth was the same way. When I was pregnant with the twins, I was very conscious of lots of in utero bonding going on. My whole life revolved around them, so of course I felt a powerful bond. But when I was pregnant with the Persephone-child, my life still pretty much revolved around the twins, and I was dreadfully disappointed to find that I didn't really feel much of anything about the unseen little person squirming in my belly.
She was simply a part of me.
It wasn't until she was born that I realized just how well I knew her, had always known her. From time to time a look or a gesture takes my breath away with its utter familiarity. Now I see what I felt in my womb so many times, felt and hardly noticed, but oh, the memory is so clear and precious now!
Like the memory of the first time I kissed my little Isaiah, too weak and feeble and numb and scared to savor the moment...
Or maybe it was just that the moment was too big and too precious to be savoured all at once.
11.15.2005
Redemption
There are two big amorphous messes in our home, that continuously grow, sucking everything in the vicinity into their disorder. Actually, there are lots of messes around here, and all messes seem to behave that way... but for the most part, we conquor them on the weekends, and they rise up again, and we conquor them again... Two messes, however, have managed to evade our efforts, week after week, month after month.
In the closet, there is a huge basket filled with yarn left over from sundry projects, many of which I abandoned because the yarn became entirely too tangled to do anything with it except leave it in a heap to collect sundry small items in its elaborately confused web.
The other mess is the toybox.
'Nuff said.
And so it is that I am knitting the leftover yarn into drawstring baggies with which to organize the wuggies toys. The duplos will be in one bag, the little people in another, and never the twain shall meet. The children will happily play with one neatly homogenous set of toys, until they decide to put it away and pull out a different one. Blissful order. And the closet will be free of the overflowing basket of yarn.
My mother is quite skeptical about my ability to solve the age-old problem of the disorganized toy box.
My husband is quite skeptical about my ability to see such a large-scale knitting project to completion.
They're probably both right.
But I have to try.
In the closet, there is a huge basket filled with yarn left over from sundry projects, many of which I abandoned because the yarn became entirely too tangled to do anything with it except leave it in a heap to collect sundry small items in its elaborately confused web.
The other mess is the toybox.
'Nuff said.
And so it is that I am knitting the leftover yarn into drawstring baggies with which to organize the wuggies toys. The duplos will be in one bag, the little people in another, and never the twain shall meet. The children will happily play with one neatly homogenous set of toys, until they decide to put it away and pull out a different one. Blissful order. And the closet will be free of the overflowing basket of yarn.
My mother is quite skeptical about my ability to solve the age-old problem of the disorganized toy box.
My husband is quite skeptical about my ability to see such a large-scale knitting project to completion.
They're probably both right.
But I have to try.
11.14.2005
Of pots and kettles, beams and splinters
The snottiest-nosed of my children is going about the apartment rousing his sleeping siblings by wiping their relatively (albeit incompletely) clean noses witha cold baby wipe.
He protests greatly, however, when I attempt to wipe his nose.
The stubble rule--do unto others what you really ought to have done unto you, but would greatly rather not.
He protests greatly, however, when I attempt to wipe his nose.
The stubble rule--do unto others what you really ought to have done unto you, but would greatly rather not.
Investment Strategies
Nathan decided to invest in the Doopah-Mobile's stereo system.
Our van is now worth $.25 more than it was yesterday.
Our van is now worth $.25 more than it was yesterday.
11.13.2005
Honey, you turn me on
Being an itinerant math teacher, Andy spends a considerable amount of time each week roaming the freeways of SoCal in our zippy little turtle. (14 years old and 38 MPG. What a great car!) The time is well spent, though. Thanks to Blackstone Audio and the Cerritos Library audio-book collection, he gets to carpool with Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, and Charles Dickens. Because of the fabulously long commutes, he actually has time to "read."
Yesterday afternoon, though, it was just him and me in the car. Well, mostly. We left the boys with a sitter while we went to the Huntington Library with only September for a chaperone. We spent more time on the freeway going to and fro than we actually did at the Library itself, but that was just fine. Driving is almost as nice as walking as a context for uninterrupted conversation.
As we got onto the 5, the wind whooshed noisily through the windows. Andy couldn't quite catch what I was saying about grad school.
So he reached down to the stereo volume control to turn me up.
Yesterday afternoon, though, it was just him and me in the car. Well, mostly. We left the boys with a sitter while we went to the Huntington Library with only September for a chaperone. We spent more time on the freeway going to and fro than we actually did at the Library itself, but that was just fine. Driving is almost as nice as walking as a context for uninterrupted conversation.
As we got onto the 5, the wind whooshed noisily through the windows. Andy couldn't quite catch what I was saying about grad school.
So he reached down to the stereo volume control to turn me up.
11.12.2005
11.11.2005
Uh-oh.
We are completely out of Desitin.
We are completely out of clean laundry.
And yes, there is a connection.
We are completely out of clean laundry.
And yes, there is a connection.
11.09.2005
11.08.2005
Receptive Vocabulary
Everybody says that kids can understand a whole lot long before they start talking.
I kept wondering when that would happen.
It turns out that it happens the moment you start talking to them as though you expect them to understand.
Sunday afternoon at Claim Jumper Andy and I were marvelling at how much Autumn understands. Far, far, more than our boys do. Brian gently pointed out that we might start seeing better results if we talked to the boys with the assumption that they could understand us.
He was right. And I'm amazed.
The funny thing is, this is something I've always been very passionate about. Children are remarkably pliable creatures, and will live up to your expectations of intelligence or stupidity. I've always been convinced that it is very important to interact with your children with the assumption that they are capable of understanding a great deal.
I just had no idea it would start being an issue so soon.
You see, I have a very hard time behaving as though they are capable of understanding, when I'm not capable of understanding how they could possibly figure it out. I suppose it's time to come to grips with the fact that my children are considerably more intelligent than I am. Far less wise-- astoundingly foolish, in fact. But like most little ones, their raw capacity for learning vastly exceeds that of my fossilized 23-year-old brain.
I'm a little bit jealous, a lot amazed...
...and thrilled at the privilege.
I kept wondering when that would happen.
It turns out that it happens the moment you start talking to them as though you expect them to understand.
Sunday afternoon at Claim Jumper Andy and I were marvelling at how much Autumn understands. Far, far, more than our boys do. Brian gently pointed out that we might start seeing better results if we talked to the boys with the assumption that they could understand us.
He was right. And I'm amazed.
The funny thing is, this is something I've always been very passionate about. Children are remarkably pliable creatures, and will live up to your expectations of intelligence or stupidity. I've always been convinced that it is very important to interact with your children with the assumption that they are capable of understanding a great deal.
I just had no idea it would start being an issue so soon.
You see, I have a very hard time behaving as though they are capable of understanding, when I'm not capable of understanding how they could possibly figure it out. I suppose it's time to come to grips with the fact that my children are considerably more intelligent than I am. Far less wise-- astoundingly foolish, in fact. But like most little ones, their raw capacity for learning vastly exceeds that of my fossilized 23-year-old brain.
I'm a little bit jealous, a lot amazed...
...and thrilled at the privilege.
11.07.2005
Dressing with Pickle Relish
The wuggies now cooperate with dressing.
Not after diaper changes, not before bed, and most certainly not while we're getting ready for church. But at random intervals throughout the day, they will bring me assorted items of clothing to try on.
Meanwhile, they are becoming quite adept at the art of undressing themselves. Completely. Without any help.
This could be a rather useful skill...
...if they were potty trained.
Not after diaper changes, not before bed, and most certainly not while we're getting ready for church. But at random intervals throughout the day, they will bring me assorted items of clothing to try on.
Meanwhile, they are becoming quite adept at the art of undressing themselves. Completely. Without any help.
This could be a rather useful skill...
...if they were potty trained.
11.06.2005
The trouble with being in possession of a girl-child of astonishing beauty...
...is that people think you're absolutely nuts.
I suppose I should preface this tale by explaining that although most people carry their children in some contraption or other, on those rare occasions when I only have one of mine with me, I prefer to simply carry her in my arms. It's just cozier and more personal that way, and since one-on-one time is hard to come by, that's an important consideration for me.
At any rate, September and I stopped at the farmers market in Brea yesterday, much to the delight of the extraordinarily baby-hungry herb merchants. I fantasized about having an herb garden, and the herb lady fantasized about having more babies, we both determined that now would be entirely the wrong time for such a project, and September and I trotted off to smell the orchids a few stands over.
As I lifted my little girl up to sniff the pretty flowers, almost as pretty as herself, the grandmotherly orchid-grower examined us closely with a very perplexed look on her face.
Suddenly she burst into delight.
"Oh! Your baby... she's real!"
I suppose I should preface this tale by explaining that although most people carry their children in some contraption or other, on those rare occasions when I only have one of mine with me, I prefer to simply carry her in my arms. It's just cozier and more personal that way, and since one-on-one time is hard to come by, that's an important consideration for me.
At any rate, September and I stopped at the farmers market in Brea yesterday, much to the delight of the extraordinarily baby-hungry herb merchants. I fantasized about having an herb garden, and the herb lady fantasized about having more babies, we both determined that now would be entirely the wrong time for such a project, and September and I trotted off to smell the orchids a few stands over.
As I lifted my little girl up to sniff the pretty flowers, almost as pretty as herself, the grandmotherly orchid-grower examined us closely with a very perplexed look on her face.
Suddenly she burst into delight.
"Oh! Your baby... she's real!"
11.05.2005
Mama's Big Helper
Tembo-Teff is a very sweet-tempered little girl, and extraordinarily easy to keep happy. As long as you're holding her, that is.
But sometimes Mama's busy making meatloaf when the small Persephone-child wants to be cuddled.
Meepo is very helpful. Oh yes. He loves his little sister, and does everything he can think of to comfort her. First he tries jouncing her chair congenially. And vigorously. This does not make September happy. It does not make Mama happy, either.
So he tries another tactic. This time, he goes to his shirt drawer, pulls out an orange long-sleeved T-shirt, and stuffs it in Bay-bee's face. Bay-bee is quiet. Mama is not quiet, though, so he takes the shirt away and tries giving her his finger to suck on.
Uh-oh. Mama doesn't know where Meepo's fingers have been. She does, however, know that her own fingers are covered in raw beef, so Tembo merrily sucks on big brother's finger while Mama cleans up.
But Meepo's fingers aren't what September really wants, so they can only satisfy her for so long. So Meepo starts pushing his fingers further back in her mouth. She doesn't like that very much. Good thing Mama's hands are finally clean again!
Oh yes.
But sometimes Mama's busy making meatloaf when the small Persephone-child wants to be cuddled.
Meepo is very helpful. Oh yes. He loves his little sister, and does everything he can think of to comfort her. First he tries jouncing her chair congenially. And vigorously. This does not make September happy. It does not make Mama happy, either.
So he tries another tactic. This time, he goes to his shirt drawer, pulls out an orange long-sleeved T-shirt, and stuffs it in Bay-bee's face. Bay-bee is quiet. Mama is not quiet, though, so he takes the shirt away and tries giving her his finger to suck on.
Uh-oh. Mama doesn't know where Meepo's fingers have been. She does, however, know that her own fingers are covered in raw beef, so Tembo merrily sucks on big brother's finger while Mama cleans up.
But Meepo's fingers aren't what September really wants, so they can only satisfy her for so long. So Meepo starts pushing his fingers further back in her mouth. She doesn't like that very much. Good thing Mama's hands are finally clean again!
Oh yes.
11.04.2005
Twin Day at Stater Bros.
Yesterday's shopping trip was a fiasco. Instead of merrily driving along, spinning their respective steering wheels, they each fought for control of the other steering wheel. Much screaming and hair-pulling ensued. Which made me want to do some screaming of my own, and pull my own hair out. Instead, I let Nathan get out and walk, and spent the shopping trip preventing him from smashing the cart into a display of olives while I filled my baggie with baby carrots. And picking up jars of olives, because I was just a few seconds too late to stop him. Oh yes, and having my parenting criticized by total strangers. That's always fun. All in all, an unmitigated disaster.
Well, not quite unmitigated. I did get the weeks groceries.... although by the time I got all three screaming kids into the apartment and settled down, the frozen goods had melted...
And I met some fun people. In the meat department, a woman and her 9 year-old daughter stopped to admire my wuggies. Turns out, she has 15-year old twin boys at home, and she glowingly told me how fabulous it is to have twin boys and a little sister for them. "But when they get to this age..."
She glanced over at her daughter, and I cringed. Why, oh why, do people feel like it's okay to tell the world awful their children are, when they're standing right there?
"...they're so much fun!"
The little girl beamed with pride, and danced around giggling, "I'm so much fun!" while her mother and I congratulated one another on having such delightful families.
You'd think that'd be twins enough for one shopping trip, but in the check-out line, there were more. The woman ahead of me let me go first, since her husband had run to grab some formula. She asked how old my baby was, and said that hers was about the same age--but much smaller. Her husband returned while I was checking out, looked at the twins, and said, "Nathan and Nicholas!"
Considerably wierded out, I corrected him. "No, Nathan and Isaiah, actually."
Well, it turns out that I have a two month old. They also have two month olds--- twins named Nathan and Nicholas. And of course I have twins as well--Nathan and Isaiah.
At this point the elderly gentleman in the next lane over chimed in to tell us about his twins, Nicholas and Natalie.
Hmmm... I wonder if the Stater Brothers were twins, too?
Well, not quite unmitigated. I did get the weeks groceries.... although by the time I got all three screaming kids into the apartment and settled down, the frozen goods had melted...
And I met some fun people. In the meat department, a woman and her 9 year-old daughter stopped to admire my wuggies. Turns out, she has 15-year old twin boys at home, and she glowingly told me how fabulous it is to have twin boys and a little sister for them. "But when they get to this age..."
She glanced over at her daughter, and I cringed. Why, oh why, do people feel like it's okay to tell the world awful their children are, when they're standing right there?
"...they're so much fun!"
The little girl beamed with pride, and danced around giggling, "I'm so much fun!" while her mother and I congratulated one another on having such delightful families.
You'd think that'd be twins enough for one shopping trip, but in the check-out line, there were more. The woman ahead of me let me go first, since her husband had run to grab some formula. She asked how old my baby was, and said that hers was about the same age--but much smaller. Her husband returned while I was checking out, looked at the twins, and said, "Nathan and Nicholas!"
Considerably wierded out, I corrected him. "No, Nathan and Isaiah, actually."
Well, it turns out that I have a two month old. They also have two month olds--- twins named Nathan and Nicholas. And of course I have twins as well--Nathan and Isaiah.
At this point the elderly gentleman in the next lane over chimed in to tell us about his twins, Nicholas and Natalie.
Hmmm... I wonder if the Stater Brothers were twins, too?
11.03.2005
Gideon's Men
Wuggies-o-mine, if you want more orange juice, just bring me your cup for a refill.
Honest.
There is no need to dump out the pitcher and lap it off the table.
Honest.
There is no need to dump out the pitcher and lap it off the table.
11.02.2005
11.01.2005
Tinky!
Once upon a time, our neighbor tried to warn them away from some prickly shrubbery by telling them it was "hot."
It didn't work. The word around our place is "blggch."
I guess it's not so much a word as a facial expression with sound effects. It's the face the wuggies make whenever they eat something they think is gross, and we would imitate their "blggch face" back at them whenever they started to eat something we thought was gross. Or when they got into the trash. Or went to touch the stove, for that matter.
When they were small, I couldn't figure out how to teach them the concept of "hot" without actually endangering them. But the concept of disgusting flavors was quite simple. All I had to do was offer them green beans a few times, and they got the idea. So "blggch" it was.
Recently, the boys have learned the word "tinky," and that word is starting to replace the other, less pronouncable one. Dirty diapers are tinky, the trash is tinky, and, alas, brother is declared to be tinky in those unfortunate instances of sibling mockery.
A dead bug fell into the bath water this morning, and I thought it was pretty gross. The wuggies heartily agreed. "Tinky! Tinky! Tinky!" There was much celebration as they gleefully pointed at the bug. "Tinky! Tinky! Tinky!"
*sigh* They're most definitely boys.
Maybe we should start working on the word "hot."
It didn't work. The word around our place is "blggch."
I guess it's not so much a word as a facial expression with sound effects. It's the face the wuggies make whenever they eat something they think is gross, and we would imitate their "blggch face" back at them whenever they started to eat something we thought was gross. Or when they got into the trash. Or went to touch the stove, for that matter.
When they were small, I couldn't figure out how to teach them the concept of "hot" without actually endangering them. But the concept of disgusting flavors was quite simple. All I had to do was offer them green beans a few times, and they got the idea. So "blggch" it was.
Recently, the boys have learned the word "tinky," and that word is starting to replace the other, less pronouncable one. Dirty diapers are tinky, the trash is tinky, and, alas, brother is declared to be tinky in those unfortunate instances of sibling mockery.
A dead bug fell into the bath water this morning, and I thought it was pretty gross. The wuggies heartily agreed. "Tinky! Tinky! Tinky!" There was much celebration as they gleefully pointed at the bug. "Tinky! Tinky! Tinky!"
*sigh* They're most definitely boys.
Maybe we should start working on the word "hot."
10.31.2005
A skein by any other name...
...is still not for throwing.
Under no circumstances are spherical bundles of yarn to be reffered to as balls.
Under no circumstances are spherical bundles of yarn to be reffered to as balls.
10.30.2005
Planning to be Spontaneous
When I was rather small, Grandma P. tried to teach me how to knit. She cast twenty stitches onto the needle, and asked me to count them.
I counted them.
"I think there's twenty..."
"You think?"
And that was that. I knew that there were twenty stitches there... but if all I could say was "I think," then Grandma would have nothing more to do with my attempts at knitting. We spent the afternoon sewing little pillows together instead.
Eventually she did teach me how to knit, but I really didn't see a whole lot of point to it. There was just way too much structure for my liking. If you cast on twenty stitches, you'd better knit twenty stitches, and any changes have to be set up in advance. Everything's planned ahead, foreordained by the pattern.
Crocheting was ever so much more interesting. The horizons were limitless. You could do whatever you wanted, make it whatever shape you pleased. Each stitch was a new decision, you could put it wherever you liked. The freedom was intoxicating...
Until I realized that there are actually only so many places to put that next stitch. Lots of freedom in the next step, but there are only so many final outcomes. Bored with simple patterns, I wanted to crochet lovely images into things. After much searching, and much experimentation, I came to the conclusion that my options were pretty much limited to filet. And filet is all well and good... but a bit forced and unnatural. More of a novelty than anything else. For all its initial freedom, crocheting really wants to stay predictable.
Then a little knitting shop showed up down the street from Andy's work, and he brought home a few knitting magazines that they were discarding. Image after image of breathtaking works of art. Elegant, classy, funky, and even downright strange. Somehow with that dreadfully predictable method you can go places that the delightfully spontaneous meandering stitches of crochet can't take you.
So I've taken up knitting. I hate that you have to begin with the end in mind, that you can't just make it up as you go... but oh the places you can go. As the stitches roll off my needles in neat, orderly rows, so contrary to the habits of my soul, I feel myself ripening into the sort of person Grandma was. The sort of person who could --and did!--rearrange the furniture every few days, because everything was so tidy and organized.
Maybe while I'm at it I'll buy myself a daily planner.
I counted them.
"I think there's twenty..."
"You think?"
And that was that. I knew that there were twenty stitches there... but if all I could say was "I think," then Grandma would have nothing more to do with my attempts at knitting. We spent the afternoon sewing little pillows together instead.
Eventually she did teach me how to knit, but I really didn't see a whole lot of point to it. There was just way too much structure for my liking. If you cast on twenty stitches, you'd better knit twenty stitches, and any changes have to be set up in advance. Everything's planned ahead, foreordained by the pattern.
Crocheting was ever so much more interesting. The horizons were limitless. You could do whatever you wanted, make it whatever shape you pleased. Each stitch was a new decision, you could put it wherever you liked. The freedom was intoxicating...
Until I realized that there are actually only so many places to put that next stitch. Lots of freedom in the next step, but there are only so many final outcomes. Bored with simple patterns, I wanted to crochet lovely images into things. After much searching, and much experimentation, I came to the conclusion that my options were pretty much limited to filet. And filet is all well and good... but a bit forced and unnatural. More of a novelty than anything else. For all its initial freedom, crocheting really wants to stay predictable.
Then a little knitting shop showed up down the street from Andy's work, and he brought home a few knitting magazines that they were discarding. Image after image of breathtaking works of art. Elegant, classy, funky, and even downright strange. Somehow with that dreadfully predictable method you can go places that the delightfully spontaneous meandering stitches of crochet can't take you.
So I've taken up knitting. I hate that you have to begin with the end in mind, that you can't just make it up as you go... but oh the places you can go. As the stitches roll off my needles in neat, orderly rows, so contrary to the habits of my soul, I feel myself ripening into the sort of person Grandma was. The sort of person who could --and did!--rearrange the furniture every few days, because everything was so tidy and organized.
Maybe while I'm at it I'll buy myself a daily planner.
10.29.2005
The Wuggy Chronicles
The Wuggy Chronicles The Wuggy Chronicles The Wuggy Chronicles The Wuggy Chronicles. The Wuggy Chronicles The Wuggy Chronicles
(So it shows up on Google when Grandpa looks for The Wuggy Chronicles)
(So it shows up on Google when Grandpa looks for The Wuggy Chronicles)
10.28.2005
Where'd it go?
About a month ago, Mr. Wuggidy started wandering around the apartment exclaiming "Odjigo! Odjigo!" It took us a very long time to figure out what he meant, until one evening, when he was excitedly tracking the flight of a tiny moth. "Where'd it go! Where'd it go!"
Isaiah loves looking for things. Not only has he taken over my role of finder-of-missing-bottles (for which I am quite grateful!) but he also has taken to throwing things behind the couch and grinning at me impishly. "Where did it go-o?"
The cordless phone is now providing us with endless entertainment. I'll hide the phone, then press the finder button. The wuggies excitedly seek out the beeping tel-phone, while I cheer them on. "Where'd it go? Where'd it go?"
Now if only they could help me find my keys....
Isaiah loves looking for things. Not only has he taken over my role of finder-of-missing-bottles (for which I am quite grateful!) but he also has taken to throwing things behind the couch and grinning at me impishly. "Where did it go-o?"
The cordless phone is now providing us with endless entertainment. I'll hide the phone, then press the finder button. The wuggies excitedly seek out the beeping tel-phone, while I cheer them on. "Where'd it go? Where'd it go?"
Now if only they could help me find my keys....
10.27.2005
Pickle Dressing
In my numerous conversations with medical professionals about the wuggies' development, one question has consistently flumoxed me.
Do they cooperate with dressing?
No. They don't. Far from it.
I'm pretty sure that this is simply due to sheer orneriness, not any problems with their coordination. After all, they don't have any trouble out-climbing me on the stairs, and actually, their methods of uncooperation are rather sophisticated... but the fact of the matter is, they don't cooperate with me when I try to dress them. This is one developmental milestone that they have not yet achieved, and they're showing no interest in doing so. .
Now, however, I am proud to announce that the next time I am faced with that question, I can answer, "No, but Isaiah can dress himself."
His technique could use a little fine-tuning... but he did at least get one arm successfully through the proper sleeve. If the neck-hole did double-duty as an armhole, so be it.
I was so proud of him that I let him go the whole day wearing an inside-out striped onesie over his pajama top.
Proud of his accomplishment...
...and ready to jump on any excuse to avoid the big dressing fight.
Do they cooperate with dressing?
No. They don't. Far from it.
I'm pretty sure that this is simply due to sheer orneriness, not any problems with their coordination. After all, they don't have any trouble out-climbing me on the stairs, and actually, their methods of uncooperation are rather sophisticated... but the fact of the matter is, they don't cooperate with me when I try to dress them. This is one developmental milestone that they have not yet achieved, and they're showing no interest in doing so. .
Now, however, I am proud to announce that the next time I am faced with that question, I can answer, "No, but Isaiah can dress himself."
His technique could use a little fine-tuning... but he did at least get one arm successfully through the proper sleeve. If the neck-hole did double-duty as an armhole, so be it.
I was so proud of him that I let him go the whole day wearing an inside-out striped onesie over his pajama top.
Proud of his accomplishment...
...and ready to jump on any excuse to avoid the big dressing fight.
10.26.2005
A Gripping Tale of the Virtues of Vices
Dadders has just one big vice.
The wuggies' great passion in life is imitating Dadders, so they have a vice, too.
It's just like Dadders', only smaller.
And plastic.
Vices are very spiffy. They're almost as spiffy as hammers, except you stick them on to things, instead of banging things with them. Dadders used his vice to fix the chair. Now it doesn't come apart anymore when Mama sits on it. Meepo and Wuggidy helped out with their vice, too.
Vices are very virtuous things.
Oh yes.
The wuggies' great passion in life is imitating Dadders, so they have a vice, too.
It's just like Dadders', only smaller.
And plastic.
Vices are very spiffy. They're almost as spiffy as hammers, except you stick them on to things, instead of banging things with them. Dadders used his vice to fix the chair. Now it doesn't come apart anymore when Mama sits on it. Meepo and Wuggidy helped out with their vice, too.
Vices are very virtuous things.
Oh yes.
10.25.2005
What's in a name?
Everybody keeps asking me how we ended up deciding on the name September Persephone for our daughter. I'm never quite sure how to answer. We named her September because we liked it. And we named her Persephone because it so beautifully follows up on the sound of September.
Besides, it shortens down to Bob so nicely, don't you think?
Somewhere not to far along in my pregnancy, Andy and I were discussing baby names of an afternoon, and he commented that he'd met a girl named January.
"January Johnston?"
"What's wrong with that? I think it's a lovely name."
"Uhhh..."
"Well, in any case, we can't name her January, because she's going to be born in September."
We looked at each other. "September."
And from that moment, our little unborn child had a name.
I love the name September because the aural quality of the word evokes the crisp richness of the month itself. And those qualities of sound and colour and texture evoke the spiritual qualities that I want for my daughter. A strong femininity, a gentle, winsome, independence.
I guess that you could say that we named her September after her Aunt Sharon, although I didn't realize it until well after she was named. I'm a firm believer in cross-modal resemblances, and I do think that there really is a common quality to the word, the month, and the particular shade of womanliness.... but it was Sharon, with her glorious hair and love for the falling leaf that showed me that resemblance.
I love you, Anne-with-an-E. Come back soon and meet your little namesake.
Besides, it shortens down to Bob so nicely, don't you think?
Somewhere not to far along in my pregnancy, Andy and I were discussing baby names of an afternoon, and he commented that he'd met a girl named January.
"January Johnston?"
"What's wrong with that? I think it's a lovely name."
"Uhhh..."
"Well, in any case, we can't name her January, because she's going to be born in September."
We looked at each other. "September."
And from that moment, our little unborn child had a name.
I love the name September because the aural quality of the word evokes the crisp richness of the month itself. And those qualities of sound and colour and texture evoke the spiritual qualities that I want for my daughter. A strong femininity, a gentle, winsome, independence.
I guess that you could say that we named her September after her Aunt Sharon, although I didn't realize it until well after she was named. I'm a firm believer in cross-modal resemblances, and I do think that there really is a common quality to the word, the month, and the particular shade of womanliness.... but it was Sharon, with her glorious hair and love for the falling leaf that showed me that resemblance.
I love you, Anne-with-an-E. Come back soon and meet your little namesake.
10.24.2005
I love Stater Bros.
Stater Brothers is simply a superior grocery store, for a number of reasons. For one thing, they do not feel a need to collect all sorts of personal information before they can sell you groceries at a reasonable price. I guess I'm a little paranoid, but it disturbs me to no end to know the sheer weight of intelligence involved in the effort to lure me into overspending.
Moreover, their normal prices are usually substantially better than the spiffy Club Card prices elsewhere.
And their meat department is the best around. Real, live, knowledgable butchers are very nice things to have around, particularly if your cookbooks tend to call cuts by rather eccentric names.
But the biggest reason I like shopping at Stater Bros. is that the people there are so wonderful and friendly. Everybody knows us, says hi, asks about the rest of the family. The produce guy and I chat about our musical endeavors, and the folks at the bakery know of our penchant for poppy-seed bagels.
But Vons is just around the corner. And when you have three in diapers, convenience trumps all other considerations, at least where grocery shopping is concerned.
With the advent of the Doopah-Mobile, however, convenience is back on Stater Bros. side. Stater Bros. has shopping carts. Oh, Vons has shopping carts, too. And they're perfectly acceptable carts--- unlike the uncontrollable monstrosities that pass for carts at Trader Joes. But Stater Bros. has shopping carts. Spectacular, beautiful carts with cars in front, with room for two wuggies, and even two steering wheels. And we all know how much the wuggies like driving cars. (They love tipping Persephone's swing over so they can sit sideways in the seat, and use the mobile as a "steering wheel"...)
The boys were in rapures when I buckled them in, and they were happy and quiet the whole time I was shopping. I even forgot I had them with me for a moment while I contemplated the price of cream of tartar. (I've been doing a lot of recipes that call for it... but $3.50/oz. is just absurd!) I started to move my cart forward, deciding that my souffles seem to be surviving just fine without, thank you very much, and suddenly I saw a little hand grabbing at Kool-Aid...
...right under my cart.
I almost had a heart attack. I'd just run over a little kid in my shopping cart. The poor thing was going to be maimed for life, because I was too busy contemplating the structural integrity of cheese souffle and lemon merangue pie to notice where I was going.
Nope. Just Mr. Wuggidy, having the time of his life, and unobtrusively letting me get my shopping done.
The boys had fun, and I got my shopping done---at my favoritest grocery story no less. And everywhere we went, folks stopped stocking the shelves to reminisce about childhood memories of make-believe cars.
I'm so glad for my unbelievably real mini-van.
Moreover, their normal prices are usually substantially better than the spiffy Club Card prices elsewhere.
And their meat department is the best around. Real, live, knowledgable butchers are very nice things to have around, particularly if your cookbooks tend to call cuts by rather eccentric names.
But the biggest reason I like shopping at Stater Bros. is that the people there are so wonderful and friendly. Everybody knows us, says hi, asks about the rest of the family. The produce guy and I chat about our musical endeavors, and the folks at the bakery know of our penchant for poppy-seed bagels.
But Vons is just around the corner. And when you have three in diapers, convenience trumps all other considerations, at least where grocery shopping is concerned.
With the advent of the Doopah-Mobile, however, convenience is back on Stater Bros. side. Stater Bros. has shopping carts. Oh, Vons has shopping carts, too. And they're perfectly acceptable carts--- unlike the uncontrollable monstrosities that pass for carts at Trader Joes. But Stater Bros. has shopping carts. Spectacular, beautiful carts with cars in front, with room for two wuggies, and even two steering wheels. And we all know how much the wuggies like driving cars. (They love tipping Persephone's swing over so they can sit sideways in the seat, and use the mobile as a "steering wheel"...)
The boys were in rapures when I buckled them in, and they were happy and quiet the whole time I was shopping. I even forgot I had them with me for a moment while I contemplated the price of cream of tartar. (I've been doing a lot of recipes that call for it... but $3.50/oz. is just absurd!) I started to move my cart forward, deciding that my souffles seem to be surviving just fine without, thank you very much, and suddenly I saw a little hand grabbing at Kool-Aid...
...right under my cart.
I almost had a heart attack. I'd just run over a little kid in my shopping cart. The poor thing was going to be maimed for life, because I was too busy contemplating the structural integrity of cheese souffle and lemon merangue pie to notice where I was going.
Nope. Just Mr. Wuggidy, having the time of his life, and unobtrusively letting me get my shopping done.
The boys had fun, and I got my shopping done---at my favoritest grocery story no less. And everywhere we went, folks stopped stocking the shelves to reminisce about childhood memories of make-believe cars.
I'm so glad for my unbelievably real mini-van.
10.23.2005
Libations
Although he still likes his milk in a bottle, Wuggidy now insists upon being served his water and juice from a big cup. Not a sippy cup. Not a spill-proof straw cup. A big cup like Mama and Dadders.
He's actually doing quite well at this new skill. He's usually capable of drinking it down with a minimal amount of spillage.
But first he must pour out libations. Slowly, contemplatively, he tips the cup. Golden drops of orange juice pour down in a graceful stream, soaking the carpet.
"Mo?"
No.
He's actually doing quite well at this new skill. He's usually capable of drinking it down with a minimal amount of spillage.
But first he must pour out libations. Slowly, contemplatively, he tips the cup. Golden drops of orange juice pour down in a graceful stream, soaking the carpet.
"Mo?"
No.
10.22.2005
I fell down in a burnin' ring of fire...
Down, down down, and the flames grew higher...
The wuggies actually sing the words to this one! Well... the "down, down, down" part anyway....
It makes training them to desist their climbing a little more fun for all of us.
=)
The wuggies actually sing the words to this one! Well... the "down, down, down" part anyway....
It makes training them to desist their climbing a little more fun for all of us.
=)
10.21.2005
The Persephone Principle
The magnatude of the blowout is in direct proportion to the cuteness of the outfit.
Corollary: The frequency of blowouts is inversely related to the number of clean outfits in the drawer.
Corollary: The frequency of blowouts is inversely related to the number of clean outfits in the drawer.
10.19.2005
The Doopah-Mobile!
God is good to us indeed! Out of the blue, the parents of one of Andy's Gorman students gave us their '95 Ford Aerostar. !!! Comfortably big enough for all of us, carseats and strollers and all, with extra room for two friends...
We were assuming that there would be some major maintainance to fork out for, but this morning Andy took it down to Fred's Automotive to have them look in the mouth of our gift horse, so to speak--and the teeth seem to be all present and accounted for! This is just an amazing blessing.
It's such a wonderfully freeing feeling... I'm not stuck at home anymore. I can take the kids to the park... I can get errands done...
Life with one car was a lot like trying to fit all three kids into the Tercel. It worked... but it was kinda stressful and you never knew how everything was going to fit. (And indeed, oftentimes the grocery shopping never did quite fit, and we'd end up going out for burgers at the last minute.)
But this afternoon, we had a delightful doopah through Stater Bros. The wuggies had lots of fun driving the wonderful car-shaped shopping cart, and I hardly heard a peep out of them the whole time, so happy and content were they. The boys had a fabulously fun afternoon, I got some fresh air, nobody was tearing books off the shelf... and we brought home a bunch of groceries!
Mobility is a wonderful thing. Thank you, Jesus.
We were assuming that there would be some major maintainance to fork out for, but this morning Andy took it down to Fred's Automotive to have them look in the mouth of our gift horse, so to speak--and the teeth seem to be all present and accounted for! This is just an amazing blessing.
It's such a wonderfully freeing feeling... I'm not stuck at home anymore. I can take the kids to the park... I can get errands done...
Life with one car was a lot like trying to fit all three kids into the Tercel. It worked... but it was kinda stressful and you never knew how everything was going to fit. (And indeed, oftentimes the grocery shopping never did quite fit, and we'd end up going out for burgers at the last minute.)
But this afternoon, we had a delightful doopah through Stater Bros. The wuggies had lots of fun driving the wonderful car-shaped shopping cart, and I hardly heard a peep out of them the whole time, so happy and content were they. The boys had a fabulously fun afternoon, I got some fresh air, nobody was tearing books off the shelf... and we brought home a bunch of groceries!
Mobility is a wonderful thing. Thank you, Jesus.
10.18.2005
Songses!
I have been tagged by both Emily and Slowlane, and thus am doubly obligated to share five songs that I have been enjoying lately.
1. Twinkle Twinkle EFG. I do realize that this enchanting melody is not very popular over in the Slow Lane, but when sung by Nate-bug, it thrills my soul. We've found yet another set of lyrics, though. In addition to Twinkle Twinkle, the ABC song, and Ba Ba Black Sheep, you can also sing "Ooo, oo, aa, aa..."
2. Bed in Summer. Ted Jacobs and Robert Louis Stevenson. The Child's Garden of Song is sheer delight. In Winter I get up at night, and dress by yellow candlelight. In summer quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day..."
3. Skin. Rascal Flatts. Simultaneously sentimental and prosaic, it tells of the fears and dreams of a little girl with lukemia. It's not very mature or sophisticated, it's almost a little bit silly...which is why it is so powerful. By the end of the song Sara Beth lives and breathes with sweetness, simplicity, and immaturity. She's sixteen, and that's the point.
4. A Bob Marley song. I'm not entirely sure what Bob Marley song. I'm not in the habit of listening to Bob Marley. But Andy has taught Nate-bug to go about singing "Ay, ay, ay! Ay, ay, ay, ay! Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay!" And I am enjoying it tremendously! My baby's got music in him!
5. Every night before supper, we gather around the boys little table, hold hands, and sing grace. "God is great and God is good, and we thank Him for this food. By His hand must all be fed. Give us, Lord, our daily bread. Amen." And we sing it in four-part harmony... of sorts... At any rate, Andy sings the melody, I have fun crafting different accompanying harmonies, and the boys chirp along merrily. It's the highlight of our day, I think.
I have not, however, been enjoying Gretchen Wilson's All Jacked Up. Don't start no stuff, don't drive your truck, and above all, don't try to sing when you're all jacked up. I'm looking forward to getting a new radio--one that isn't melted to the country station.
Don't ask.
So what have you been enjoying, Sarah, Rachel,Wendy, Sharon, and Elisa?
.
1. Twinkle Twinkle EFG. I do realize that this enchanting melody is not very popular over in the Slow Lane, but when sung by Nate-bug, it thrills my soul. We've found yet another set of lyrics, though. In addition to Twinkle Twinkle, the ABC song, and Ba Ba Black Sheep, you can also sing "Ooo, oo, aa, aa..."
2. Bed in Summer. Ted Jacobs and Robert Louis Stevenson. The Child's Garden of Song is sheer delight. In Winter I get up at night, and dress by yellow candlelight. In summer quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day..."
3. Skin. Rascal Flatts. Simultaneously sentimental and prosaic, it tells of the fears and dreams of a little girl with lukemia. It's not very mature or sophisticated, it's almost a little bit silly...which is why it is so powerful. By the end of the song Sara Beth lives and breathes with sweetness, simplicity, and immaturity. She's sixteen, and that's the point.
4. A Bob Marley song. I'm not entirely sure what Bob Marley song. I'm not in the habit of listening to Bob Marley. But Andy has taught Nate-bug to go about singing "Ay, ay, ay! Ay, ay, ay, ay! Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay, ay!" And I am enjoying it tremendously! My baby's got music in him!
5. Every night before supper, we gather around the boys little table, hold hands, and sing grace. "God is great and God is good, and we thank Him for this food. By His hand must all be fed. Give us, Lord, our daily bread. Amen." And we sing it in four-part harmony... of sorts... At any rate, Andy sings the melody, I have fun crafting different accompanying harmonies, and the boys chirp along merrily. It's the highlight of our day, I think.
I have not, however, been enjoying Gretchen Wilson's All Jacked Up. Don't start no stuff, don't drive your truck, and above all, don't try to sing when you're all jacked up. I'm looking forward to getting a new radio--one that isn't melted to the country station.
Don't ask.
So what have you been enjoying, Sarah, Rachel,Wendy, Sharon, and Elisa?
.
10.13.2005
Pink
At the high-risk follow-up, Dr. Morales came in to do her evaluation of Nathan while Isaiah was in the other room playing with all the fun toys. As she came into the room, she swept right past my firstborn, who was playing in the doorway, and came straight over to greet me. She remarked that Nathan was looking quite robust, and I was a bit surprised. Not that Nathan isn't a robust little fellow, but she hadn't even so much as glanced in his direction. She must have seen him outside? Between the two kids, and caring for the third, there was a lot that I missed at that appointment. Thank God for Gramma J.
After she'd pulled up Nathan's chart, Dr. Morales turned to admire little September. "She's pretty. She looks like... ah... Nathan... but... ah... She looks like a girl. I mean he looks like a girl."
"She is a girl."
There was a moment of awkward confusion before I realized that she thought that the little bundle swaddled in pink was Nathan, and Dr. Morales realized that I'd had yet another baby.
After she'd pulled up Nathan's chart, Dr. Morales turned to admire little September. "She's pretty. She looks like... ah... Nathan... but... ah... She looks like a girl. I mean he looks like a girl."
"She is a girl."
There was a moment of awkward confusion before I realized that she thought that the little bundle swaddled in pink was Nathan, and Dr. Morales realized that I'd had yet another baby.
Developmental Milestones
The boys just had their high-risk follow-up appointment at the NICU. It was fabulous. The amazing people who saved our kiddos' lives in the first place did a comprehensive follow-up to make sure that there were no lingering problems after their rough start. They did all the normal check-up stuff, and then some. I had an extensive consultation with a pediatric dietician. She was very pleased that the boys adore broccoli and cantaloupe, and gave me some good tips on how to get more protein into these little herbavores. Meanwhile, a nice lady (I can't remember if she was a nurse or an occupational therapist) took them into a room full of all sorts of fun toys, and checked for their motor skills and cognitive development. They did quite well. While Nathan is a little further along on language and gross motor skills, she said that Isaiah displayed more focus and concentration, and did better than big brother on putting together a simple puzzle. That made me feel a lot better. I'd been mildly concerned, since Nathan is a few months ahead of Isaiah in the obvious areas. Which is very much to be expected, given Isaiah's rough start... and very sad, too, since that would be the result of irreparable damage. But the nice lady (whatever she was) seemed to think that they were just their own little persons, with different sets of strengths. And both of them normal, praise God!
Of course, just playing with them for a half-hour, she couldn't see everything she needed to know, so she asked me a lot of questions to fill in the blank.
"Can they run?"
"Yes."
"Good. Are they very fast?"
"I'm hard pressed to catch up with them, if that's what you mean."
"Wonderful! What about stairs? Can they climb up stairs with a little help?"
"They can climb up stairs without any help."
"Terrific!"
"Er... that's one way of putting it..."
Wuggies-o-mine, I'm so glad that you can do all these wonderful things... now would you please, please, please refrain from doing them?!
Of course, just playing with them for a half-hour, she couldn't see everything she needed to know, so she asked me a lot of questions to fill in the blank.
"Can they run?"
"Yes."
"Good. Are they very fast?"
"I'm hard pressed to catch up with them, if that's what you mean."
"Wonderful! What about stairs? Can they climb up stairs with a little help?"
"They can climb up stairs without any help."
"Terrific!"
"Er... that's one way of putting it..."
Wuggies-o-mine, I'm so glad that you can do all these wonderful things... now would you please, please, please refrain from doing them?!
10.12.2005
Pears
The other night we had nachos for dinner. I like nachos. Andy likes nachos. Nathan likes nachos--or at least he enjoys dipping chips in cheese sauce and dripping it everywhere...
Isaiah does not like nachos, and he expressed his displeasure by grabbing a handful and throwing them. Dadders told him no. We only throw balls, remember? And Isaiah got an evil glint in his eye, walked determinedly back over to my plate, and threw another handful.
This was a first. Many a time has he defiantly chosen to do what he wanted to do instead of what we wanted him to do. But this time, he really wasn't interested in throwing the chips, except in so far as it communicated his defiance. He chose disobedience for the sake of disobedience.
Isaiah does not like nachos, and he expressed his displeasure by grabbing a handful and throwing them. Dadders told him no. We only throw balls, remember? And Isaiah got an evil glint in his eye, walked determinedly back over to my plate, and threw another handful.
This was a first. Many a time has he defiantly chosen to do what he wanted to do instead of what we wanted him to do. But this time, he really wasn't interested in throwing the chips, except in so far as it communicated his defiance. He chose disobedience for the sake of disobedience.
10.10.2005
Watermelon
Dadders bought a watermelon. It is a very plump watermelon, nearly spherical. It looks rather like a ball. It is lots of fun to play with.
I'm glad that it is too heavy to throw.
I'm glad that it is too heavy to throw.
10.08.2005
Peaches
I bought a peach. It was a beautiful peach. The biggest peach I'd ever seen, and perfectly ripe.
Only balls are for throwing. But peaches look an awful lot like balls.
I have a peach. It is an ugly peach, and mangled. I think I can salvage a few bites out of it.
Only balls are for throwing. But peaches look an awful lot like balls.
I have a peach. It is an ugly peach, and mangled. I think I can salvage a few bites out of it.
Featured Features
Last month it was trucks. This month it's babies.
Last week it was noses. This week it's eyes.
Bay-bee liked it better when it was noses.
Last week it was noses. This week it's eyes.
Bay-bee liked it better when it was noses.
10.07.2005
Hi-ic!
Tembo-Teff is a very hiccupy little girl. It was quite an odd sensation to have this little creature hiccupping in my womb, and she kept right on hiccupping as she made her way out into the big, bright world outside. While I was in labor, the epidural took all the pain away, and I couldn't feel the contractions---but I could still feel September hiccuping away.
I am an extremely heavy sleeper. From time to time Andy has to wake me up to inform me that the baby is crying. (His precise words, I believe, were "the fish is on." The man is beautifully lucid at 2:00 AM.) But the other night, September's hiccups kept me awake.
I am an extremely heavy sleeper. From time to time Andy has to wake me up to inform me that the baby is crying. (His precise words, I believe, were "the fish is on." The man is beautifully lucid at 2:00 AM.) But the other night, September's hiccups kept me awake.
10.06.2005
Baby!
The wuggies seem to be a bit faddish, at least in their vocabulary. Trucks are so last month. Now it's all about the baby. "Bobm" has slowly evolved into "bay-bee!!!" and the boys are very excited about their accomplishment. Nathan has also discovered that Bobm is part of a larger set of bay-bees, and takes great delight in pointing out the bay-bees wherever he sees them. Jonathan Moothart is a baby, and there's a baby on the diaper packaging. On the way out of Wal-Mart the other day, we saw a couple with a stroller, and although we couldn't actually see it, Meepo knew there must be a baby in there somewhere. Yesterday, when Isaiah was upset over something or other, his brother called him a baby.
Babies are such wonderful things that Nathan decided he needed one of his own. Thus he carries around a little blue beanie bear. He calls it Bay-bee and gives it kisses. Sometimes his baby gives my baby kisses. The other day I was admiring his baby, and I absently squnchled its little teddy-face. Meepo immediately whisked the bear away from me, and looked at me very reproachfully.
"Gen-to!"
Babies are such wonderful things that Nathan decided he needed one of his own. Thus he carries around a little blue beanie bear. He calls it Bay-bee and gives it kisses. Sometimes his baby gives my baby kisses. The other day I was admiring his baby, and I absently squnchled its little teddy-face. Meepo immediately whisked the bear away from me, and looked at me very reproachfully.
"Gen-to!"
9.27.2005
The things you find in your closet...
Yesterday afternoon, Son One was playing quietly in the living room, Daughter One was asleep in her pack-n-play... and Son Two was nowhere to be seen. As I roamed the apartment frantically, I noticed that I'd left my wardrobe door open, and sure enough the kiddos had gotten into it, scattering clothing all over the bedroom floor. I tried to close the doors, but something was blocking it. In a hurry to find my lost sheep, but not wanting more mess to happen, I just tried to shove the doors close enough to closed so that I could secure the child lock. Suddenly I hear a shriek. And there was Isaiah, curled up for a nap on the second shelf of my wardrobe, snuggled up with his favorite pillow.
9.22.2005
Chinese water torture
Most businesses that routinely put people on hold for inordinate periods of time play carefully engineered selections of music designed to put callers at ease and defuse as much frustration as possible. While waiting to speak to someone at California Public Health Services, you can enjoy the beautiful sound of silence...
...interrupted every 40 seconds or so by a bored voice saying "your call IS important to us."
Torture. Sheer torture.
...interrupted every 40 seconds or so by a bored voice saying "your call IS important to us."
Torture. Sheer torture.
9.20.2005
Stanton McDonald-Wright mapped the twelve colors of the color wheel onto the twelve tones of the chromatic scale, and then proceeded to paint in the various resulting keys and modes. His "synchromies" are astoundingly beautiful---music for the eyes. I've been fascinated with the concept ever since I saw an exhibit of his work at LACMA four years ago... so I spent Sunday afternoon experimenting around with the color wheel while my guys were dooping around the park.
9.18.2005
9.13.2005
Trucks
The boy-wuggies like trucks. Trucks are lots of fun. Grandma Duck brought them a fun truck to play with. It came out of her big suitcase. The truck is very fun. It makes lots of cool noises. Some of the noises sound like a drill. That makes it extra fun.
The boys like talking about trucks. They loudly announce it whenever they see a truck. Or when they see something that looks sort of like a truck. The oil drills at Huntington Beach look like trucks. Mommy isn't sure what it is that looks like a truck at church, though.
"Tr" is a very hard sound to make. That does not keep the wuggies from talking about trucks, though.
Mommy is beginning to regret all the time she spent helping the wuggies learn to say "flower" and "foot."
Dadders tried to teach the wuggies how to say "chruck." Mommy thought it was supposed to be "truck." Grandpa Duck and Grandma Duck went to school for a long time to learn about making funny sounds, so it was a good thing they were there. Everybody had lots of fun talking about how to say "truck" all the way home from the beach.
But Dadders still says "chruck." Mommy still says "truck." And the wuggies still say... something else.
The boys like talking about trucks. They loudly announce it whenever they see a truck. Or when they see something that looks sort of like a truck. The oil drills at Huntington Beach look like trucks. Mommy isn't sure what it is that looks like a truck at church, though.
"Tr" is a very hard sound to make. That does not keep the wuggies from talking about trucks, though.
Mommy is beginning to regret all the time she spent helping the wuggies learn to say "flower" and "foot."
Dadders tried to teach the wuggies how to say "chruck." Mommy thought it was supposed to be "truck." Grandpa Duck and Grandma Duck went to school for a long time to learn about making funny sounds, so it was a good thing they were there. Everybody had lots of fun talking about how to say "truck" all the way home from the beach.
But Dadders still says "chruck." Mommy still says "truck." And the wuggies still say... something else.
9.09.2005
Office Supplies
Ways to distract while in early labor...
--Read
--Watch a movie
--Practice breathing excercises
--Visualize soothing waves on the beach
--Listen to soothing music
--Take your toddler to the emergency room
Saturday night, August 27, the contractions were getting pretty fearsome, and I wondered if it might be time to head on over to the hospital. I sat down in the rocking chair, in good view of the clock, to start timing the contractions.
Before I'd had the chance to even start timing, however, Nathan clambered up on chairs (carefully stacked up where they couldn't use them to climb up on the kitchen table) and from there, onto the table by the door. He, the big metal-rimmed basket, and the lamp, all tumbled down in a big tangle.
There was blood everywhere. Andy was at work, and I couldn't get through to his cell phone. The blood was coming from underneath lots of thick blond hair, and I had no idea how many cuts there were, or how serious it was. Isaiah very much wanted to help me clean his brother up, and brother very much did not want to let me clean him up. And I was going into labor...
I eventually got through to Andy via email. He came home and took us all to the emergency room. And the doctor stapled my son's head back together. With actual staples, just like the ones I use to attach hold multi-page documents together!
I'm glad that September decided to wait until the next day to be born. And I'm especially glad that she's a little girl. Little girls provide enough drama of their own sort, or so I hear.... but it doesn't usually involve getting covered in office supplies.
--Read
--Watch a movie
--Practice breathing excercises
--Visualize soothing waves on the beach
--Listen to soothing music
--Take your toddler to the emergency room
Saturday night, August 27, the contractions were getting pretty fearsome, and I wondered if it might be time to head on over to the hospital. I sat down in the rocking chair, in good view of the clock, to start timing the contractions.
Before I'd had the chance to even start timing, however, Nathan clambered up on chairs (carefully stacked up where they couldn't use them to climb up on the kitchen table) and from there, onto the table by the door. He, the big metal-rimmed basket, and the lamp, all tumbled down in a big tangle.
There was blood everywhere. Andy was at work, and I couldn't get through to his cell phone. The blood was coming from underneath lots of thick blond hair, and I had no idea how many cuts there were, or how serious it was. Isaiah very much wanted to help me clean his brother up, and brother very much did not want to let me clean him up. And I was going into labor...
I eventually got through to Andy via email. He came home and took us all to the emergency room. And the doctor stapled my son's head back together. With actual staples, just like the ones I use to attach hold multi-page documents together!
I'm glad that September decided to wait until the next day to be born. And I'm especially glad that she's a little girl. Little girls provide enough drama of their own sort, or so I hear.... but it doesn't usually involve getting covered in office supplies.
9.06.2005
Bob
All through my pregnancy, we couldn't help thinking of September as a little girl. It wasn't just that we wanted a little girl--though we desperately did! Try as we might, we simply could not imagine a third little son being nestled in my tummy. Of course, we were well aware that there was a fairly good chance that we were having another son regardless of whether or not we could conceive of it (no put intended), so we were eager for an ultrasound to clear up the mystery. As Andy put it, we couldn't wait to "find out if September is herself, or Bob."
But the ultrasound didn't clear anything up at all because September (or Bob) was a very modest little baby.
And so we embarked on the difficult task of finding the perfect name for a little person that we couldn't bring ourselves to believe might actually exist. After listening in on lots of conversations about "what do we name September if she turns out to be Bob?" the boys figured out that my belly was called "Bob." They would poke my blossoming tummy, gleefully saying "Bobm!"
We never could agree on a boy's name that we both liked, until one night I had a dream about giving birth to a little boy named Matthias Robert. The dream itself was one of those bizarre pregnancy nightmares, but we loved the name--and it was quite a relief to finally be prepared for the possibility of Bob.
After our little September-girl made her appearance, Dadders brought the wuggies in to meet their little sister. The boys tiptoed into the room, quiet and alert, almost reverent. Nathan came up to me, as I sat on the rocking chair with September on my lap. He looked at my deflated midriff, then at the squirmy little thing on my lap, and pondered for a moment. After considering the situation, he grinned and announced, "Bobm!"
The boys like Bob a lot... and the other day Isaiah spoke his first sentence. "Bobm wuggy!"
We wondered and wondered, and now we know. September is herself...
...and she is Bob!
But the ultrasound didn't clear anything up at all because September (or Bob) was a very modest little baby.
And so we embarked on the difficult task of finding the perfect name for a little person that we couldn't bring ourselves to believe might actually exist. After listening in on lots of conversations about "what do we name September if she turns out to be Bob?" the boys figured out that my belly was called "Bob." They would poke my blossoming tummy, gleefully saying "Bobm!"
We never could agree on a boy's name that we both liked, until one night I had a dream about giving birth to a little boy named Matthias Robert. The dream itself was one of those bizarre pregnancy nightmares, but we loved the name--and it was quite a relief to finally be prepared for the possibility of Bob.
After our little September-girl made her appearance, Dadders brought the wuggies in to meet their little sister. The boys tiptoed into the room, quiet and alert, almost reverent. Nathan came up to me, as I sat on the rocking chair with September on my lap. He looked at my deflated midriff, then at the squirmy little thing on my lap, and pondered for a moment. After considering the situation, he grinned and announced, "Bobm!"
The boys like Bob a lot... and the other day Isaiah spoke his first sentence. "Bobm wuggy!"
We wondered and wondered, and now we know. September is herself...
...and she is Bob!
Premature Balding
Some active toddlers make their parents want to pull their hair out.
Others do the job for them.
Others do the job for them.
9.05.2005
September Persephone
Our little girl made her way into the big bright world at 10:09 on the evening of August 28. She arrived almost a month before we expected her, but she was 7 lbs., 20 inches long, with a robust apgar score of 8.9.
And she hiccups just as much as she did in utero.
And she hiccups just as much as she did in utero.
8.24.2005
Counting
Yesterday morning, Natebug was munching on a slice of bread. When he'd had enough, he started tearing off bits of bread and throwing them up onto the table, one at a time. "Fun... Foo... Free... Foe..."
I have no idea what to make of this.
Meanwhile, in the afternoon, while Natebug was helping Dadders pick up some groceries at Vons, Isaiah helped me bundle our loose change into rolls. He was enthralled as I counted out the pennies into stacks of ten. It was enormously exciting.
"Gum-gum-gum-TEN!!!"
I have no idea what to make of this.
Meanwhile, in the afternoon, while Natebug was helping Dadders pick up some groceries at Vons, Isaiah helped me bundle our loose change into rolls. He was enthralled as I counted out the pennies into stacks of ten. It was enormously exciting.
"Gum-gum-gum-TEN!!!"
8.21.2005
A sober reminder...
Last night we took the boys to the park to feed the ducks, and on the way home we saw a huge commotion in the Bank of the West parking lot about a block from our apartment. Traffic backed up, police cars everywhere, the middle lane blocked off with orange cones... very strange indeed. It seemed that they were doing a random sobriety check. But they didn't stop us, since we were going the other direction.
As we pulled into our parking spot, Andy turned to me and said sheepishly, "I'm half tempted to go back and drive through it, just for the fun of it." I was half tempted, too... so, given that two halves make a whole, we followed our irrational impulse.
The officer took one look at Andy's license, and sternly informed him that it had expired. Gulp. No, wait... it expires on the 30th. He has a week to take care of it. With everything else going on in our lives, we never would have remembered on our own!
As we breathed a sigh of relief, the officer glanced over to the passenger side and saw my bulging belly. It was his turn for a scare. "You aren't on your way to have that baby, are you?" We reassured him that no, I was still weeks away from my due date... but he sent us swiftly on our way nevertheless! He looked a bit shook up at the possibility (however minute) of a woman giving birth while waiting at a random sobriety checkpoint.
As we pulled into our parking spot, Andy turned to me and said sheepishly, "I'm half tempted to go back and drive through it, just for the fun of it." I was half tempted, too... so, given that two halves make a whole, we followed our irrational impulse.
The officer took one look at Andy's license, and sternly informed him that it had expired. Gulp. No, wait... it expires on the 30th. He has a week to take care of it. With everything else going on in our lives, we never would have remembered on our own!
As we breathed a sigh of relief, the officer glanced over to the passenger side and saw my bulging belly. It was his turn for a scare. "You aren't on your way to have that baby, are you?" We reassured him that no, I was still weeks away from my due date... but he sent us swiftly on our way nevertheless! He looked a bit shook up at the possibility (however minute) of a woman giving birth while waiting at a random sobriety checkpoint.
8.19.2005
Straw Men
Straws are lots of fun. Not only are they good for drinking, and often handier for parents than sippy cups, but they're super for blowing bubbles.
But there's an art to drinking out of a straw, and the pickles haven't quite worked out all the nuances. This afternoon I gave Isaiah a lid-less cup with a little bit of water and a straw. Straw in mouth, he carefully tipped the cup so that he could drink the water. Of course, he just kept tipping it further and further, and never got any of it anywhere but down his shirt...
It never occurred to me how counter-intuitive the method for straw-drinking is. Nor how exceedingly different it is from the method for sippy-cup drinking.
But there's an art to drinking out of a straw, and the pickles haven't quite worked out all the nuances. This afternoon I gave Isaiah a lid-less cup with a little bit of water and a straw. Straw in mouth, he carefully tipped the cup so that he could drink the water. Of course, he just kept tipping it further and further, and never got any of it anywhere but down his shirt...
It never occurred to me how counter-intuitive the method for straw-drinking is. Nor how exceedingly different it is from the method for sippy-cup drinking.
8.18.2005
Salty
I oversalted the deviled eggs tonight. The wuggies wouldn't touch them.
I take that back. They would touch them, smoosh them, smear them, scatter them... just not eat them.
I just caught Isaiah taking measures to make sure that such a mistake never happens again.
I'm glad salt vaccuums up easily.
I wish that were the case for deviled eggs.
I take that back. They would touch them, smoosh them, smear them, scatter them... just not eat them.
I just caught Isaiah taking measures to make sure that such a mistake never happens again.
I'm glad salt vaccuums up easily.
I wish that were the case for deviled eggs.
8.14.2005
Drill Bits
My wonderful husband spent Saturday altering the bookshelves so as to make them even more pickle-proof. This was a lot of fun for the boys, who are utterly fascinated with Dadders' tool box. (Please-please-please can't I play with your hack-saw?) The boys were entirely fearless in their fascination with these truly dangerous objects. However, there was one tool which aroused in Meepo the proper degree of fear... and then some. And then quite a bit, actually. He was absolutely petrified of the drill. Once he heard the dreadful noise it could make, the mere sight of the thing would send him into hysterics.
But then Wuggidy taught him how to make that noise right back, and suddenly the drill was okay. Not as much fun nearly as the hack-saw, and certainly something requiring a safe distance... but okay.
And this morning, as we got ready for church, Wuggidy continued to perfect his drill impression. It's getting quite realistic. Andy tried to make the drill sounds back at him, but it didn't sound nearly so drill-like. What a talented son we have!
But then Wuggidy taught him how to make that noise right back, and suddenly the drill was okay. Not as much fun nearly as the hack-saw, and certainly something requiring a safe distance... but okay.
And this morning, as we got ready for church, Wuggidy continued to perfect his drill impression. It's getting quite realistic. Andy tried to make the drill sounds back at him, but it didn't sound nearly so drill-like. What a talented son we have!
8.10.2005
The Numerous Personages of Our Household
Last night, as I was sifting through the mail, throwing out credit card offers addressed to Andrew Da Johnston, the phone was ringing off the hook for Andrewdarre. Andrewdarre has been getting a lot of phone calls lately. Whenever I hear a telemarketer ask "May I speak with Andrew, dear?" I'm tempted to respond "Why of course, pumpkin."
I was busily examining a voter registration notice for Mr. Elena Johnston, when the phone rang for the fifth time. This time it was for Mrs. Elena AndyJ.
All this is rather harmless and amusing, but last month our auto insurance policy was cancelled because the underwriters discovered that in addition to me, there was also another Elena Johnston in our household. She was apparently a few years older than me.
I just hope that Schroder Management Company never finds out just how many people are living in this apartment!
I was busily examining a voter registration notice for Mr. Elena Johnston, when the phone rang for the fifth time. This time it was for Mrs. Elena AndyJ.
All this is rather harmless and amusing, but last month our auto insurance policy was cancelled because the underwriters discovered that in addition to me, there was also another Elena Johnston in our household. She was apparently a few years older than me.
I just hope that Schroder Management Company never finds out just how many people are living in this apartment!
8.07.2005
Lemming Pickles!
The other day, I left the boys' mattress at the foot of our bed for a bit, and the wuggies found a new game. They would clamber up at the head of the bed, run down the bed as fast as their little legs would go, and leap onto the mattress, one right after the other, screaming gleefully all the while.
Then they went out to the living room, and discovered that they can also play this game on the couch, by standing on the back of the couch and jumping down onto the cushions.
This can be a bit startling for anyone who happens to be sitting on the couch at the time.
Then they went out to the living room, and discovered that they can also play this game on the couch, by standing on the back of the couch and jumping down onto the cushions.
This can be a bit startling for anyone who happens to be sitting on the couch at the time.
8.05.2005
Irony
This school year, my husband will be commuting all over SoCal in a gas-guzzling Ford Explorer.
And I will be attempting to cram three carseats into the back of a tiny little Tercel.
Looking on the bright side, we'll get great gas milage on our little trips around town. And we aren't the ones paying for the gas that goes in the SUV.
Nevertheless, the green in me is indignant at the flagrant waste of non-renewable resources... and the rest of me is green with envy.
I'm grateful, I really am. It will be so nice to have a car while Andy is at work. But I'm having a hard time getting over the absurdity of the situation.
And I will be attempting to cram three carseats into the back of a tiny little Tercel.
Looking on the bright side, we'll get great gas milage on our little trips around town. And we aren't the ones paying for the gas that goes in the SUV.
Nevertheless, the green in me is indignant at the flagrant waste of non-renewable resources... and the rest of me is green with envy.
I'm grateful, I really am. It will be so nice to have a car while Andy is at work. But I'm having a hard time getting over the absurdity of the situation.
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*
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