From one farm animal to another this week, I suppose!
Showing posts with label lunch on wednesdays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label lunch on wednesdays. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Wednesday, December 03, 2008
Anniversary
Four years ago today, we moved to the state of Washington. We didn't know either of these fellas:
Nor had we heard of Wall-E, which clearly has a soothing effect.
Nor had we heard of Wall-E, which clearly has a soothing effect.Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The stream is running again
I'd like to say "No, he didn't," but he so very did.
The C-family had come over and they were all out there, stream-tending. Each child came in wearing different degrees of dirt, but this was the clear winner of the group..
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Pause the Movie!
Lunch on Wednesday yesterday was Nikay's family, along with Pascha's of course, as they're hanging here until their rental comes open.
On the beach yesterday someone referred to my G-girl as a "hardy Northwestern girl, to be sure." It was a. meant as a compliment and b. truer than dirt. She and two of Nikay's children were SWIMMING in Carr Inlet in early April. That's insanity, sheer insanity. What had been intended as a short jaunt to the beach suddenly turned into a full blown homeschool scouts adventure.
No one could blame them, really; the tide was ridiculously low, and the sea creatures were out in the tidal pools. As the children ventured into them to explore, they got more and more wet. After being wet and acclimating to the chill, what was an --accidental, of course--headlong dive into the water? Before long the three tallest were well offshore, swimming in head-to-toe warm gear, from boots to coats. After some necessary photography, the Moms started the equally necessary task of starting a gigantic bonfire, both to warm our hypothermic children and to dry their clothes at least a bit, before we tried to hike back up from the beach.
I hadn't planned a fire, but I brought a lighter. Such a Scout! Be grateful, small frigid ones, that your Moms are handy with drywood!
While we were down on the beach, Nikay's son and Pascha's son went at it in the big style fighting that only rough-and-tumble boys can do. It was actually kind of disturbing to me, because my boys, while they do love to wrestle, are nowhere near as strong and tough as these guys were. I have often wondered to what measure Boyness was holding back when pounding on the N-meister, and in Raeden he found a well-matched opponent in strength, size and inclination. They LOVED it. For me, it was like watching clash of the titans. They would really hit each other using all their favorite methods, from kneeing and wrestling to full blown fisticuffs. They'd slug each other, hurl each other to the ground and pant, all the while grinning like Cheshire cats. They were clearly enjoying this huge test, pushing the envelope of what they'd ever been able to do with another kid, constantly exhilarated that the other guy wasn't getting angry or falling down crying.
What fascinated us all was that the boys would respect each other's limits within the context of their battle. They were wailing on each other while pretending they were Superheroes in a movie. When one had enough he'd say "Pause the movie" and the other would stop; they'd both sit, regain their gumption and then renew their attack. This went on for a long while, until someone got a bloody lip and didn't notice. The other fellow did, stopped, and waited for the wailing which didn't come.
"Why did you stop?" Lip asked.
"Uh, you're bleeding," came the response. Cue the wailing.
Our quick jaunt to the beach culminated in 7 hours of beaching-it, with wading, swimming, wrestling and cliff-diving. It was worthy of last year's homeschool scout / lunch on Wednesday tribe and it felt good. The kids had a blast and the Moms could sense the inevitable approach of a regular capacity to have an uninterrupted conversation.
On the beach yesterday someone referred to my G-girl as a "hardy Northwestern girl, to be sure." It was a. meant as a compliment and b. truer than dirt. She and two of Nikay's children were SWIMMING in Carr Inlet in early April. That's insanity, sheer insanity. What had been intended as a short jaunt to the beach suddenly turned into a full blown homeschool scouts adventure.
No one could blame them, really; the tide was ridiculously low, and the sea creatures were out in the tidal pools. As the children ventured into them to explore, they got more and more wet. After being wet and acclimating to the chill, what was an --accidental, of course--headlong dive into the water? Before long the three tallest were well offshore, swimming in head-to-toe warm gear, from boots to coats. After some necessary photography, the Moms started the equally necessary task of starting a gigantic bonfire, both to warm our hypothermic children and to dry their clothes at least a bit, before we tried to hike back up from the beach.
I hadn't planned a fire, but I brought a lighter. Such a Scout! Be grateful, small frigid ones, that your Moms are handy with drywood!
While we were down on the beach, Nikay's son and Pascha's son went at it in the big style fighting that only rough-and-tumble boys can do. It was actually kind of disturbing to me, because my boys, while they do love to wrestle, are nowhere near as strong and tough as these guys were. I have often wondered to what measure Boyness was holding back when pounding on the N-meister, and in Raeden he found a well-matched opponent in strength, size and inclination. They LOVED it. For me, it was like watching clash of the titans. They would really hit each other using all their favorite methods, from kneeing and wrestling to full blown fisticuffs. They'd slug each other, hurl each other to the ground and pant, all the while grinning like Cheshire cats. They were clearly enjoying this huge test, pushing the envelope of what they'd ever been able to do with another kid, constantly exhilarated that the other guy wasn't getting angry or falling down crying.
What fascinated us all was that the boys would respect each other's limits within the context of their battle. They were wailing on each other while pretending they were Superheroes in a movie. When one had enough he'd say "Pause the movie" and the other would stop; they'd both sit, regain their gumption and then renew their attack. This went on for a long while, until someone got a bloody lip and didn't notice. The other fellow did, stopped, and waited for the wailing which didn't come.
"Why did you stop?" Lip asked.
"Uh, you're bleeding," came the response. Cue the wailing.
Our quick jaunt to the beach culminated in 7 hours of beaching-it, with wading, swimming, wrestling and cliff-diving. It was worthy of last year's homeschool scout / lunch on Wednesday tribe and it felt good. The kids had a blast and the Moms could sense the inevitable approach of a regular capacity to have an uninterrupted conversation.
Pause the movie-- the long, boring winter movie. I call Season Open!!!!!!!
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
This is Community
There is this sweater, you see. It is a soft sea-green, cable-knit hoodie with a subtle periwinkle-blue trim on the cuffs and waist. It is a quality brand name, it zips up the front and it has lasted through both G and N. We've had it so long, I couldn't even remember where or how we got it, but I do know N has gotten more use out of it than G. While I knew I hadn't bought it from a store, because generally that's not how we do things, I thought I got it from a consignment somewhere. Maybe a clearance sale. Never mind that, it's a fine, fine sweater.
The thing is, now that it is D-boy sized, he doesn't want it. It's not his color, he says. This is the boy who now insists his name be said correctly (no nicknames), that his clothes be spotless (water spots are no exception, off they come) and that his boots be by the door without fail when he comes in. So when he says he won't wear this sweater, he oh so very much means it.
But I love the sweater. It's a fine, fine sweater. It's in great shape and needs to be worn. So I put it in the closet and saved it for Nikirj's Bitty Princess. I fretted a bit, because it's not pink or lavendar. It has no sequins or ruffles, no lace or glitter. I worry that instead of being loved, it will be scorned for the second time. Finally, I decide the sweater must be given. It can't be boxed or donated. It must be presented.
For lunch on Wednesday this week, we traveled to the C-family abode. The sweater came with us, and as we made our greetings, I said to Bitty Princess, "I have a present for you! A princess sweater!" Hype, hype, I must hype the fine, fine sweater. Any reaction I might have gauged from Bitty Princess was lost as her mother began to chuckle.
"Oh cool!" She said simply, "Becca's sweater came back. That's such a good sweater, isn't it?"
Blink Blink. Blink Blink.
"We got it from YOU????" I bellowed.
"What, you didn't remember that?"
My embarassment morphed into glee as I cavorted about, happy that the sweater made it's way back home, full circle. Quite by accident, of course, as I really forgot it ever came from there. (Still. I am ashamed. No recollection.) I love stuff like this.
And so, this is community. Child number five (maybe) in the fine, fine sweater. It's making its rounds as the years pass among us, and it's taken on a symbolism; it's now imbued with the warmth of friendship, of filial love for other people's children. We want them to be warm, we want them to be loved. We want them to be in possession of fine, fine sweaters.
The thing is, now that it is D-boy sized, he doesn't want it. It's not his color, he says. This is the boy who now insists his name be said correctly (no nicknames), that his clothes be spotless (water spots are no exception, off they come) and that his boots be by the door without fail when he comes in. So when he says he won't wear this sweater, he oh so very much means it.
But I love the sweater. It's a fine, fine sweater. It's in great shape and needs to be worn. So I put it in the closet and saved it for Nikirj's Bitty Princess. I fretted a bit, because it's not pink or lavendar. It has no sequins or ruffles, no lace or glitter. I worry that instead of being loved, it will be scorned for the second time. Finally, I decide the sweater must be given. It can't be boxed or donated. It must be presented.
For lunch on Wednesday this week, we traveled to the C-family abode. The sweater came with us, and as we made our greetings, I said to Bitty Princess, "I have a present for you! A princess sweater!" Hype, hype, I must hype the fine, fine sweater. Any reaction I might have gauged from Bitty Princess was lost as her mother began to chuckle.
"Oh cool!" She said simply, "Becca's sweater came back. That's such a good sweater, isn't it?"
Blink Blink. Blink Blink.
"We got it from YOU????" I bellowed.
"What, you didn't remember that?"
My embarassment morphed into glee as I cavorted about, happy that the sweater made it's way back home, full circle. Quite by accident, of course, as I really forgot it ever came from there. (Still. I am ashamed. No recollection.) I love stuff like this.
And so, this is community. Child number five (maybe) in the fine, fine sweater. It's making its rounds as the years pass among us, and it's taken on a symbolism; it's now imbued with the warmth of friendship, of filial love for other people's children. We want them to be warm, we want them to be loved. We want them to be in possession of fine, fine sweaters.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Farm Day Again
And my produce is still in the van. At least the van is in the garage, and it is not so different a temperature from the barn. I can get it in the morning. Another sunny day, after a stretch of grey.
I have lots I could write about, but I am pretty engaged in actually living it all instead of reflecting on it enough to have something germane to say. Even my pictures of late have been boring. Or maybe we're just so busy that I don't focus on them just now. I miss lunch on Wednesdays.
All I want to do is write about the kids' accomplishments and the days we spend with our friends. This week I got to intentionally see three different friends three days in a row. When I was in Toddler Land (the lifestyle ruled by playdates with other Moms with toddlers and babies, no dayplanner required), that was a pretty standard happenstance. In Taxi-Land (Reeciebird has congratulated me on graduating to the time-honored status of Mom-Taxi), time with my friends is much more precious. It has been worth it in the trade-off, though. I am watching my kids bloom yet again, and that's a sparkle I like.
Babies. Maybe I can write about babies. I wrote "sparkle," envisioned G's face, and saw her glowing. Not because she got her third black stripe in karate, or passed her swim test or finally conquered her fear of The Big Red Slide, but because she was holding a baby again. This family desperately misses babies. We love them so. I am really happy where we are in our own family, but I told that Baby's Momma that it was a curious feeling. Before I had the desire to stop procreating, I assumed that once I was done having babies, I wouldn't like babies anymore. That's so not the case. I love them just as much; love rocking, diapering, dressing, singing to them etc. They're just as precious, just as wonderful as they ever were in my eyes. How amazing to me, then, that all the cuteness of my baby and others doesn't set my ovaries to fluttering anymore!
I have lots I could write about, but I am pretty engaged in actually living it all instead of reflecting on it enough to have something germane to say. Even my pictures of late have been boring. Or maybe we're just so busy that I don't focus on them just now. I miss lunch on Wednesdays.
All I want to do is write about the kids' accomplishments and the days we spend with our friends. This week I got to intentionally see three different friends three days in a row. When I was in Toddler Land (the lifestyle ruled by playdates with other Moms with toddlers and babies, no dayplanner required), that was a pretty standard happenstance. In Taxi-Land (Reeciebird has congratulated me on graduating to the time-honored status of Mom-Taxi), time with my friends is much more precious. It has been worth it in the trade-off, though. I am watching my kids bloom yet again, and that's a sparkle I like.
Babies. Maybe I can write about babies. I wrote "sparkle," envisioned G's face, and saw her glowing. Not because she got her third black stripe in karate, or passed her swim test or finally conquered her fear of The Big Red Slide, but because she was holding a baby again. This family desperately misses babies. We love them so. I am really happy where we are in our own family, but I told that Baby's Momma that it was a curious feeling. Before I had the desire to stop procreating, I assumed that once I was done having babies, I wouldn't like babies anymore. That's so not the case. I love them just as much; love rocking, diapering, dressing, singing to them etc. They're just as precious, just as wonderful as they ever were in my eyes. How amazing to me, then, that all the cuteness of my baby and others doesn't set my ovaries to fluttering anymore!
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Onions have layers
Like ogres. Like marriages.
The onset of the season has come full force. I can relax into October --autumn-- and feel the contentment I always feel this time of year. P-daddy is coming around, despite the weather change tossing him into a cycle of despair. I called his bluff about being miserable and wanting to move. I found a job for him in Chattanooga-- same pay, same title-- that is so interested in him that they emailed and called within hours of receiving an email resume. Chattanooga is on my very short list of acceptable places to move, so I was willing to call this out. He was taken aback and said, "No I think I am staying where I am for now." Well good, then. Your family loves it here.
October is also G's favorite month, but for a very different reason: Halloween. Living here has made it even more cool because of our town and because of our neighborhood. The town we live in has a downtown waterfront and the merchants all open their doors to trick or treaters. It's like a scene from that movie childhood I never had, where it's still light out and the little kids are swarming the streets, Moms in tow. Of course, in our real life, the Moms are toting umbrellas and sipping coffee, which is even better. Furthermore, there is usually a tall ship docked with a crew dressed as pirates, handing out gold coins, argh. It rocks.
Our own neighborhood is dark dark dark, but the people are mostly older. They genuinely love it when the little kids come through and give out the GOOD stuff. It's a lot of welcoming fun. Our personal traditions about Halloween, begun out of necessity, have served us well as the kids have grown. The Great Pumpkin who takes their offering of collected candy delivers a gift in return, usually sneaking in while they are taking their after-TOT bath. He makes lots of noise and flashes the lights. It's somewhat frightening if you ask me.
Having said all that, the amazing this is this: G is not excited right now that it's Halloween month. She is beside herself, checking the calendar every day, already packed and tingling, because Camp Seymour's overnight is coming. I can't tell you how happy that makes me!
Speaking of happy, our church had the Blessing of the Animals last night, and G sang in the children's choir while holding her hermit crab. So cute. Following, P-daddy took the kids home and I stayed for my best rehearsal YET in this state. Vivaldi! Luther! Hal! Oh yes! That SOUND that choirs make when it's right-- that SOUND that embodies worship of the great spirit for me-- that is what I have been missing. It draws me, addicts me, it humbles me and makes me feel grateful to be able to participate. It was a very good day.
The onset of the season has come full force. I can relax into October --autumn-- and feel the contentment I always feel this time of year. P-daddy is coming around, despite the weather change tossing him into a cycle of despair. I called his bluff about being miserable and wanting to move. I found a job for him in Chattanooga-- same pay, same title-- that is so interested in him that they emailed and called within hours of receiving an email resume. Chattanooga is on my very short list of acceptable places to move, so I was willing to call this out. He was taken aback and said, "No I think I am staying where I am for now." Well good, then. Your family loves it here.
October is also G's favorite month, but for a very different reason: Halloween. Living here has made it even more cool because of our town and because of our neighborhood. The town we live in has a downtown waterfront and the merchants all open their doors to trick or treaters. It's like a scene from that movie childhood I never had, where it's still light out and the little kids are swarming the streets, Moms in tow. Of course, in our real life, the Moms are toting umbrellas and sipping coffee, which is even better. Furthermore, there is usually a tall ship docked with a crew dressed as pirates, handing out gold coins, argh. It rocks.
Our own neighborhood is dark dark dark, but the people are mostly older. They genuinely love it when the little kids come through and give out the GOOD stuff. It's a lot of welcoming fun. Our personal traditions about Halloween, begun out of necessity, have served us well as the kids have grown. The Great Pumpkin who takes their offering of collected candy delivers a gift in return, usually sneaking in while they are taking their after-TOT bath. He makes lots of noise and flashes the lights. It's somewhat frightening if you ask me.
Having said all that, the amazing this is this: G is not excited right now that it's Halloween month. She is beside herself, checking the calendar every day, already packed and tingling, because Camp Seymour's overnight is coming. I can't tell you how happy that makes me!
Speaking of happy, our church had the Blessing of the Animals last night, and G sang in the children's choir while holding her hermit crab. So cute. Following, P-daddy took the kids home and I stayed for my best rehearsal YET in this state. Vivaldi! Luther! Hal! Oh yes! That SOUND that choirs make when it's right-- that SOUND that embodies worship of the great spirit for me-- that is what I have been missing. It draws me, addicts me, it humbles me and makes me feel grateful to be able to participate. It was a very good day.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
We had such a nice day yesterday....
and I don't even have to blog about it!
See here: http:\\xidama.blogspot.com
and here: Nikay
Lunch on Wednesdays is a spectacular homeschool program, let me tell you!
See here: http:\\xidama.blogspot.com
and here: Nikay
Lunch on Wednesdays is a spectacular homeschool program, let me tell you!
Thursday, September 13, 2007
She liked it!
I thought she might. I'd go so far as to say I knew she would, but that would be a lie. Girlie can surprise me, for sure. Her choir starts first, then they break and the adult choir comes in.
I am considering having Dad come pick her up after her rehearsal though, because that is just too long for her to be there, I think. She was pretty haggard by the time my choir rehearsal was over. She did rally at the last song the adults learned, however, and came up and sat next to me. She clapped in rhythm to the Jamaican inspired music and I didn't know until the end that this is a piece the kiddies are doing as well. Fun!
I finished the kids' learning plans for the homeschool year last night. I didn't want to just bang it out and I took the time she was in choir to finish it at a desk in the lobby. Under fine arts, I included a passage about experiencing and participating in the arts in the community at large, not restricted to being with other children. It's funny to me; I didn't expect her to do it an hour later.
Lunch on Wednesday was an impromptu trip to IKEA where we met the C-family and the Dafeelyas. :) Every time I swear I won't go back en masse, and yet still I go back, every time. Must be something about it we like!
I am considering having Dad come pick her up after her rehearsal though, because that is just too long for her to be there, I think. She was pretty haggard by the time my choir rehearsal was over. She did rally at the last song the adults learned, however, and came up and sat next to me. She clapped in rhythm to the Jamaican inspired music and I didn't know until the end that this is a piece the kiddies are doing as well. Fun!
I finished the kids' learning plans for the homeschool year last night. I didn't want to just bang it out and I took the time she was in choir to finish it at a desk in the lobby. Under fine arts, I included a passage about experiencing and participating in the arts in the community at large, not restricted to being with other children. It's funny to me; I didn't expect her to do it an hour later.
Lunch on Wednesday was an impromptu trip to IKEA where we met the C-family and the Dafeelyas. :) Every time I swear I won't go back en masse, and yet still I go back, every time. Must be something about it we like!
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Do you want some caffeine with that?
P-daddy had surgery last week Thursday. It was both elective and medically necessary, meaning he could have chosen not to seek it out but the condition (which I will decline to broadcast here) would have continued to grow and cause him pain. We'll find out the results of the biopsy tomorrow, but we are not worried.
He did well after surgery, during which he was put under general anesthesia. The multi-care presence at Allenmore was amazingly efficient and friendly--it was a day surgery machine, I tell you. The funniest bit was the anesthesiologist, who offered P-daddy some caffeine in his IV. "You haven't had your coffee, have you? Do you have a withdrawal headache?" Not two minutes prior, P-daddy had said he felt one coming on. He declined the extra jolt, though.
Niki had the children while we were gone all day for this procedure, and then stayed over to watch them again the next morning for the 8 AM (!!!) follow up appointment at the dr's office. While I recognize this is a beneficial trade-off (in our eyes anyway) for an inpatient stay, it still was somewhat overwhelming. Paul and I commented how wonderful it was to not even have to think about the kids.
Anyway, what that means in terms of my online life is that well, I am not here. Not like I usually am anyway! P-daddy is a terrible, terrible convalescent and when I am not enforcing bed rest, I have the children away from the house.
We had a last huzzah at the Renny Faire last weekend with some dear friends (see Niki's blog for some pix) and it sounds as if we have infected both those families with our madness. I am already looking forward to next year. Cruelly, my peasant Renny costume arrived moments before we left to go to the fair. The thing is, I bought it a size down because I knew I wouldn't be receiving it in time to use this year. OOOOOOWWWWWWWCH! Oh the whining my friends heard that day! (Not to mention the flat-out, cackling, laughter from my dd when she saw me try it on anyway.)
~D~ got lost at the Renny Faire. ~G~ got lost at the Renny Faire. It was a tough day at the Renny Faire, but as fun as ever in retrospect! I was somewhat sad for P-daddy when we returned and he said wistfully, " I wish I could have gone." This guy never wants to do anything like I do, so I am really happy about his affection for it! There are a lot of these in WA and OR, not to mention the ones that aren't quite Renny, but have to be just as smashing!
The local YMCA opened and omigoodness. It opened yesterday, and we spent several hours there yesterday and today. (G even had their first first-aid call, when she spontaneously burst into a heavy nosebleed in the pool. YUM!) The facility is actually better than I expected and everything I hoped it would be. We even got to meet another homeschooling friend there today. Day two of the facility and we already had a swimdate! I guess I will count that as our lunch-on-Wednesday date, cause I am retentive that way.
After the pool, the boys and I took to the gym and shot hoops while G ran a mile on the track. Not kidding, she counted. 9 times around is a mile. After that, she joined us and we left with promises to return again tomorrow. This is going to be a very good thing.
All my homeschooling homies are gearing up for the non-year to begin. It's fun talking to each other and comparing notes. I have two ladies coming over on Friday to talk homeschooling and pick blackberries. I am crazy. I know that I am.
He did well after surgery, during which he was put under general anesthesia. The multi-care presence at Allenmore was amazingly efficient and friendly--it was a day surgery machine, I tell you. The funniest bit was the anesthesiologist, who offered P-daddy some caffeine in his IV. "You haven't had your coffee, have you? Do you have a withdrawal headache?" Not two minutes prior, P-daddy had said he felt one coming on. He declined the extra jolt, though.
Niki had the children while we were gone all day for this procedure, and then stayed over to watch them again the next morning for the 8 AM (!!!) follow up appointment at the dr's office. While I recognize this is a beneficial trade-off (in our eyes anyway) for an inpatient stay, it still was somewhat overwhelming. Paul and I commented how wonderful it was to not even have to think about the kids.
Anyway, what that means in terms of my online life is that well, I am not here. Not like I usually am anyway! P-daddy is a terrible, terrible convalescent and when I am not enforcing bed rest, I have the children away from the house.
We had a last huzzah at the Renny Faire last weekend with some dear friends (see Niki's blog for some pix) and it sounds as if we have infected both those families with our madness. I am already looking forward to next year. Cruelly, my peasant Renny costume arrived moments before we left to go to the fair. The thing is, I bought it a size down because I knew I wouldn't be receiving it in time to use this year. OOOOOOWWWWWWWCH! Oh the whining my friends heard that day! (Not to mention the flat-out, cackling, laughter from my dd when she saw me try it on anyway.)
~D~ got lost at the Renny Faire. ~G~ got lost at the Renny Faire. It was a tough day at the Renny Faire, but as fun as ever in retrospect! I was somewhat sad for P-daddy when we returned and he said wistfully, " I wish I could have gone." This guy never wants to do anything like I do, so I am really happy about his affection for it! There are a lot of these in WA and OR, not to mention the ones that aren't quite Renny, but have to be just as smashing!
The local YMCA opened and omigoodness. It opened yesterday, and we spent several hours there yesterday and today. (G even had their first first-aid call, when she spontaneously burst into a heavy nosebleed in the pool. YUM!) The facility is actually better than I expected and everything I hoped it would be. We even got to meet another homeschooling friend there today. Day two of the facility and we already had a swimdate! I guess I will count that as our lunch-on-Wednesday date, cause I am retentive that way.
After the pool, the boys and I took to the gym and shot hoops while G ran a mile on the track. Not kidding, she counted. 9 times around is a mile. After that, she joined us and we left with promises to return again tomorrow. This is going to be a very good thing.
All my homeschooling homies are gearing up for the non-year to begin. It's fun talking to each other and comparing notes. I have two ladies coming over on Friday to talk homeschooling and pick blackberries. I am crazy. I know that I am.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Too much to sensibly update.
Especially since it hurts to sit at the computer right now. Lots good, some bad. It's life, you know?
My friends and I officially decided to pretend we're a homeschool group since, as Niki points out, we already are. But we're really an exclusive group. Totally selective. You must have three children, live in the Puget sound area and have an ongoing struggle with food allergies. So far there are four of us families, all of whom have tongues firmly planted in cheek.
3/4 of us attempted IKEA earlier this week. We're nuts, I guess.
My back is on the mend after deciding to go on strike. I went speed-hiking in the woods with Birk clogs but no socks. I expected to only venture a little ways in, but Neighborgirl hijacked one of mine and two of Mack's boys on our Wednesday lunchfest and took them to the &^@ beach cliff. SO out of her boundaries, SO out of my boundaries, and completely on the down low from her mother. I was livid when I finally found them-- coming down the path from the cliff and past the turnoff for home. She was leading them on to the gulley in another far off section of the woods. I don't usually yell at other people's children but I did that day. Our boys were in the back picking berries-- Pickles didn't even have on shoes or a shirt-- when she said she'd take them to "see a waterfall." I am growing more than weary of Neighborgirl issues.
Can't go to Renny fair today because while I have range of motion 70% back, I won't risk that kind of event with a toddler and G-girl. P-Daddy has N off fishing with buddies from work, so I am happy to see that happen. We did however, go to the GH Farmer's Market for a trial run of my back. I made it through, but just, and the kids got their faces painted. Very cute. the artist was an artist, so the pictures on the little guys were very good. D-baby didn't move at ALL while he was being painted.
One of G's crabs died, for no explainable reason, and she was heartbroken. She doesn't want a replacement crab because these crabs were from Santa, and the ones from the store are just too mean.
Plucked another zucchini from our bush in the dry garden, and a spaghetti squash from the big garden. The acorn squash are coming along nicely and apparently I forgot to plant cucumbers.
I am excited to try to win Jubilant Tulip over to the world of stove top espresso makers. I am making a latte now as a matter of fact.
My friends and I officially decided to pretend we're a homeschool group since, as Niki points out, we already are. But we're really an exclusive group. Totally selective. You must have three children, live in the Puget sound area and have an ongoing struggle with food allergies. So far there are four of us families, all of whom have tongues firmly planted in cheek.
3/4 of us attempted IKEA earlier this week. We're nuts, I guess.
My back is on the mend after deciding to go on strike. I went speed-hiking in the woods with Birk clogs but no socks. I expected to only venture a little ways in, but Neighborgirl hijacked one of mine and two of Mack's boys on our Wednesday lunchfest and took them to the &^@ beach cliff. SO out of her boundaries, SO out of my boundaries, and completely on the down low from her mother. I was livid when I finally found them-- coming down the path from the cliff and past the turnoff for home. She was leading them on to the gulley in another far off section of the woods. I don't usually yell at other people's children but I did that day. Our boys were in the back picking berries-- Pickles didn't even have on shoes or a shirt-- when she said she'd take them to "see a waterfall." I am growing more than weary of Neighborgirl issues.
Can't go to Renny fair today because while I have range of motion 70% back, I won't risk that kind of event with a toddler and G-girl. P-Daddy has N off fishing with buddies from work, so I am happy to see that happen. We did however, go to the GH Farmer's Market for a trial run of my back. I made it through, but just, and the kids got their faces painted. Very cute. the artist was an artist, so the pictures on the little guys were very good. D-baby didn't move at ALL while he was being painted.
One of G's crabs died, for no explainable reason, and she was heartbroken. She doesn't want a replacement crab because these crabs were from Santa, and the ones from the store are just too mean.
Plucked another zucchini from our bush in the dry garden, and a spaghetti squash from the big garden. The acorn squash are coming along nicely and apparently I forgot to plant cucumbers.
I am excited to try to win Jubilant Tulip over to the world of stove top espresso makers. I am making a latte now as a matter of fact.
And most importantly of course:
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Blueberry
~N~ is improving drastically. He spent the entirety of yesterday looking and acting normally. The rapport between the children continued until the evening, when he started being really annoying to his sister, and she finally started screaming back. I noticed then (around supper time) that few hives were returning and his eye was red again. I dosed him with benadryl, and proof positive that the reaction is abating in total, he went to sleep quickly. I have noticed in massive reactions like this, the benadryl doesn't help them sleep if it's so busy fighting the hives.
Speaking of ~N~, who I call "Blueberry" after his pretty eyes, we spent some time yesterday at the Blueberry farm. It made for an odd Lunch-with-friends because we neither lunched nor spent much time with them, but we saw TheGreenMama and B and barely missed Mackattack. Blueberries rock, man. We all decided we had to stock for the winter, like NOW. As far as I know we all plan to go back as well. (I am musing now whether I should just pack the car while the children sleep so we can get it out of the way.)
The children were extremely excited to go berry picking, and they refused to believe I meant another farm besides Terry's. We would have left an hour earlier had they not been making arts and crafts projects to give their favorite farmer. Unfortunately as we entered Puyallup, they both realized they'd left them.
After the farm, where we picked 6 pounds of blueberries together, G spent the afternoon making bendie people for their castle and treehouse. They took this class from the Freelance Mama one year ago on an MDC campout--One YEAR!-- and have shown little interest in it since. Now G cranked out 7 of them in three hours, very specific to the pattern FM showed them. Kids and their minds amaze me. She made an entire cast of little people based on a story she had written in her head about a farmer and his son who turned out to be a uper hero. She then had to create a supervillain, of course.
Speaking of ~N~, who I call "Blueberry" after his pretty eyes, we spent some time yesterday at the Blueberry farm. It made for an odd Lunch-with-friends because we neither lunched nor spent much time with them, but we saw TheGreenMama and B and barely missed Mackattack. Blueberries rock, man. We all decided we had to stock for the winter, like NOW. As far as I know we all plan to go back as well. (I am musing now whether I should just pack the car while the children sleep so we can get it out of the way.)
The children were extremely excited to go berry picking, and they refused to believe I meant another farm besides Terry's. We would have left an hour earlier had they not been making arts and crafts projects to give their favorite farmer. Unfortunately as we entered Puyallup, they both realized they'd left them.
After the farm, where we picked 6 pounds of blueberries together, G spent the afternoon making bendie people for their castle and treehouse. They took this class from the Freelance Mama one year ago on an MDC campout--One YEAR!-- and have shown little interest in it since. Now G cranked out 7 of them in three hours, very specific to the pattern FM showed them. Kids and their minds amaze me. She made an entire cast of little people based on a story she had written in her head about a farmer and his son who turned out to be a uper hero. She then had to create a supervillain, of course.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Knee-high by the 4th of July
That's how tall the corn is supposed to be, said P-daddy's step-daddy from Michigan. I have never planted corn before so I had no hope of it actually working out that way. By the end of June, the little stalks were, well, little. But darn-tootin' if it didn't so happen that by the 4th of July, they were even as tall as Niki's dh's knee. Very cool! The sunflowers are already as tall as the kids, and the fruit trees we planted in early spring are now over 7 feet tall.
We had a little tent city going on for the 4th, where the C-family and the Mack family came to celebrate the beach fireworks. Unfortunately, it was a blisteringly hot 4th and by the time they arrived, I'd been cooking in an 85 degree kitchen and was embarrassingly cranky. My friends are good friends, however, and they forgave me; we went on to have a nice time. :)
The tide was too high this year for us to repeat last year's sprawl, especially with three times the people, so we settled for perching on the rock wall. Unfortunately this unduly confined the toddlers and by the time the best of the rockets were going off, they wanted none of it. They revolted so most of our party left early, but I stayed behind with Niki's dh and one big kid from each family to enjoy the big show. I kept chanting for Gandalf's dragon, while Mack's older son kept telling me it didn't exist! That gave me my opening for the quote of the day, where I said "Nonsense! There haven't been dragons around these parts for years....." but I deviated to finish with "there might be one any day!"
Sitting with G on the blanket, watching the explosions reflect in her eyes, made the entire endeavor worth it for me. She sat there, face glowing in the night, with an expectant smile on her open face which broadened with every sparkling detonation.
On July 5th, the Mommies plotted against the nine children we had collected together in an attempt to wear them out. We fed them a carb-heavy breakfast, led by chocolate chip cookies, and then took them on a small hike before leading them down to the sunny-hot beach where most of them actually swam (in Puget Sound. The very idea makes me shiver). We finished them off with a sprinkler fest in the back yard with chilled leftovers from our cook-out the day before. There's something awe-inspiring to me about a 5 year old gnawing on a cold BBQ rib bone.
Has summer finally arrived????
We had a little tent city going on for the 4th, where the C-family and the Mack family came to celebrate the beach fireworks. Unfortunately, it was a blisteringly hot 4th and by the time they arrived, I'd been cooking in an 85 degree kitchen and was embarrassingly cranky. My friends are good friends, however, and they forgave me; we went on to have a nice time. :)
The tide was too high this year for us to repeat last year's sprawl, especially with three times the people, so we settled for perching on the rock wall. Unfortunately this unduly confined the toddlers and by the time the best of the rockets were going off, they wanted none of it. They revolted so most of our party left early, but I stayed behind with Niki's dh and one big kid from each family to enjoy the big show. I kept chanting for Gandalf's dragon, while Mack's older son kept telling me it didn't exist! That gave me my opening for the quote of the day, where I said "Nonsense! There haven't been dragons around these parts for years....." but I deviated to finish with "there might be one any day!"
Sitting with G on the blanket, watching the explosions reflect in her eyes, made the entire endeavor worth it for me. She sat there, face glowing in the night, with an expectant smile on her open face which broadened with every sparkling detonation.
On July 5th, the Mommies plotted against the nine children we had collected together in an attempt to wear them out. We fed them a carb-heavy breakfast, led by chocolate chip cookies, and then took them on a small hike before leading them down to the sunny-hot beach where most of them actually swam (in Puget Sound. The very idea makes me shiver). We finished them off with a sprinkler fest in the back yard with chilled leftovers from our cook-out the day before. There's something awe-inspiring to me about a 5 year old gnawing on a cold BBQ rib bone.
Has summer finally arrived????
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Today is Happy G-day
My eldest turns 7.
7 years old.
7 years old.
Seven.
Lunch with friends Wednesday?
She chose Daddy.
then she made my son cross dress. again.
then she made my son cross dress. again.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Busy as a Bee
Today I had to cancel our lunch-on-wednesday date so as to make up for my poor planning of this weel. I crammed an awful lot in, most of which is getting cancelled because I also scheduled our family camping trip this weekend. That trumps everything but the Mother Blessing this weekend, which is pretty important, hey! The sad irony, and what really bothers me, is that the Wednesday family was the preggo for Sunday, so that bums me out.
So today-tomorrow it is this:
I am beyond excited. P-daddy wanted this to be a just-us thing this time, which I am fine with actually. At first I really wanted to bring people along. The memories of the disaster from last year (disaster only because of the location, which none of us expected or could have anticipated), have faded and I think about the fun we had with our friends instead of the yuckiness. That's a nice happenstance.
I think we need to spend some time connecting as a family though, in a very low-ley manner. I like this plan all around, because I believe it will be a nice break for all of us. The work involved in camping is something P-Daddy and I both like to do, and the park, while awesome, is close enough to home for us to book it if need be. I hope the weather holds out. It's been beautiful lately.
So today-tomorrow it is this:
- finish the laundry
- return library books
- clean the bathrooms
- put in the potatoes, romano bush beans and sunflower house
- bake ahead for camping treats
- store runs for camping supplies
- prep camping meals and
- load up the stuff for camping
I am beyond excited. P-daddy wanted this to be a just-us thing this time, which I am fine with actually. At first I really wanted to bring people along. The memories of the disaster from last year (disaster only because of the location, which none of us expected or could have anticipated), have faded and I think about the fun we had with our friends instead of the yuckiness. That's a nice happenstance.
I think we need to spend some time connecting as a family though, in a very low-ley manner. I like this plan all around, because I believe it will be a nice break for all of us. The work involved in camping is something P-Daddy and I both like to do, and the park, while awesome, is close enough to home for us to book it if need be. I hope the weather holds out. It's been beautiful lately.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Cheesecake and Chones
That was the theme of this week's Wednesday with Friends. Why yes, they are related, but thankfully not directly. At least not immediately! :)
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Lunch on Wednesdays
Today it was the C-family. Funny, last week it was the C-family! We love the C-family.
This week, they came down and the kids had lots of fun in the backyard. Ok, in the house as well. And in the front yard too. Just, lots of fun.
I didn't use the pressure cooker though. No beans for Niki.
My CD burner refuses to open so Nikirj was kind enough to spend several hours burning our digital pictures to disk. Some of you know just how big a gift that was. Now, I am free to take apart the computer and fix the drive door without fearing loss of precious, precious data.
Rock on, Sister Mama!
This week, they came down and the kids had lots of fun in the backyard. Ok, in the house as well. And in the front yard too. Just, lots of fun.
I didn't use the pressure cooker though. No beans for Niki.
My CD burner refuses to open so Nikirj was kind enough to spend several hours burning our digital pictures to disk. Some of you know just how big a gift that was. Now, I am free to take apart the computer and fix the drive door without fearing loss of precious, precious data.
Rock on, Sister Mama!
Friday, September 22, 2006
Breakfast with Grandmomma
I had breakfast with my Grandmomma today. I was cleaning the kitchen from a particularly slack evening last night, then I made pancakes and orange juice for the kids. We talked the whole time I was doing that, me using the headphones attachment on the phone.
We didn't really discuss anything of great importance, but I was enjoying hearing her voice as I went about my motherly duties. There is a connection I have with my Grandmother that I have with no one else. My mother was not nurturing, and her mother, once a super Granny as well, was broken into bitterness by life's long, cruel circumstances. My Grandmomma, however, was only able to bring forth one child. She miscarried another, then never conceived again. She adopted a second son, and the two boys of the same age completed her family. They both married early and quickly produced their first children just three months apart, my cousin and I, both girls. Three more grandchildren later, my Grandmomma found herself surrounded at last with the bounty of children she'd always wanted, and she reveled in it.
My grandmother was the blessing-and-curse MIL we all both fear and wish for. Unbelievably attached to her sons, she truly demanded to be informed when they so much as went out to dinner, lest she call and not get an answer at their home. She cried like a baby and held a family intervention when both sons chose not to continue attending her church, and worse, any church at all. Her intrusive entitlements extended to the grandchildren. If she didn't like the answer she got from a DIL about a health concern, Grandmomma would take the child to her own choice of pedatrician for a second opinion. She'd nag the parents incessantly because their smoking stank up the children's hair and clothing. She'd give the children soap and shampoo along with their other birthday gifts, if she believed the children were looking particularly disheveled that year.
But as with few others on the planet, I can see her motivations were always well-intentioned and pure: she cared for the child first, come what may. She may have been misguided at times, she may have been wrong at times, but even her daughters-in-law never questioned her heart. As one of those children, I was protected, loved and nurtured with a ferocious intensity.
She was also the MIL who would babysit on a moment's notice, even overnight. She never turned anyone away from her table, certainly not her grandchildren, no matter how young the infant. She'd buy clothes and groceries when it just wasn't going to happen otherwise. She took the grandchildren to church, to restaurants, to plays and on vacations. She'd spend weeks-- literally weeks-- with the kids at her house, folding us into her life and rhythms.
All I can compare it to is old-world family life, Southern American style. I grew up in a truly multi-generational family of origin, knowing my great-grandmother well (she died when I was a young adult), being known by her mother (who died when I was a toddler), and having personal relationships with each of my Grandmomma's siblings. We ate together every week, we planned picnics so large they were suited only to parks, we vacationed together, celebrated together, grieved together. My children will not grow up knowing that kind of family community, and it is a loss I fear: the loss of the awareness of belonging to a great web of people, of the safety inherent in such a belonging.
As one of the grandchildren absorbed into their life like that, I remember my grandparents' kitchen. Grandaddy was the cook, but Grandmomma was the manager. We'd have tea every morning, and the aroma from the steaming cups mingled with the smells coming from grits, oatmeal or pancakes, forming the base of an indelible scent-memory that lasts to this day. Unlike the cold cereal or instant grits my mother served me, I could count on my grandparents providing a hot breakfast, punctuated with milk or orange juice, eggs and sausage, bacon or ham, over which we'd linger for more than an hour sometimes, just chatting and enjoying each other. I was loved, and the fact that it took two hours to complete breakfast proved it to me. As much as I don't eat it regularly, breakfast remains my favorite meal.
The 70s happened. The children borne to my Grandmomma's generation became liberated from the ideas and belief systems cherished by their parents.Cousins drifted apart. Love remained, but the sense of remaining physically close with one's family went by the wayside, quite literally. Children had grown up, bearing children of their own. Within that decade, my parents' entire marriage began and ended, climaxing in bitterness and a first for the entire family: children chose divorce. Children chose to come out. Children chose to move away. Children married outside their faith, their nationality, their race. The family began to fragment. Still vital and active in their 50s and 60s, my Grandmomma and her sibs kept their Sunday dinners together, and the holiday traditions they began remained strong while my generation enjoyed it's childhood.
The 80s happened. Unthinkably, three of our nuclear families moved to Virginia. Holiday traditions in Charleston remained, but they were more difficult now that travel was involved. Birthdays became a card and a call. My own mother kept me and my baby sister away from my Grandparents because she didn't like their opinions about her life, or their perceived influence on me, and I didn't have birthdays or holidays with them for 7 years. Alone in a neglectful, dysfunctional household, my memories of safety and belonging to something else drove me to freedom. On my 18th birthday, I bicycled the scant three miles in the punishing June heat from one grandmother's house to the other's, and reclaimed my place in the web. My sister denies ever having a place there. Another fracture, another strand undone.
The 90s happened. All the grandchildren are now grown; going to college, making choices of our own. Making families. My great-grandmother lived to meet and approve my future husband. My Grandaddy loved P-daddy, and lived to give us his blessing. Yet by the time we married in 1999, my large, great family was unrecognizable and my Grandaddy was dead. Some of my Grandmomma's sibs did attend the wedding, but a hurricane kept the Virginians away. When my first daughter was born, no one from the larger family came to visit. In 2004, three weeks after we moved to WA and a week before I delivered my younger son, the last family Christmas Eve Party was celebrated in my father's house, marking the end of a tradition established by my Grandparents in 1956. Clearly unable to attend, we called from the living room of our rental house, thousands of miles away.
We have developed our own family traditions, P-daddy and I, from even before we were officially a family. We mindfully set about doing so because we believe in growing this family, our own family, into something larger than it is; something enduring, that will enrich all our lives for much longer than the period during which our children live with us. Those traditions served us well when we unexpectedly moved across country in the dark of winter, far from any family. The children we are privileged to raise know what to expect with the coming of each season, the celebration of each holiday. They inherently know that this is way their world works, and they count on it. Moving oceans meant little to them because the fundamentals of their lives did not change. One Grandma they loved had always lived far away. Now, all Grandmas do. That's life for them; good life. They know they are loved, and their web stretches far.
For my part, I am not so easily mollified. I miss my Grandmomma. I miss her daily, weekly, on holidays, on birthdays...she shares her May birthday, sometimes with mother's day, sometimes with our second child. I sorrow that she will never see this home, this life, that P-daddy and I have carved for ourselves. Her leukemia and neuropathy guarantee that. While I acknowledge the reality that in my new role as a mother of some of those children she adores, I came under criticism and scrutiny from her that I resented, distance softens those feelings just as it attenuates our interaction. I don't just miss my grandparents, I lament that they are not a part of our daily lives. Although we lived on the coast, my Grandaddy loved the mountains, and to this day, I cannot drive through the mountain forests here without exclaiming aloud how much he would love it here.
We didn't really discuss anything of great importance, but I was enjoying hearing her voice as I went about my motherly duties. There is a connection I have with my Grandmother that I have with no one else. My mother was not nurturing, and her mother, once a super Granny as well, was broken into bitterness by life's long, cruel circumstances. My Grandmomma, however, was only able to bring forth one child. She miscarried another, then never conceived again. She adopted a second son, and the two boys of the same age completed her family. They both married early and quickly produced their first children just three months apart, my cousin and I, both girls. Three more grandchildren later, my Grandmomma found herself surrounded at last with the bounty of children she'd always wanted, and she reveled in it.
My grandmother was the blessing-and-curse MIL we all both fear and wish for. Unbelievably attached to her sons, she truly demanded to be informed when they so much as went out to dinner, lest she call and not get an answer at their home. She cried like a baby and held a family intervention when both sons chose not to continue attending her church, and worse, any church at all. Her intrusive entitlements extended to the grandchildren. If she didn't like the answer she got from a DIL about a health concern, Grandmomma would take the child to her own choice of pedatrician for a second opinion. She'd nag the parents incessantly because their smoking stank up the children's hair and clothing. She'd give the children soap and shampoo along with their other birthday gifts, if she believed the children were looking particularly disheveled that year.
But as with few others on the planet, I can see her motivations were always well-intentioned and pure: she cared for the child first, come what may. She may have been misguided at times, she may have been wrong at times, but even her daughters-in-law never questioned her heart. As one of those children, I was protected, loved and nurtured with a ferocious intensity.
She was also the MIL who would babysit on a moment's notice, even overnight. She never turned anyone away from her table, certainly not her grandchildren, no matter how young the infant. She'd buy clothes and groceries when it just wasn't going to happen otherwise. She took the grandchildren to church, to restaurants, to plays and on vacations. She'd spend weeks-- literally weeks-- with the kids at her house, folding us into her life and rhythms.
All I can compare it to is old-world family life, Southern American style. I grew up in a truly multi-generational family of origin, knowing my great-grandmother well (she died when I was a young adult), being known by her mother (who died when I was a toddler), and having personal relationships with each of my Grandmomma's siblings. We ate together every week, we planned picnics so large they were suited only to parks, we vacationed together, celebrated together, grieved together. My children will not grow up knowing that kind of family community, and it is a loss I fear: the loss of the awareness of belonging to a great web of people, of the safety inherent in such a belonging.
As one of the grandchildren absorbed into their life like that, I remember my grandparents' kitchen. Grandaddy was the cook, but Grandmomma was the manager. We'd have tea every morning, and the aroma from the steaming cups mingled with the smells coming from grits, oatmeal or pancakes, forming the base of an indelible scent-memory that lasts to this day. Unlike the cold cereal or instant grits my mother served me, I could count on my grandparents providing a hot breakfast, punctuated with milk or orange juice, eggs and sausage, bacon or ham, over which we'd linger for more than an hour sometimes, just chatting and enjoying each other. I was loved, and the fact that it took two hours to complete breakfast proved it to me. As much as I don't eat it regularly, breakfast remains my favorite meal.
The 70s happened. The children borne to my Grandmomma's generation became liberated from the ideas and belief systems cherished by their parents.Cousins drifted apart. Love remained, but the sense of remaining physically close with one's family went by the wayside, quite literally. Children had grown up, bearing children of their own. Within that decade, my parents' entire marriage began and ended, climaxing in bitterness and a first for the entire family: children chose divorce. Children chose to come out. Children chose to move away. Children married outside their faith, their nationality, their race. The family began to fragment. Still vital and active in their 50s and 60s, my Grandmomma and her sibs kept their Sunday dinners together, and the holiday traditions they began remained strong while my generation enjoyed it's childhood.
The 80s happened. Unthinkably, three of our nuclear families moved to Virginia. Holiday traditions in Charleston remained, but they were more difficult now that travel was involved. Birthdays became a card and a call. My own mother kept me and my baby sister away from my Grandparents because she didn't like their opinions about her life, or their perceived influence on me, and I didn't have birthdays or holidays with them for 7 years. Alone in a neglectful, dysfunctional household, my memories of safety and belonging to something else drove me to freedom. On my 18th birthday, I bicycled the scant three miles in the punishing June heat from one grandmother's house to the other's, and reclaimed my place in the web. My sister denies ever having a place there. Another fracture, another strand undone.
The 90s happened. All the grandchildren are now grown; going to college, making choices of our own. Making families. My great-grandmother lived to meet and approve my future husband. My Grandaddy loved P-daddy, and lived to give us his blessing. Yet by the time we married in 1999, my large, great family was unrecognizable and my Grandaddy was dead. Some of my Grandmomma's sibs did attend the wedding, but a hurricane kept the Virginians away. When my first daughter was born, no one from the larger family came to visit. In 2004, three weeks after we moved to WA and a week before I delivered my younger son, the last family Christmas Eve Party was celebrated in my father's house, marking the end of a tradition established by my Grandparents in 1956. Clearly unable to attend, we called from the living room of our rental house, thousands of miles away.
We have developed our own family traditions, P-daddy and I, from even before we were officially a family. We mindfully set about doing so because we believe in growing this family, our own family, into something larger than it is; something enduring, that will enrich all our lives for much longer than the period during which our children live with us. Those traditions served us well when we unexpectedly moved across country in the dark of winter, far from any family. The children we are privileged to raise know what to expect with the coming of each season, the celebration of each holiday. They inherently know that this is way their world works, and they count on it. Moving oceans meant little to them because the fundamentals of their lives did not change. One Grandma they loved had always lived far away. Now, all Grandmas do. That's life for them; good life. They know they are loved, and their web stretches far.
For my part, I am not so easily mollified. I miss my Grandmomma. I miss her daily, weekly, on holidays, on birthdays...she shares her May birthday, sometimes with mother's day, sometimes with our second child. I sorrow that she will never see this home, this life, that P-daddy and I have carved for ourselves. Her leukemia and neuropathy guarantee that. While I acknowledge the reality that in my new role as a mother of some of those children she adores, I came under criticism and scrutiny from her that I resented, distance softens those feelings just as it attenuates our interaction. I don't just miss my grandparents, I lament that they are not a part of our daily lives. Although we lived on the coast, my Grandaddy loved the mountains, and to this day, I cannot drive through the mountain forests here without exclaiming aloud how much he would love it here.
So this morning, with the scent of pancakes and coffee interwoven with my Grandmomma's voice, I felt at home. I felt the grounding love for my own children and the tug of the loved child I once was, both informing the adult I now choose to be. And I know my Grandmomma approves. I still have her voice, and she tells me so.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
The path she knew
Let's just say : Score One for G.
Day 6 of vanlessness pinnacled with the news that we could pick up the van. Shnayfemme called Schnaydude to come get Schnayboy to take home, so that she could squeeze the rest of us into her sedan to go get said van. No one likes a vanless ~L~. She gets awfully squirrelly.
Anyway, while waiting for Schnaydude we took the kidlets for a little walk. Typically, by the time we got all the littles ready for the walk and started down the road to the Harry Potter Woods, Schnaydude was pulling up. Schnayboy convinced Schnaydude to join us so off we went. We entered the woods, had fun, then decided to go down this path. Then that one, and "hey what's down here?" The last time *I* had been on these paths we had C-family with us and it hadn't been cut back yet. Today was clear sailing and it was awesome. Our five minute walk was turning into a fifteen minute one, but we had until 6 PM to get the van so we were golden.
We ended up in a beautiful open gorge with a large fallen cedar crossing a rock bed stream. "I have GOT to go on that bridge!" I said, and with just that much provocation, Schnaydude (wearing Schnayboy on his shoulders) did a jig right on across. The rest of us followed, on and under, in whatever fashion seemed best to us at the time. My &@$# acrophobia nabbed me so I made nice cover of helping the baby on the low road over.
This is where the adults' good sense departed. Completely. Utterly. We decided to continue on into the uncharted, unbeaten woods rather than return to the path--with 4 kids, only one of whom was over 4. We meandered for a while, but soon the vegetation became much denser and as the forest closed in around us, the kids' imaginations took hold and they started scaring each other with stories. The toddlers, carried up and above the fern line, didn't much care until came the wailing of the ones who couldn't see anything at all but brush.
Schnaydude (Schnaydude the Tank to his coworkers) took point, stomping through the ferns and trying to find a path we just knew had to be thereand kept spouting encouraging, uplifting phrases for the increasingly more agitated children like "you think this is scary? you should have been in the jungle of Panama, trying to get through the brush with all the fire ants...."
"SCHNAYDUDE!!" Schnayfemme would bark, reminding the military veteran of his audience. That was the dance for the next hour as we crossed, oh, roughly a quarter of a mile of terrain. I would collapse in laughter at the ridiculousness of it all, because somewhere in the grownups' minds you would think it would be ok to turn back to the path. I think we were all mired in "WE STARTED THIS WE'RE GONNA FINISH IT."
Finally we broke the tree line, after a nasty last fight with blackberry vines. Poor G, who incidentally started all this, had been wearing shorts and flip flops. I was wearing shorts and birks, while the boys at least had on pants and sandals. Most of us were bleeding and battered, but we were FREEEEEEEEEEEEE. Cue the soaring victory music: It was a movie moment as we hauled ourselves into the back yard of a house I had never seen. As G stalked up the slope ranting about how "I am never doing that again!" Schnaydude asked, "Isn't this your neighborhood?"
"Uh, no, but that house is awesome!"
"Well, just avoid the guy with the shotgun sitting on the back porch, " Schnaydudey quipped artfully. Haha, right? N collapsed into a shrieking hysterical bundle on the ground, wailing in fear.
"Schnaydude!!!!" came the bark.
"Aw, it's ok Boy, you ain't in the South anymore!" More laughter from me as we headed up the slope into these people's back yard. We knew they were definitely home; cars in the yard, TV running. The house was in the center of what has to be a 15 acre wooded spread, complete with an apple orchard. It was a homestead though, a self built house. It would be perfect for my family. I was in awe. But I was also trespassing. The homeowners chose to ignore us, and we chose to beat it out down the driveway.
G instantly recognized where we were. "I know that apple tree!" shouted the 6 year old, "I have been here with Daddy!" The other grownups visibly doubted, and I admit to a certain wonder.... we were very far away from home, apple trees are apple trees and I know P-Daddy would not do what we had just done. We continued out the driveway when G saw the entrance to a service road, blocked by a small ledge of gravel. "This is it! I know I can get us home! I know it! I know THAT apple tree, I know this path and I slid down this slide, I know that house now from this side, I KNOW WHERE WE ARE!" G was dancing in intense conviction, and she knew she was going to have to prove her case. But Mom was on her side. She clearly knew where she was, so she was not very understanding when the adults wanted to continue out the driveway, which led us quite in the opposite direction.
"We just want to see what street we're on, honey," I tried to explain. Schnayfemme was the only one who made it to the end of the longest driveway in the history of the Western world, to find out it was 110th street. I did believe G, so I was weary of carrying toddler and encouraging N, who kept dropping and begging to be carried. G flat refused to go any further because she knew we were going in the wrong direction, so we had a clear hiking mutiny on the French front. Eventually, intel in hand, we headed down the path she knew.
It was just as beautiful in there as all the other paths in our Harry Potter woods. We could hear horses whinnying somewhere close, though we couldn't see them. Within 5 minutes we came upon........a beautiful, open gorge with a large, fallen cedar crossing a rock bed stream.
OHHHHHHH the dancing, the wiggling and the "I DID ITs!" that commenced. I have to tell you though, it was music to my ears. G got to truly lead, it was a good moment for her and she and I were both proud of her.
And no, we didn't get to go get the van.
Day 6 of vanlessness pinnacled with the news that we could pick up the van. Shnayfemme called Schnaydude to come get Schnayboy to take home, so that she could squeeze the rest of us into her sedan to go get said van. No one likes a vanless ~L~. She gets awfully squirrelly.
Anyway, while waiting for Schnaydude we took the kidlets for a little walk. Typically, by the time we got all the littles ready for the walk and started down the road to the Harry Potter Woods, Schnaydude was pulling up. Schnayboy convinced Schnaydude to join us so off we went. We entered the woods, had fun, then decided to go down this path. Then that one, and "hey what's down here?" The last time *I* had been on these paths we had C-family with us and it hadn't been cut back yet. Today was clear sailing and it was awesome. Our five minute walk was turning into a fifteen minute one, but we had until 6 PM to get the van so we were golden.
We ended up in a beautiful open gorge with a large fallen cedar crossing a rock bed stream. "I have GOT to go on that bridge!" I said, and with just that much provocation, Schnaydude (wearing Schnayboy on his shoulders) did a jig right on across. The rest of us followed, on and under, in whatever fashion seemed best to us at the time. My &@$# acrophobia nabbed me so I made nice cover of helping the baby on the low road over.
This is where the adults' good sense departed. Completely. Utterly. We decided to continue on into the uncharted, unbeaten woods rather than return to the path--with 4 kids, only one of whom was over 4. We meandered for a while, but soon the vegetation became much denser and as the forest closed in around us, the kids' imaginations took hold and they started scaring each other with stories. The toddlers, carried up and above the fern line, didn't much care until came the wailing of the ones who couldn't see anything at all but brush.
Schnaydude (Schnaydude the Tank to his coworkers) took point, stomping through the ferns and trying to find a path we just knew had to be thereand kept spouting encouraging, uplifting phrases for the increasingly more agitated children like "you think this is scary? you should have been in the jungle of Panama, trying to get through the brush with all the fire ants...."
"SCHNAYDUDE!!" Schnayfemme would bark, reminding the military veteran of his audience. That was the dance for the next hour as we crossed, oh, roughly a quarter of a mile of terrain. I would collapse in laughter at the ridiculousness of it all, because somewhere in the grownups' minds you would think it would be ok to turn back to the path. I think we were all mired in "WE STARTED THIS WE'RE GONNA FINISH IT."
Finally we broke the tree line, after a nasty last fight with blackberry vines. Poor G, who incidentally started all this, had been wearing shorts and flip flops. I was wearing shorts and birks, while the boys at least had on pants and sandals. Most of us were bleeding and battered, but we were FREEEEEEEEEEEEE. Cue the soaring victory music: It was a movie moment as we hauled ourselves into the back yard of a house I had never seen. As G stalked up the slope ranting about how "I am never doing that again!" Schnaydude asked, "Isn't this your neighborhood?"
"Uh, no, but that house is awesome!"
"Well, just avoid the guy with the shotgun sitting on the back porch, " Schnaydudey quipped artfully. Haha, right? N collapsed into a shrieking hysterical bundle on the ground, wailing in fear.
"Schnaydude!!!!" came the bark.
"Aw, it's ok Boy, you ain't in the South anymore!" More laughter from me as we headed up the slope into these people's back yard. We knew they were definitely home; cars in the yard, TV running. The house was in the center of what has to be a 15 acre wooded spread, complete with an apple orchard. It was a homestead though, a self built house. It would be perfect for my family. I was in awe. But I was also trespassing. The homeowners chose to ignore us, and we chose to beat it out down the driveway.
G instantly recognized where we were. "I know that apple tree!" shouted the 6 year old, "I have been here with Daddy!" The other grownups visibly doubted, and I admit to a certain wonder.... we were very far away from home, apple trees are apple trees and I know P-Daddy would not do what we had just done. We continued out the driveway when G saw the entrance to a service road, blocked by a small ledge of gravel. "This is it! I know I can get us home! I know it! I know THAT apple tree, I know this path and I slid down this slide, I know that house now from this side, I KNOW WHERE WE ARE!" G was dancing in intense conviction, and she knew she was going to have to prove her case. But Mom was on her side. She clearly knew where she was, so she was not very understanding when the adults wanted to continue out the driveway, which led us quite in the opposite direction.
"We just want to see what street we're on, honey," I tried to explain. Schnayfemme was the only one who made it to the end of the longest driveway in the history of the Western world, to find out it was 110th street. I did believe G, so I was weary of carrying toddler and encouraging N, who kept dropping and begging to be carried. G flat refused to go any further because she knew we were going in the wrong direction, so we had a clear hiking mutiny on the French front. Eventually, intel in hand, we headed down the path she knew.
It was just as beautiful in there as all the other paths in our Harry Potter woods. We could hear horses whinnying somewhere close, though we couldn't see them. Within 5 minutes we came upon........a beautiful, open gorge with a large, fallen cedar crossing a rock bed stream.
OHHHHHHH the dancing, the wiggling and the "I DID ITs!" that commenced. I have to tell you though, it was music to my ears. G got to truly lead, it was a good moment for her and she and I were both proud of her.
And no, we didn't get to go get the van.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)